Page 3 of Two Tricks

“Yup.”

Fuck me!

All I could do for a moment was stare at him. If he had told me they were mobsters, I would have been prepared for that, being from an Italian family… but a motorcycle club?

My history with MCs was less than stellar. The final straw had been when Devin had to take the fall on a major drug bust for his club’s vice president. It landed him in jail for two years, and while he was there, just trying to survive, he got cornered into working with a rival drug ring. The Blackjax saw it as a betrayal and turned their backs on him.

Devin would still be alive if his supposed MC “family” had taken him back.

“So Gabriella works for them. Does the family as well?” I asked, trying to figure out their circle.

“Gabriella is their lawyer and has gotten them out of plenty of charges and jail time. Dad knows but wants nothing to do with any of it. Mom might know, but she plays dumb and keeps her nose out of it,” Wes answered readily.

Gabriella wasn’t wrong—the Phantom Saints were no small fish. Tricks had been on the top of their “to do” list ever since wiping out the Blackjax, their sister club.

“There’s no way I’m allowing a meeting with them,” I declared. Tricks never worked with MCs.

“I get that, but if they really want to make a deal, the only thing holding them back is that they’re a motorcycle gang,” Wes countered.

“My job is to protect Tricks and the Hidden Empire,” I fumed, “so what argument is there for working with them when they might just kill him if they don’t get their way?”

“You’re telling me Tricks would pass up the chance to have the largest West Coast MC in his back pocket because it’s dangerous?” Wes scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. “You know this is a good idea.”

Times were changing, and the Phantom Saints were making a mark, drawing unwanted attention from the competition. You could only stay the big fish for as long as you could hold it, and from what I found out today, Tricks needed to worry about the De León cartel. Having an established biker gang to act as an army would make defending the empire much easier.

“Then why don’t you try and convince me this is a good idea first?” I snapped, not wanting to give in to the idea just yet.

Wes shook his head and turned back to his computer, ignoring me. There were not many people that could get away with that. Scratch that—there was one person who could get away with that—so I growled and stormed out the door, going down towards the studio space. I needed to sketch, punch, or fuck something, and soon. It was the only way I could process all of this without blowing up at someone.

“Hey boss lady,” Jonesie called as I passed his space.

I paused, took a deep breath, and walked a step back. “What’s up, slacker? You just getting set up for the day?”

Jonesie grinned at me. He was a huge beast of a man with a heart of gold. “You know I ain’t no slacker. Taking care of a pregnant wife is harder than you think.”

I laughed, knowing just how much work Maria could be while pregnant. “What, this is like your fourth kid, right? Why don’t you leave the poor woman alone for a little while?”

“Me!?” Jonesie said, shocked. “That woman won’t leave me alone. If she doesn’t get her some, then I never know when she’ll attack me. It’s better I just give in and let her enjoy herself than fight it.”

“Must be such a hardship for you,” I teased.

“Just you wait. When you find the right guy and he locks you down, you’ll be feeling the hardship,” Jonsie said, winking at me.

“That’s where you’re wrong, my friend. No one man can lock this sweet ass down. Too much of a free spirit for that shit,” I said, leaving him to prep for his client.

“Ha! Then hell girl, get two or three. If anyone can handle that much man, it would be you!”

“Dax!” I heard Harper yell up the stairs. “I’m coming up, you better at least have a path to your bedroom for me!”

Rolling my eyes, I set down my paintbrush and turned down my music.

“In the art room!” I called back, waiting for my best friend to make her way to me.

I’ll admit that I wasn’t the cleanest person, but she always made it sound so much worse than it was. So what if I hated to put my laundry away and I had clean piles of it all over my bedroom floor? I knew what was clean and what was dirty, and isn’t that what really mattered? Not every part of my floor in our L.A. townhouse was messy. I kept my front living area clean… mostly because I didn’t really spend much time there, but hey—it counts.

I collected the brushes I was using and wrapped them in Saran wrap, not wanting them to dry out before I came back to finish. Grabbing a rag, I attempted to get the paint that wasn’t already dry off my hands.

“Holy shit, Dax,” Harper gasped when she walked into the room.