“Hey Riss, quick question,” I say nonchalantly. “Have you heard from Rachel lately?”
The long pause makes me narrow my eyes. Does she know something?
“Not really,” she says evenly. “Why? Did something happen? Is she okay?”
The genuine panic in her voice helps me relax.
“No, not really. I can’t get a hold of Truck, so I… I'm being sued by a client, and I need his help."
I don't really know why I told her that, and, judging from her tone, neither does she.
"I'm sorry to hear that." She replies warily.
"Let me know if you hear from her, okay?”
"Sure."
“Fucking hell,” I exclaim after I hang up.
I feel like I’ve done little else but talk on the phone for the last three days: dealing with the lawyers, managing Sly’s rage, trying to calm Angie, and helping the club do as much financial damage control as possible with all the key players locked up.
Not to mention, handling my own legal troubles. The SpongeBob tattoo guy claims that I messed up and gave him an infection. He ended up having his leg amputated up to the knee.
My lawyer says I’ll most likely have to settle, since they have Rebel and me on video fucking our way through every square inch of the shop without ever really cleaning up after ourselves.
The last thing I need is to become involved in the club's federal drug case.
After the raid, those of us who weren’t arrested were allowed to leave. The clubhouse, however, had to remain sealed for the feds to execute their search warrants, as did all the club businesses. Right now, Inkspiration is hemorrhaging money. This, together with the settlement, will fucking bankrupt me.
The feds seized all of the drug money from the Wolves' safe and a shitload of drugs from the clubhouse. Our strip club, Skinfinity, is probably going to remain closed indefinitely, since that’s where the club used to launder most of it.
We had to resort to selling or mortgaging our remaining assets to cover attorney fees, retainers, and bail for our men, but it's nowhere near enough.
“Anything?” Rebel asks, and I shake my head.
My wife makes a face. “She’s fucking useless. What did the lawyer say?”
“He thinks he can get Sly out on bail. I’m taking Angie to see him later today.”
Angie’s been hysterical and unable to function since Sly’s arrest. Thank God she has my wife supporting her and helping out with Ryder, despite her own struggles with processing her brother’s arrest weighing on her.
Bell has lost a lot of weight and has been acting increasingly erratic since the raid.
I hug her. “We’ll get him out, okay? Don’t worry.”
*
After a sobbing Angie comes out of the visitor’s room, it’s my turn to go see Prez.
“How are you, man?” I ask into the receiver.
The orange suit makes him look so much smaller. Or maybe it’s the glass.
“I’m good, our friends have a lot of friends in here,” he tells me quietly. “Thanks for holding things down out there.”
I nod, then run my hand over my mouth and unshaven chin. “That motherfucker really screwed us.”
“You can say that again,” Sly mutters. "Him and that bitch wife of his."
