Page 48 of Death's Deal

Opening the door, the dimly lit common room is rolling full of men, wives, old ladies, and hang arounds. I miss this. The feeling of family all in one place. Until our club is rebuilt, we’re going to continue to feel displaced and disconnected. I tell myself it’s only a few more weeks, even though I know it’ll still be a month or more.

Approaching Joker at the pool table, where he’s standing with his back to me, racking up the pool balls for another round, I tap him on the back. “Hey, motherfucker. Good to see you out and about.” Turning to see me, his sideways glance is quick until he notices Toni. Eyeballing her from top to bottom my jealousy rears its head. His interest in her has me feeling uneasy. This is a club that has no connection to her, and there’s no history on who she is to me.

“Joker. Antonia.” Pausing, I add, “My Old Lady.”

Standing with a hand out and a quick smile, Toni accepts Joker’s greeting, returning the outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Antonia.” Giving me a smile out of the side of his face, one I know I’ll be ribbed about as soon as I hit church, I grasp Toni tight to my side.

“Trig and Curse should be here soon. Are we all required for this meet?” I ask it, but it’s more of a statement.

Handing the cue to the nearest guy, he motions a head nod toward the Bows’ church. “Not much of a choice.” Looking him over, now that he’s in a better light, I see his thin frame seems even thinner. Over the last year, Joker dealt with a nasty addiction to prescription pills. He’s fighting it, and with the help of the SoCal support, he’s on the mend.

He gives a shout over his shoulder, “Miss. It’s time for church.”

Looking to the shadowy corner, where a man is having his dick sucked, the hulking bastard I haven’t seen in a few weeks steps from the shadows, zipping his jeans, and tucking his shirt, “Yeah, yeah. I’m comin’.” Leaving the woman in the corner seemingly disappointed in the lack of attention, Single Miss, or Miss as we all call him, wanders up beside Toni and me.

Standing beside me, he’s one man who makes me feel small. With his nearly seven-foot frame, his eyes, as dark as a moonless night, thick stocky shoulders, and his simple way of taking up all the air in the room, he’s a hulking form to contend with. He almost makes Busta and Cap look like prepubescent teenagers. Almost. What they lose in height against Busta’s VP, they make up for in sheer will, determination, and their innate ability to win in no-win situations. If it weren’t for the Broken Bows and the SoCal Soulless, there would be no more Army. We would’ve been destroyed by the cartel. I owe them more than I can state aloud.

As we walk down the hall, I ask, “Miss. What’s going on? Who owns the blacked-out rides outside?”

“You’re about to find out. Trust me, you’re not going to like it any more than we did watching them rolling into the yard,” Miss crows, as he slaps me on the shoulder and grimaces. Raising his chin in a “they’re in there” move, Miss stands at the door. “She’s welcome inside. Piper’s in there too.”

Giving a quick knock, we enter.

Chapter 27

Wandering into theBroken Bows’ church, finding what Miss found so intriguing, sitting at the head of the table is Busta, Cap, and Piper, along with two well-appointed gentlemen in government regulated apparel with sullen glares that are just as uniform. I’ll bet my bike they’re FBI, DEA, or some sort of goon who is paid timely on Fridays after they’ve incarcerated innocent souls.

Busta was once an undercover DEA agent in the Bows, aiding in the government’s incarcerations. That was a lifetime ago though. I wholeheartedly believe in the man, and I’ve never questioned his resolve to fight for the clubs. He’d do anything for us, his family, and the LA clubs as a whole. I would bet my life on his loyalty. So much so I trust him with my own family implicitly.

He and my sister, Jaz, have a connection they won’t admit to and, in a weird way, I’m sort of glad about it. I wouldn’t mind if they did hook up, as I know he’d be good for her, and to her. I haven’t always loved her choices, and her on-again, off-again with Boyd has no traction for a long-term relationship. There’s a possibility with Busta for her to have a good life.

When Obi died, she and Busta became very close during their sorrow, making them tighter than friends. She considers Arber—Busta and Obi’s daughter—her own.

Considering the current state of affairs, sitting, eyeing the Federal goons with disdain, Busta is pouring himself a whiskey, while Cap is watching a stupid video with cats. Sitting draped across his lap is the waif of a woman, Piper. I’m glad she’s here. After all, she’s the woman who gave me the book I wish to ask about. For now, with the unnecessary guests, I’ll keep it to myself.

“Busta. Cap,” addressing the boys, I look at Piper with a smile. “Hey, Pipes.”

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