Page 16 of Death's Deal

“It’s not a request, Bennett. Remember, subpoena,” he states flatly.

“The subpoena was to show up here. Not to do your dirty work.” Surprised I even entertained this meeting; I’m beyond pissed off. Sneering, I start for the door once more. “You know what? Fucking sue me. Sue the club, take it all. I’m no longer a kid who is looking for your approval, Martin. You’re the exact reason why we balk against the restraints of society. So don’t worry, we’ll rebuild. We always do.” Realizing this is probably the only time I’ll ever wish to be in his company, or I’ll have a chance to tell him how I really feel, spewing all of the hatred I have, I let it loose. “Your problems are yours. I took the fall once; I won’t take it on the chin again. So, whatever it was that put you in his sights, it is all your fault. I can’t put my club in that position again, not after what we’ve faced.” Our chances of survival for even considering what he requests dwindled to less than twenty percent as I read the paperwork.

“No one else has faced the cartels as you have and come out the other side. I need you to protect her. To save her from these unscrupulous deviants.” When a lone tear trickles down his chiseled jaw, I almost don't believe it to be true. In under ten minutes, Martin Morriso has shown me both fear and true human emotions, both of which I never thought he possessed. “I’ll give you anything. Name your price.”

“We can’t be bought, Martin.”

Slyly wiping that sad little stray tear off his cheek, he starts, “I know you’re running shy of cash after everything you’ve been through. The war with the Huesos, the Alta, not to mention the infighting with the clubs—”

“All of which is not a concern anymore. Murianos is down, the Alta is torn apart, and we’re very chummy with the other clubs. We’re rebuilding just fine,” I snap back.

“The cost of your sister’s hospital bills must be mounting after everything you’ve done for Curse and his family. It had to have cost you nearly all of your savings.”

“Are you blackmailing me now?”

Calm as a cucumber, the emotions he once showed have dissipated and the sly Martin has returned. He grins knowingly. “No. I’m just aware of your circumstances.”

“I’d be an idiot to even agree, after all you did to ruin my life. Why would I give a shit for your traitorous daughter?”

“Quinny?” the soft voice calls out.

Everyone through school called me Ben, Benny, Bennett, B, or a combination of something of that sort, but not her. Antonia called me Quinny, and no one else dared to unless they were one of the Morriso’s. After I went to jail, I swore no one would ever call me that again.

Giving pause, hearing my nickname lyrically and lovingly stated like she used to, I feel like that sixteen-year-old punk who was in love once more.

Schooling my reaction, I reply, “Antonia.” I try to seem unaffected by her comment. Like an old wound that’s been struck, my heart beats and the feelings I once had for her come flooding back. That is, until I remember her betrayal.

Turning, seeing her standing there, Antonia is just as I remember. A petite button nose, a tight tiny chin, with a freckle right in the crook of her full puckered ruby-red lips, lips I wish badly to bite. Seeing her long flowing onyx hair lying across her shoulder, covering her left breast, and reminding me the right is unabashedly perky under the white shirt she’s wearing. The perfection of her is almost too hard to describe. Wearing the tightest black jeans, with a bra a shade of light pink that peeks through the material, the years have made her even more beautiful than I thought she could become. Time has worked in her favor.

Once in a while—more like nightmares after all this time—I see her in my dreams. Those dreams don’t even come close to how she looks right now.

Walking across the room, like a slow moving montage of my high school life, Antonia steps toward me. Every ounce of her beauty captivates me until I’m reminded of how it all ended. How jail was for teenage Bennett.

I remember I’m not that kid and I’ve grown up to be stronger. Years have passed and I’ve become a man who knows his own worth and strength. I don’t moon over a woman, or take shit from someone else, especially not from the likes of a traitor like her and her asshole father.

She pauses before me with a shy grin. “It’s good to see you, Quinny.”

Schooling my features, I reply, “It’s not like I had an option. A subpoena usually has you in handcuffs or in the office requested.” I’m still not sure how he had a judge sign off on this, but it doesn’t matter, Martin got exactly what he wanted. Me, here today.

In a soft tone with a shrug, she repeats, “It’s still nice to see you, Quinny.”

“No one calls me that.” I point to my cut, the name tag, and the position in the club, her eyes travel to it.

She grins. “Death it is then.”

Avoiding how it actually stings for her to call me that, I turn to her father. “Martin wants me as your protection detail. I was just declining his request.”

Interrupting my mental montage of teenage Toni, Martin steps toward his daughter, hugging her around the waist tightly toward him. Toni tightens at the contact, and to most it would seem imperceptible, but I know her. She’s not happy with the contact. “Did you know my largest business partners are those you just removed from LA for good? The Alta, and Murianos with his Huesos.”

“You’re saying it was our fault for getting our asses rearranged by the cartels?”

“Yes. Quite simply put, it is. After your escapade with the Alta Noche Cartel, it left a void in the trafficked goods the Huesos received, which in turn pissed off the Manos Cartel. One you’ve been lucky enough to not have interacted with yet. Their trafficked goods have depleted, and they’ve put the heat on me.”

I’m not surprised by this revelation, knowing he was the reason I was sent to jail in the first place. “Let me get this right. You tossed an innocent kid in jail all those years ago, to what? Protect yourself? Or to protect your bank account? And miraculously you now want me to save your ass?”

“Yes, Bennett. The clubs and the street gangs came to me for their drugs, their women, and their guns. Back then, it was either me or someone else, and I was doing what was best for LA. I’d do it all over again.” Smugly and sure of his superiority, he continues, “I’m the well-loved Mayor of Los Angeles. I have made this city prosper far better than any mayor before me, and I have kept all of the dealings off the radar. Sending you to jail helped LA prosper and you seemed to have done quite well for yourself. President of a powerful MC. I think you owe me for that.”

That turned on a dime.

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