Page 92 of Eden's Joker

Cross slams his fist against the table, which works to get the attention of most of the guys in here. Something he’s used to commanding, I’m sure. Even I get a little twinge to fall in line when he’s talking.

“We’re getting nowhere with this,” he says. “Let’s talk reparation. Maybe that’ll speed things along.”

“What’s reparation?” Sting asks and several others want to know the same thing.

“Damages,” I say. “He wants to pay us to keep us in line from now on.”

“And to make up for mistakes made in the past,” he says, piercing me with his very dark and very hard eyes.

If I didn’t know any better I’d think the man is actually trying to apologize for killing my parents.

“How much?” Spider asks. He’s a member of one of the MCs that suffered the greatest losses in this war, including the loss of their entire clubhouse.

“Enough to rebuild,” Cross says. “We won’t begiving you weapons, but I’m willing to give you money. A million to each club.”

A few surprised curses echo across the room. The Devils must be fucking loaded if he’s offering this much.

Haggling ensues and after some more yelling and cursing we finally settle on a million five for each MC. Along with a treaty to never attack each other again in any way or for any reason. He didn’t go as far as to demand an alliance—a smart move since he wouldn’t have gotten it. He also doesn’t ask us to seal it with blood, like I half expected him to do. He might be getting on in years, but he’s still an intense guy. One used to getting the things he wants.

I’ve already done very well for the Lost Sons from this war, with the takeovers of the defeated MCs business lines. That and this money should see us right or the rest of our lives. Probably for the rest of our children’s lives too. Children that we’ll all get to have if this peace holds. I hope it does.

But by the time it’s all done and settled, I’m already regretting it. It’s just blood money as payment for a blood debt. Not nearly enough.

But then I remember Eden warming the bed for me up in the house and it seems like a good trade again.

I’m among the first to leave as the meeting concludes. Fires have gone up all over town again, and Scorpio is sitting by one of them with Karma and the Forsaken Outlaws prez Grim. They seem deep in somesort of big discussion, or more like at the end of a heated discussion. I never knew they were close enough to have one of those. Every time I saw him with Karma she was chasing him away. Now she’s got her hand on his leg like she actually cares about him. It’s been a while since I actually paid attention to them. Or anyone else. I’ve been so focused on Mission Eden and the war. I should remedy that soon. But not right now. Eden has waited long enough.

Our bedroom window is aglow with an amber light. She must be burning her candles again. They came with the house, and I can already smell the honey-scented smoke they give off. Just like I can already kinda feel her kisses and her touch.

“Joker,” Ice calls out as I start up the hill. “A word.”

“I think we’ve done enough talking for one night, don’t you?” I say as I turn.

Peace treaties and reparations are all well and good, but they’re never getting my friendship. Let alone my forgiveness. That part Eden’s just gonna have to live with.

“Thank you for not hurting my daughter,” he says.

“She had more to do with that than either of us,” I say.

He clears his throat and I’m sure he’s about to say some vaguely threatening crap like fathers always seem compelled to say to their daughters’ men. Or more like straight up threatening, given who I am and who he is.

“For what it’s worth, if I could go back to the dayyour parents died, I’d do things differently,” he says instead.

“It’s not worth much,” I say after pausing long enough to get my mind straight. “I love your daughter, but that doesn’t change anything between us. We’re not gonna be friends.”

Ice nods. “Fair enough. But treat her right.”

And there it is. The threat.

“I will,” I tell him and refrain from saying that it’s gonna start right now.

I don’t want him anywhere near us, and especially not in my head.

I walk away after that, and he doesn’t stop me. And with each step I take up the hill towards the house, he fades from my mind more and more. Along with the pictures telling the story of my parents’ death. Now they’re just yellowed, faded photographs where they used to be so vivid I could smell the blood.

What’s clear is the image of Eden, flying down the hill in her white dress, to stop me making the worst mistake of my life—killing the future she and I can now have. I can’t wait to take that dress off now. And I can’t wait to fall asleep in her arms.

The house is quiet and smells of honey wax and candle smoke just like I knew it would.

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