Page 15 of Death's Deal

Martin had always acted like he was protecting Antonia from the bad side of town. From the biker president’s son who would drag her down. What pissed me off the most was, I was the cleanest one of us all. Smugly, Carlos and Martin both knew they were sending an innocent man to Chino for something they’d done. I was a kid doing a long stint for their illegalities.

Forgetting the past and the years of self-loathing I’d processed while rotting in jail for something I didn’t do, I stride through the room. Taking my time, I heavily accent each step I take. Amused by his discomfort as the sound ratchets off the walls in the hollow room, I stop beside Martin’s desk.

Sitting there, poring over paperwork, and talking animatedly on the phone, Martin’s voice booms across the space. “I don’t care. Find a way to fix it. Today. We can’t have the PCH closed for that length of time. Constituents would be growling at my doorstep by five.” Slamming his phone on the desk, Martin seems flustered and ill at ease.

I like it.

Taking a seat on a thick black leather couch, I toss my feet across the end, glancing at the mayor.

With disdain, he remarks, “Are you comfortable, Quinny?”

I had always hated that nickname coming out of his mouth. I hated hearing this family using it. It was Antonia’s nickname for me, but it was never theirs to use. Deciding to cause the same discomfort back, I use the name his opponents use. “Mingia, why am I here? What do you want?”

Mingiain no uncertain terms means dick in Sicilian.

Not taking the bait, he smiles. Always the politician.

Rising from his chair, walking over with a folder in his hands, he stops beside me. “I hear the cartels had a bit of fun with you. A few of you died, didn’t they?” Smirking, he then takes a seat across from me in a brown high-backed leather chair, “You look to be doing well for yourself after that. I had bets on you and your club being ruined.”

His condescending tone irks me. He’s hoping I’ll take a shot at his smug, irritating face. I won’t though, no matter how badly I want to. The cost is too great.

Dropping my motorcycle boots to the floor, leaning forward and cutting to the chase, I grasp the brown folder out of my cut and slam it on the table between us. “Why don’t you tell me why you brought me here?”

His smug look dissipates. “Fine. My daughter—”

“Antonia,” I interrupt.

Annoyed, he continues, “Yes. I’ve run into a bit of an illegal issue. I need someone outside of the law, outside of the normal constraints of etiquette to look after it and her...”

I scoff, “And you thought of me? How charming. You are desperate.”

Rising from the chair, Martin steps my way. “I’ve been told to get out of the situation will take some finesse.”

“I’m full of finesse.”

Nearly rolling his eyes, he continues, “They are asking for tribute of a sort. Something I value for something they value in return, until I supply that which I owe.”

“Who do you owe?” I ask, knowing I don’t really care.

“That’s not really the issue. It’s what they are asking for in value that I find difficult to provide. They’re asking for Antonia.” He paces between his desk and an overfilled bookcase on the left wall. “I don’t wish her that fate, and I need her protected. Protected by someone who loves her.”

Visibly flaring my nostrils, I feel my teeth grind off a layer of enamel. “Loved,” I correct him. “I loved her. I don’t have time for traitors in my life, Martin.”

Running a hand along his clean-shaven chin, raising a recently Botoxed and Grecian formulated brow, he states, “No matter how hard I tried to remove you from her life, you must know you were never far from her thoughts, Quinny.”

I don’t want any part in this. Rising from the chair and turning to leave, I step toward the door. “Please,” he pleads on a rushed breath. Showing his fear finally, his facade drops and his worry of me leaving him to this situation alone, I find myself intrigued more than I had been ten minutes ago. He really must be out of choices.

“Why force me with a subpoena to show here?”

“If we’re being honest, Bennett, there’s no one I think is worthy enough to keep her safe. That would put her safety first.” Pulling up a stack of paperwork in a folder, and placing them before me, he taps them. “Look at this, please.”

Not taking the bait, I don’t touch the folder. “I don’t buy the bullshit that you want me.”

He blows out a hot breath. “Oh. I don’t want you within a thousand miles of her, but I’m a smart man who knows I need you. I’m asking you as a man who knows his daughter’s best chance is with you.” Grasping the paperwork and holding it aloft between us, he waits for me to take it. When I still don’t, he tries again. “Please, Bennett.”

Deciding it can’t be that bad to look, I take it. Begrudgingly opening the file to the front page, the first picture shakes me to my core. Flipping to the second, the third, and beyond, the whole thing reads like a dictation of our lives from the past few months.

Tossing the file to the desk, I reply, “Not interested.”

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