The final page contains the clause swearing my father to complete secrecy, and that immunity will be promised upon completion of the contract, and only the prosecutor can make a deal for the informant.
Under all the legal jargon and the signatures on the very last page is a red stamp with the word: REJECTED.
I quickly flip to the next page, and after sorting through all the legalese, it seems because local law enforcement got involved in the Maryland stop where Bullet mouthed off to the cop, the DEA, not wanting to compromise the operation, denied involvement, thus making my father’s agreement null and void.
Apparently, the DEA still thought they could take down the Rabid Dogs at a later time. Of course, that never happened, and the only deal my father could make was doing more time in Rikers so my sentence would be shorter.
The computer screen taunts me, but I can’t tear my eyes away from my father’s testimony. “I’ll gladly take more time if it helps my little girl.”
My throat closes, my held breath releases, and my heart thuds as hot tears fall. For my father, for me, for my mother, and for all the missteps and bad choices. The DEA sting was his one last chance to redeem himself, and because Bullet was an asshole and had to mess with the cops, all my father’s good intentions fell to shit.
How typical. Just another story of someone trying to do good and getting punished while Viper and Bullet are still running free. Anger burns between my breastbone. My blood roars through my veins at an alarming rate.
A rumbling sound breaks through my thoughts. I listen, then yank out the flash drive, shut down the computer and bolt out of the office. Male voices grow closer, and as I’m halfway up the stairs, I hear Deuce’s unmistakable rasp.
I tiptoe-run the rest of the way up, dash into my room, then close and lock the door behind me.
DEUCE
I swing my leg over my Harley and head for the new door even I would have a hard time booting, along with new locks on both front and back doors.
I kept my mind blank for the fifteen-minute ride back to The End. I concentrated on the wind in my face and my beautiful baby between my thighs. Of course, the vibration did nothing to calm my raging dick. Not from the strippers, just from visualizing Sammie all night. Yeah, I’m fucked.
We enter the back door, and I immediately see the light on in the office. I nod to Ace, and we barrel through the office door. Empty. I walk around the plywood meeting table, then behind the desk. The monitor is blank and in sleep mode.
“You must’ve left the light on,” Ace offers.
“Yeah.” I had Shady repaint the wall earlier, but the light was off when we left. After the break-in, I’ve made a mental note of exactly what the bar looks like when we leave it.
Ace leans on the desktop. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Cause I never seen you turn down not one but two hotter-than-fuck women who were willing to do anything for you.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” I mumble.
Ace cocks his head. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Or maybe you’re thinking of another female, and they didn’t measure up.”
“Now you’re just talking bullshit.” I shake my head. “When I got a better look at those two strippers, they were junkies, track marks and all. I fired them right then. Last thing we need is the DEA breathing down our necks again ‘cause we got employees who like the needle.”
“Fuckin’ truth. The whole place needs an overhaul from the employees down to the stained, stinking carpet.”
I nod, shut off the light and head for the back stairs. Ace heads for the door, we tap fists, and I lock it behind him.
So much for fooling my VP. Fucker always knew what I was thinking before I was thinking it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
DEUCE
I trudge up the stairs with one thing on my mind: getting into bed, putting the bullshit of the day behind me, and keeping my focus in front of me. I don’t even glance at Sammie’s door or stop to listen like I usually do.
Nope, tomorrow is a new day. A day that would be about working on the bar and finally making a permanent home for The Kings of Atlantic City.
