Unbeloved (Undeniable #4)(32)
And all this time he’d thought it was that Russian moron, Valentin, running the show when really, that fat f*ck had just been the figurehead. Yenny had been the man behind the curtain, hiding much the same as Hawk had been doing all these years.
The Russians’ lack of honor was one of the reasons Deuce had done his damnedest to steer the club away from dealings with them. Since working side by side with Preacher and the Silver Demons, he’d grown accustomed to buying from and distributing for the Chinese. It had been a deliberately slow transition, since he didn’t want to cut ties with the Russians all at once in case he needed their backing at some point, but his dwindling dealings with them had apparently been noticed and they obviously weren’t too happy about it. Now they were using Hawk to blackmail Deuce back into exclusivity, and using Deuce to blackmail Preacher into expanded distribution, all to their benefit. Greedy f*ckers.
Preacher, his hands stuffed inside his pockets, his shoulders hunched forward, came to stand beside him. “What happens if your boy has already kicked it?” Then pulling his cigarettes from inside his coat, he lit one up and blew a long stream of smoke into the wind.
Deuce closed his eyes, wishing he could do the same. Since his heart attack, Eva had been a goddamn vigilante, hell-bent on denying him even the simplest of pleasures. Like a motherf*cking cigarette. Or salt. Yeah, Jesus f*cking Christ, he missed salt.
“They wouldn’t risk it,” Deuce said. “They want your business and they ain’t gonna get it if they kill my boy. They’re smart enough to know that. But if they did kill ’im, then they’re goin’ to ground.” He turned his gaze back to the water. “Every last one of ’em.”
“That means war. With the f*ckin’ cartel.”
A burst of anger caused the muscles in Deuce’s arms to tighten over his chest. “Yeah.”
“That means you’re puttin’ me in the position to be goin’ to war.”
Deuce cut his eyes toward Preacher. “It wasn’t f*ckin’ me who pulled you into this shit. It was them.”
“Wouldn’t have been able to pull either of us into this shit if you hadn’t been harboring a fugitive, one who just so happened to be one of their own.”
He didn’t respond. What could he say? Preacher was right, as usual. The dumbass motherf*cker. But Deuce didn’t regret taking Hawk in. Not for one second. That boy had proved to be one of his club’s best assets.
“You let your boys in on the real plan yet?”
Deuce grimaced. No, he f*cking hadn’t. Other than Preacher, only Mick knew the endgame, and only because he didn’t need his VP crying and whining at him again anytime soon. As for the rest of them, he couldn’t tell them, not yet. He needed everyone to appear on board with taking on more merchandise from the Russians. One slipup, one goddamn wrong look could cost Hawk his life or worse, all their lives. The fallout from this motherf*cking dangerous game they were all playing was going to be bad enough. No need to add fuel to the fire just yet.
“The Aces are gonna be on board with pickin’ up the slack, yeah?” Deuce asked, purposely changing the subject. “If we don’t have this shit in place with Slider before the Russians pick up on what we’re doin’, it’s all gonna go bad for everyone.”
Preacher’s head bobbed up and down. “Hellions too. Roundman’s pretty excited about the whole f*ckin’ deal.”
Deuce let out a heavy sign. “It ain’t the East Coast, but it’s somethin’, and somethin’ is better than nothin’. Worse comes to worst and they don’t take the bait, we at least got two more clubs backin’ us.”
Preacher nodded again. “Good men, both of them, with strong clubs. It’ll be a bloody f*ckin’ war, but I ain’t worried about losin’ it. But, Deuce, you’re gonna have to tell your boys.”
“Not yet,” Deuce growled. “They’re already pissed at me for not tellin’ them about Hawk. Can’t figure out why, though, seein’ as ZZ was one of ’em and he shot my boy. You think you got a loyal man when really all you got is a f*ckin’ shit stain who loses his balls over runaway *.”
* that had belonged to his daughter, Deuce thought, cringing. His daughter and Dorothy’s daughter.
Beside him, Preacher erupted into a fit of laughter that turned quickly into a painful-sounding cough, and Deuce ground his teeth together. What he wouldn’t give to be coughing up a lung right about now.
“Maybe you should quit,” he said bitterly, hoping like hell the man would agree and hand the pack over.
“I’m already dyin’. Why quit now?”
Deuce blinked at Preacher’s surprising revelation. Turning toward the man, he said, “What the f*ck did you just say?”
Preacher’s gaze went skyward. “Cancer.”
Deuce stared at him. “Where?”
“Everywhere.”
Jesus . . . shit. What the f*ck was he supposed to say to that?
“Ain’t there some shit they can do?”
Snorting, Preacher shook his head. “You gonna stand there and tell me you’d let some whack-job doctor put you through the ringer just so you could die a year or two later, all shriveled up and f*ckin’ hairless?”
“Yeah, *,” Deuce shouted. “I f*ckin’ would. I got little-ass kids and a f*ckin’ wife! Your daughter? Big eyes, sexy-as-shit lips and perfect f*ckin’ tits. You remember her?”