Perversion (Perversion Trilogy #1)(33)

Or the ammunition that will kill us both.





Fifteen





Haze is doing recon on the casino girls. There’s no doubt in my mind that Tricks and Gabby are behind the cons. I told him as much after I talked with Belly. If he finds them or any more information about them, he’ll bring them to me first.

Where the hell has she been for five fucking years?

If she thinks I’m not going to try and find her after she escaped, she’s wrong. In the meantime, I keep my eyes peeled for her wherever I go. It’s easy. I’ve been doing it for years. Knowing I might actually find her intensifies my search. I scan every single person in the park hoping to catch a glimpse of her. But the possibility of finding Tricks is not the reason I’m here today.

Well, it’s not the only reason. I’m here to talk to an old enemy, turned friend, but still sort of an enemy.

Margaret Boeing isn’t your typical woman. She’s not your typical anything.

During the day, she spends her time attached to one charity or another. At night, she makes ruthless deals with corrupt men, but none of them are more ruthless than Margaret herself.

Not on their best fucking day.

When I find her in the park, it’s midday. The sun is shining down through the branches of a large oak directly in the center of a vast open field. She’s smiling from ear to ear, her large, blue earrings shake against her high sharp cheekbones as she laughs with the person she’s serving.

She’s scooping ladles full of something delicious-smelling onto the waiting plates of Lacking’s homeless and hungry. And since the cereal plant, which employed a large amount of the residents who aren’t in the life, closed a few years ago, there’s a lot of people waiting. Dozens of men and women and even some families pass through the line while Margaret, along with several other volunteers wearing IMMORTALS t-shirts, serve up her famous, and free, Sunday supper.

Her smile never falters as she feeds one tattered-looking soul after another. The smile doesn’t even drop when she spots me leaning against a bent bike rack at the edge of the field although the sparkle in her eyes dims.

Margaret doesn’t like it when business interrupts her charity.

She leans to the side and whispers to the woman standing next to her. She removes her apron from around her neck and passes it to someone nearby who takes over for her. Margaret emerges from behind the table in all her six-foot glory. She’s thin and covered in lean muscle. Her smooth dark skin shines without any help from the sun’s rays. Her black hair is shorn close to her head with a unique slight wave to it like a flapper from the 20’s. Her bright brown eyes burn with questions as she approaches.

“You know,” I say, looking her up and down. “Anyone looking at you would never guess that you’re old enough to be a mother, never mind a grandmother.” I’m not sucking up. I’m not trying to flirt with her. It’s just the truth.

“Save it, Grim. I got shit to do today and don’t really have the time for the whole ‘No I’m not, you flatter me’ bullshit.

“Cutting right to the chase as always.”

“I’m serious. A shipment of H along with two of my best soldiers went missing two days ago. You know anything about that?”

I shake my head. “One of our gun shipments mysteriously disappeared last week.”

“You got any idea on who?”

“Well, it’s either someone outside of Lacking, making a move, or Los Muertos is breaking the fucking truce. I haven’t ruled either out just yet.”

She sighs and rubs her temples. “These boys need to be put the fuck down. I said that before the fucking cease fire, and I’m saying it now.” She folds her arms over her chest. “Seriously, Grim, what the fuck are you doing on my side of town? Especially today. I’m busy if you haven’t noticed,” she says through her teeth, never dropping the smile.

I raise my eyebrows. “I’m not on your side of town. I'm in the park. Neutral territory. Remember?”

“I assume you're not here to help with the lunch today,” she says, in her strong yet smooth-sounding British accent.

“To listen to you talk in that accent of yours, of course,” I say, lighting a joint.

“Cut the shit, Grim, or I’ll make you deal with Damon.”

Damon is Margaret’s son. If you ask anyone in town who leads the Immortals, they’ll say Damon. It’s a front. Margaret is the one calling the shots. She just lets everyone believe Damon is the one in charge.

Including Damon.

It’s a great cover. Even if she is using her own son as a shield in a way.

“Not today,” I tell her. I pull the envelope from my back pocket and hand it to her. She looks around to see if anyone is looking before tucking it into the large front pocket of her long flowing skirt. She looks up at me, waiting for an explanation. “That’s your cut. We’re going into a new business venture, and I’d appreciate the support.”

“The whorehouse?”

“Strip club and gentleman’s retreat,” I correct her. “And how the fuck did you know?”

She smacks me with the envelope. “Boy, I’ve been riding Chief David’s dick since before he decided he was suddenly a tribesman. You should know by now. I know everything.”