Page 41 of Death's Deal

With Boyd taking the final swig of his beer, licking his lips to remove the liquid that stuck to his moustache, he flashes me a devious grin, a wink, and asks, “Got a picture of him?”

“Tristan?” I questioned.

“Yeah. I want to see what this kid looks like.” Smirking again, he deadpans, “Maybe you’re wrong and he’s mine.”

Avoiding his jest, I quip off, “Hungry?”

“Starved.”

I motion with a nod. “Let’s get lasagna. I’m fucking starved.” Starting for the door, I remind him, “Be nice to Toni.”

“I’ll be nice.”

Chapter 22

Six hours, two bottlesof tequila, one bottle of vodka, a tray of lasagna, and three walks down memory lane that nearly turned into a fistfight, but they finally found themselves talking friendly.

Boyd is passed out on the spare bed, snoring away like Jake pulled on a big rig. Toni lies beside me; her soft purr is blowing through her teeth as she sleeps on her stomach naked beside me.

Personally, I find it hard to sleep. She unlocked her phone for me and I’m staring at it, eyeing the pictures of Tristan through the years. His texts are a snapshot of her life. A life I’d missed out on.

The first time he walked, when he’d rode a bike, tried out a skateboard, his high school graduation, his first car—which he crashed into the front gate at the house—and various videos of the two of them goofing off. Everything was recorded as if she meant to show me later. Like she knew this would happen one day. I’m grateful for technology and how it has saved me a chance to see it, but still pissed I missed it all firsthand.

As I press play on what seems like an endless stream of Tristan, I’m watching a video where he’s no more than three. Tristan is dancing around the bathroom, wearing only what used to be white undies, covered in mud. It’s caking every inch of him, making his hair stick up like a cartoon version of him, as he’s singing, “I’m a little teapot, tall and round, stuck with a blueberry in my mouth.” She’s laughing, correcting him on how the song actually goes, and trying to catch him with a towel to take him to a bath. It’s perfect in every way. I hate it and love it at the same time.

Scrolling through photo after photo, video after video, I end around his twelfth birthday, finding myself finally exhausted. As I close the phone before setting it on the side table, I kiss her on the head. It's nearly domestic. It’s something I don’t think I’ve experienced at all, and in a way, I’m content. This may have started out as a way to get back at the mayor, to make Toni regret sending me to jail, and an easy route to pissing her off, but in under a week I’m changing my tune.

Which has me wondering? Did the mayor expect this would happen? That he would find a way to gain my loyalty to him? To his underbelly cause? A way to find me compliant in gun and flesh running? He’s a devious man and I’d bet dollars to donuts he did. He had to know I’d find out about Tristan, and Toni’s betrayal was just another part of his elaborate scheme to control the club. To control me.

As the young lovesick kid I was back then, maybe he could’ve. As the man I am now, it’s not going to happen. The mayor will get no assistance from the club, or from me, without it being in our interests. Boyd said our great friend Johnson wants to meet. It could be helpful if I can turn the tables on the illustrious Mayor of LA.

Falling asleep I swear a vow to Tristan, Toni, and myself. I will be a part of Tristan’s life, I will not betray him, and I will not let the mayor win in any way when it comes to my family. I only have to make sure Toni and Tristan are clear of the blowback.

Setting the phone on the side table, I close my eyes, knowing just how and who can help me do that.

“Tomorrow is going to be a big fucking day.”

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