“Well for what it’s worth, you’re very good at it, and you really are a catch,” I chuckle, “if it weren’t for my recent breakup, I know I’d have liked to spend more time getting to know you.”
“So, a drink as friends?” he asks, “And then I’ll call for my driver to take you home.”
“Sure, that would be nice. But you don’t need to impress me with a Rare Cask Macallan, I’m happy with bottom shelf whiskey.”
“No chance, if we’re drinking whiskey, we’re doing it properly,” he says, signaling to the waiter.
Chapter 25
Diablo
Ifuckinghatecominghere. I hate the loud metal clang of the prison gates, I hate being searched, I hate the way the lights give me a headache, and I hate the waiting; especially if there are loads of families with kids. The thought of kids only getting to see their parents and family members through a pane of glass and speaking down a telephone makes me feel like shit.
“Visitor for Frank Sharpe,” the guard at the main desk calls.
Here we go…
I walk into a room full of booths around the edge, each with glass opening out onto a corridor around the room; the inmates sit on that side, and we sit in here. I’m directed to one of the booths and make my way over; the seats are round metal, still warm from the person who just left. I wait for Frank to arrive.
When he does, the first thing I notice is how much he’s aged. When he went in, he still had some black in his hair, but now it’s all gray. Even his beard is gray, and I’ve never even seen him with a beard before. The skin on his face is loose, withwrinkles around his eyes and across his forehead; but his eyes, they’re still sharp and bright blue, just as I remember them.
We reach for the phone receiver at the same time; the only difference is that both of his hands move because of the cuffs.
“Hey, Son,” he says, his voice rough and gravelly.
I hate it when he calls me son.
“You look good,” he says, “even with the broken nose and bruises you’re still a handsome son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, well you look like shit. What’s with the beard?”
“I was going for distinguished.”
“Hmm, fair enough,” I say, “what do you want, Frank?”
Hopefully he’ll get to the point so I can get out of this shithole.
“Frank?” he asks, his brows raising. “What, I’m not Pops anymore?”
“Fine,” I mutter, deciding to pick my battles. “What do you want, Pops?”
“Do you call Sofía’s new husband Pops?”
“Come on, you know the rules,” I say.
“I do, but a little birdy told me you haven’t been sticking to the rules… so why should I?”
“What are you talking about?”
He looks at me, the expression on his face smug, and that just makes me nervous.
“Our deal, Son, was that you would give the club everything you have, and more importantly, back me in any decisions I make about the club. In exchange, I’d grant your mother the divorce she so desperately wanted, and I’d leave Donovan alone.”
“And how exactly haven’t I kept my part of the deal?” I ask.
“Well, word is that you’ve gotten yourself a cute piece of ass, and she’s been, how shall I put this, very distracting.”
My body fills with hot rage and I grip the phone even tighter. How the fuck does he know about Elizabeth? And hearing him refer to her as a piece of ass… let’s just say he’s lucky the fucking glass is between us. I take a breath; I need to stay calm and get his mind away from her.
