“So where do we go from here?” Grizz demanded. “Waiting isn’t working for us anymore.”
Sabre laughed. The sound echoed off the walls. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“I’m telling her,” Pretty sing-songed.
The reference had made a few brothers nervous. They shifted their feet, their boots clanking against the wooden floor.
“We’re talking a shit ton of money.” Count drummed his fingers against the table. The silver skull ring he always wore shone against the lights. “I prospected at the tail end of running. I have—well, Bookie needed help to clean the money, so I volunteered. If we were to go back to something similar, we’d have every three-letter agency on our doorstep. I don’t want to be the one dealing with that fucking shit.”
“We can make friends with El Sombra Roja, but that won’t stop his arranged marriages either.” Wreck was the first one to speak, and all eyes fell on him. “It also won’t stop the cartel war that’s coming. We’d just be right in the middle of it.”
“Why can’t we break the holds on us?” How was staring at the piece of paper in front of Cyph. “There doesn’t seem to be a way to get the cartel off our necks.”
“Holds are like rubber bands. They loosen the more they’re stretched, until they snap. Only the person holding the bag gets the brunt of it.” Dead shook his head. “You should understand that. You served.”
“Alex had never heard Liz stutter until he showed up at lunch. She didn’t back down, but every time she spoke, he leaned forward, trying to decide if he’d really heard it. She shook him. He said to wait for his call, but I don’t expect the club to do that.” I crossed my boots at the ankle under the table.
“It’s better if we don’t,” Zook commented.
I covered my face with my hands as I let out a loud, frustrated groan. I hated the thought of putting this kind of pressure on her shoulders. “If we’re going to keep Alex at bay, Liz has to be the one to get through to him.”
Chapter 25
False Allies
Thunder
“Are you ready, kid?” I asked Kyle as he sat across from me at the breakfast table. Another week had passed, and Kyle wasn’t so pale. His eyes were clear, but every now and again, he’d scratch one of his arms.
“No, but I’m going.” He was staring at the breakfast Chef had put in front of him, shifting the eggs around. We all hounded Kyle to eat, but Chef took it to extremes. He had no problem sitting next to the kid, staring him down. “They’re going to make me sit in a circle.” He raised his hand, waving. “Hi, my name is Kyle, and I’m an addict.”
“Probably,” Scrub said, drinking his coffee. He’d walked into the clubhouse right before breakfast, but there was no doubt he’d crash when it was over. “Stands said it’s one of the best facilities in the area, and if they don’t treat you well, I’ll make her handle it. She’s scary.” He yawned.
I chuckled. He wasn’t lying. I could remember multiple times when Stands had stood in front of me, her pigtails behind her, as she read me the kid version of the riot act. “She’s giving you a chance?” I asked him.
“Nope. She caught me making phone calls and asked what was going on.” He scowled. “I guess she dated the doctor who’s on the board there. Called him and claimed her cousin needed help.”
“Tell her thank you for me. I really appreciate the opportunity.” Kyle never lifted his head.
“Fucking Bookie,” Slate said, sitting next to me. “If he hadn’t been a fucking asshole, Stands would never have walked out.”
“Just think.” I slapped Slate on the shoulder. “If she ever comes back, you’re going to get to grill him about his intentions.” I pointed at Scrub.
“My intentions are not good.” Scrub smirked. “At all.” We laughed, and Kyle visibly relaxed, until Chef set a brown paper bag next to his elbow.
“Lunch.” We all looked at him, waiting for some further explanation. “If they measure his macros, then I’ll leave it alone. Until then, he needs food if they’re going to make him talk.” Chef walked away, heading back into the kitchen.
“Is he always like that?” Kyle asked.
“No,” Slate was the first to answer. “He must see something in you.” He leaned forward, making sure Kyle didn’t look away. “A lot of us see something in you.” Slate knocked his knuckles against the table, and while I knew he was right, Kyle was clearly uncomfortable with the praise.
“I don’t want to let anyone down so I’m going, but no one should bet on me.”
“Too late,” Slate chuckled. “There’s already a bet on how many days you’re going to last.”
“I went with sixty.” Scrub slugged the rest of his coffee before standing. “Not long enough to make sobriety a habit.”
We could build him up, tell him exactly what he needed to hear, but he’d have to do the work. I’d buried my suspicions, but every time he downplayed himself, it made me wonder if he was strong enough to survive.
