Page 3 of Death's Deal

"Okay, I lied. I don’t want to see J. She’s already pissed. I heard her tossing shit around so I’ve been waiting out here for you.” Pausing, he pulls out a brown legal file. “A lawyer stopped by Humble this morning before I left. Some Carly lady. She needed to see you. She had paperwork, and I promised I’d bring it directly to you without wasting time.”

Great. Another issue.

“Can we not catch a break? Even for a fucking week.”

Laughing, Poc shrugs, tossing his long, braided raven-black hair across his shoulder, twisting the end around his finger. “It appears, no.”

He and my sister look almost identical, even though they’re nearly eight years apart. I’m the oldest of us at forty-one. Jazmine is thirty-seven and Poc is twenty-seven. I think he’ll eternally be twenty-one. With their sharp high cheekbones, deep-tanned skin, russet eyes, and raven-colored hair, the two of them look a part of our family far more than I do. Both our parents are Native American. With my soft tones, blond hair, and blue eyes, the milkman jokes died off a long time ago, but I was always the ugly duckling of the family. The odd man out.

“So, what’s in the paperwork?”

He rolls his eyes, smiling, and avoiding the truth. “It’s just a protection detail.”

“I knew you’d opened it. Fucking little shit.” I punch him in the shoulder for good measure. “Paperwork for me is paperwork for me, Poc.” Though, I shouldn’t be surprised he read it.

“Let me see.”

“Fuck. Fine.” He hands me the papers. “This isn’t a good idea though.”

“Riding without a helmet isn’t a good idea. Playing Russian roulette is not a good idea,” I quip, taking the manila folder.

Taking a step back, Poc mutters under his breath, “This isn’t far off of that.”

As I’m opening the wound string and pulling the sheets free, the name at the top comes into view. Tossing the paperwork across the yard, as if it’s on fire, I yell a little louder than I should, “No! Flat out. Not in any way. Not me, not the club. No one from Hades will get involved with this.”

Protesting, Poc tries, “Don’t you think we should—”

I pace the space. “Fuck no. We’re not getting involved.”

“We—”

I cut off Poc and the protests I’m sure he’s about to toss my way. “In no way are we getting involved. I swore after what happened, we would never show that family an ounce of care.”

“Fine, Brother. As your family, I understand the reason behind the no, but as president of the club, it’s a subpoena.”

Pulling down a portion of my ire, I adjust my tone, huffing out a sigh. “Couldn’t start with that?” Picking up the discarded file, still disgruntled and annoyed, I pull the sheets free. Looking past all of the legal jargon that would usually twist me up in knots—I get to the same conclusion Apoc did. We were not requested to do this; I was being formally informed. Me. Not Hades Army.

“So, I do this, or my ass goes to jail for a long fucking time. Again.” That’s the CliffsNotes version of course, but it’s exactly what they wanted me to see.

That fucking family had already pushed me to the edge of disaster. They were who made me the president of an MC instead of a Heisman Trophy winner. My college ball days ended with cuffs. They were who created Death instead of Bennett. I went from a lovestruck boy to a man who took no shit from anyone, but had to deal with an immense amount of hell to get there.

“So how do you want to tackle this?” Poc asks nonchalantly, like he’s asking for lunch money.

“I’d like it if I could bury her ass in the Alta Noche yard beside the body of the rotting Queen, but I don’t see that happening. So, I guess I better figure out a plan.”

Grinning his wide dimpled smile, Poc giggles. “Well, on the way here I had an idea for that.”

Fuck. “Course you did, Brother.”

Seemingly pleased, he releases the now teased strands of hair he’d been toying with. “I could look after her.”

“Tlaloc!” Using his real name for emphasis, instead of his nickname, I raise my voice far louder than I’d meant. “I can’t send my fucking baby brother to care for the daughter of a politician.” Reducing the tone, more than I wish I had to today, I calm myself. The guys in the shop and milling around the yard have all turned to look. “It says I’ve been subpoenaed to watch her, not the Army. Not to mention, you can’t remember to lock the doors at Humble, never mind giving you a detail where you’d have to care for another person.” When I look over, his face has a shit-eating grin on it. Prick was playing me all along. “Look, I may not like it, but I don’t see that I get a choice in this.”

Shrugging his shoulders and sucking in those deep dimples of his, in his usual way, Apoc lets the stress slide right off him. “Brother, you know this isn’t going to go well. You’re a bad combination.”

“Don’t I know it.” Kicking at the sandy ground and eyeing the paperwork with my name typed out perfectly, it’s there in black and white. “I don’t get a choice though.”

This is a huge deal, and another one to pile on top of the other issues I’m already contending with.

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