Page 17 of Loving Smoke

If my father used those traits and ambitions in a legitimate business I believe he would’ve been successful also, maybe not to the magnitude drugs allowed, but still successful. How sad a product which caused so many people such pain was so lucrative.

And now because of all this violence I would basically be putting myself out there to a man whose buddies killed my mother. Twisted for sure, but I would make sure this was my best acting job ever, and the best part—Smoke would never see it coming.

“You’re right, I hate it, but I’ll do what I have to do—of that you can be sure.”

7

Sitting at my desk flipping through mountains of delivery invoices is not my idea of a good time. I’d hoped after eight weeks I would’ve gotten a system or at least hated it less, but no. Back in Cali I worked the strip clubs as an overseer. I’d step in when they needed extra muscle but most times I just made sure everything ran smooth. The secretary of the club took care of all the paperwork and I barely stepped foot in the office and I sure as shit never had to learn how to use this fuckin’ computer. Half the time I didn’t know what the damn thing was trying to tell me and more than once I was tempted to throw it through the goddamn door.

All in all, office work sucked balls.

Between learning the POS system on the computer, entering the orders and keeping up with the inventory, I stumbled upstairs to our rooms most nights with a damn headache. Another improvement we made was expanding the second floor. Now, Blood and I each had three rooms we could call our own.

At four in the afternoon, the lunch crowd had drifted off and the after-work night crowd hadn’t arrived yet. Aside from the locals we were attracting a good tourist trade. We were the newest place on the block. More upscale and less threatening to the visiting Americans who wanted to say they visited a strip joint in Tijuana. They got the atmosphere without having to worry about having something slipped in their drink or worse.

“So, what do you think?” Ricky strode into the office wearing his new leather cut. He turned his back to me showing off his prospect patch.

“Looks good, but wearing it is way more than just sayin’ you’re a prospect for the Royal Bastards, it’s proving it every fuckin’ day.”

“I know, and I plan to make you proud.”

My lips twitched into a smile at the kid’s excitement. I remember the day I got my patch. Proudest day ever, but it was more than pride. It was finally belonging to something. Finally being with people who cared if I lived or died.

My reflection made Ricky frown.

“I will prove myself. You can ask me to do anything and I will.”

“I believe you.”

I’d wanted that patch more than anything else in my life, but I managed to screw it up. Cause that’s what I do—fuck things up before somebody fucks it up for me. Dumb logic, but true.

Life proved to me there was no such thing as fate or karma. Life was just one long crapshoot. Sometimes you won, sometimes you lost, and some people never broke even.

“Just make sure you protect that cut and your patches with your life. You also make sure all the shit jobs are done around here and anything else Blood and I ask you to do.”

“You got it, boss.” Ricky threw me a little salute and left the office.

It wasn’t easy getting Jameson to authorize a cut especially since they weren’t an actual chapter in Tijuana yet, but I didn’t back down. I pointed out to him that if he wanted us to do a job down here then we needed more than just Blood and me. In the end he grudgingly agreed and we got our first prospect.

I checked my phone, then drummed my pen against the wood desktop. The next meeting wouldn’t go so easy. As if reading my mind, Blood sauntered into my office.

“You see Ricky?” Blood sat in the chair opposite my desk. “He looks like a kid at Christmas.”

“Let’s just see if he can take the heat when he’s cleaning piss and puke in the shitter at two in the morning.”

Blood and I laughed cause we’d been there and done that shit more times than we cared to remember.

Blood checked his phone. “Sandoval should be here soon.”

“I’m actually surprised he waited this long to pounce.”

“Who knows how the fucker thinks.”

A minute later, a knock on the door, then Rico breezed into our office like he wasn’t about to shake us down for money.

Blood stood and came around to stand at my side and Sandoval took the chair.

Sandoval jerked his chin at Blood. “He have to be here?”

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