Page 115 of Golden Atonement

By day four, I bought the fucking place, but that didn’t stop shit from arriving. However, today I planned on taking matters into my own hands while I waited for the next delivery.

Smiling, I leaned back in my chair, knowing today my woman wouldn’t receive shit. With the club now owning the flower shop, I would know immediately if anyone placed an order that was to be delivered to my wife, because the brother I planted in that shop was to call me immediately.

Problem solved.

Sitting at one of the tables in the gathering room, I looked at my watch and waited. I never took my eyes off the front doors.

“Prospect manning the gate?” I asked no one in particular when Massacre chuckled. “Yeah. The second any florist shows up, he will sound the alarm.”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little bit?” Bullseye asked, standing by a window with a gun in his hand as he looked outside.

“No,” I growled, checking my gun for the hundredth time.

“Reaper, it’s just flowers and candy,” Matrix clipped, standing near the door.

“It’s more than that and you fucking know it.”

“Bossman is losing it,” Massacre whispered.

“Yep,” Player replied as both men stood behind the bar, guns aimed at the door.

“My Sunshine loves flowers,” Sandman happily said, laying on one of the couches, reading a book.

Glaring at the fucker, I snarked, “Why aren’t you armed?”

“Because I don’t care,” he simply replied, flipping a page.

A crackle had me turning to Massacre as the big man rolled his eyes and picked up a walkie-talkie.

“What is it, Prospect?”

“Got a van pulling up.”

“Let it in, Prospect.” Massacre sighed, placing the walkie-talkie back on the bar. “Look alive, everyone. We got company.”

“Uh, I don’t think it’s a florist this time,” Bullseye said, holstering his gun as he walked toward the door.

“Who is it then?” I asked, doing the same with my gun just as Matrix and Bullseye threw the doors open. Walking down the steps, I frowned as two pretty women jumped out of the van, smiling.

“Hi!” the driver said, walking over to us with a clipboard in hand. “Is there an Emma Doherty here?”

“She’s my daughter.”

“Awesome!” the young woman smiled happily, before she looked at her clipboard. “I have a delivery for her from a friend.”

“Gonna need more than that.”

The young woman flipped through the papers on the clipboard and frowned. “It doesn’t say. Only that we are to deliver Snickers to Emma Doherty at the Golden Skulls compound in Purgatory, California. I do have the right place, correct?”

“Yeah,” I groaned. “That’s us.”

“Cool! Is Emma around?”

“Prospect, run and go get Emma,” Bullseye ordered as we all stood outside waiting for my daughter to arrive.

A few minutes later, my snarky teenage daughter stormed out of the clubhouse. “What is it? I’ve got fucking homework to do.”

Ignoring her attitude, I said, “You got a delivery.”

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