Page 31 of Injustice and Absolution

I’m off to deliver guns to a fucking Colombian cartel only to pick up pounds upon pounds of cocaine to take back to their Pennsylvanian HQ for dissemination to all their dealers in the Northeast region.

I’ve kept Maggie at arm’s length her entire life because I didn’t want her getting mixed up in this part of mine. But herchancemeeting with Fernando went and fucked that up.

Now they’re in love, and she’s in deeper than she’ll hopefully ever know.

He seems like a good enough guy, wanting to stay out of the family business and all. But I have a hard time believing the cartel didn’t plant him in the club’s path to try to find an in with us.

If I had my way, my club would sever all ties with the cartel and stay as far away from them as possible. Maggie’s safety is already in jeopardy, I can’t drag Delilah into all this as well.

The sullen look on her face since that night has been more than I can bear. With one stupid slip up, I single-handedly deflated every ounce of strength I’ve watched her build these past few years, completely crushing her spirit.

Unable to take the sight of her any longer—of what I did to her—I had to get away from home.

I haven’t been on a delivery in years. In fact, I haven’t demanded a truck delivery this far since we formed our partnership with Clayton over at the Port of Pittsburgh. I hate interacting with anyone from the Rojas Cartel, especially in person, but even that seemed more appealing than having to face Delilah right now.

So I decided we’d hoof this shipment to Memphis on our own and then spend some time with our brothers from the local chapter down here. That will keep me away from the clubhouse for the better part of a week anyway.

Even though she’s already gone and found a new job, keeping her away from home most of the time.

My conscience gripes at me. Another sign of how much she’s pulling away, and it’s like a knife in my chest no matter how much I try to remind myself she’s better off away from me.

But back to the goddamn cartel...

Because I was adamant about tagging along with this delivery, it made Andres, the cartel’s cell director for this region, a little suspicious. Therefore, he’s having us meet his men here, at one of the many drop zones they’ve built over the course of time we’ve beendoing businesswith them—as if I had a choice in the matter—rather than at their main port.

Making a left-hand turn, I lead Draven as well as Zephyr and Saxon—who are in the truck behind us—down the long and winding, tree-covered, dirt road. I know this trail is being meticulously monitored by the cartel, even if there’s no evidence of it that I can see.

Atticus, Toga, Crew, and Chubbs stayed home to ensure both the stone yard and the club run smoothly while I’m gone. They’ll also keep an eye on the clubhouse as well as Ronin, the harlots, and Maggie and Delilah, too.

About three-hundred yards down, we catch our first glimpse of the cartel. Three heavily armed men stand guard in front of an innocuous, wooden barrier, separating us from their small, makeshift port on the bank of the Mississippi River.

Knowing who we are, they radio their higher-up on the other side to let them know we’re here. I watch the one on the left lower his ear to the speaker on his shoulder, listening for his next command.

Once he’s got it, his arm juts out, and he rattles off orders in Spanish to the other two men who stand with him. They flank our small caravan, walking slowly and looking out for any sign that this atypical delivery is somehow a coup or a danger to the cartel in any way.

When they’re satisfied that we aren’t trying to overtake or disarm them, the main guy gets back on the radio to give the all-clear.

A few seconds pass before they lift the barrier and wave us through. About another hundred yards down a slight embankment are more cartel members. Some are situated on the dock, others on the bank of the river.

I only recognize one of them, but it’s not Andres, who I assumed I’d be meeting with. I thought having to be in the same room as Delilah was unappealing, but that’s nothing compared to coming face-to-face with Diego Rojas.

Fernando’s older brother.

Ten years younger than I am, but as I look at him now, gone is the kid with barely-there muscles and a youthful glimmer in his stare. The one who used to roll his eyes at his younger brother’s relentless attempts to get Maggie to notice him.

He left Pennsylvania years ago to live with their Uncle Victor in Colombia and become more involved in the family business. Fernando stayed in Gettysburg with their mother. At that point, he and Maggie were already inseparable.

She passed away a few years later, at which time Diego returned to the States. With a bit more muscle and a hell of a lot more apathy than when he first left. His time with the cartel showing in the tense set of his shoulders and written in the scars marring his skin.

When it came time for him to return to Colombia, he was to take his brother back with him. Maggie begged me to let Fernando stay with us as he didn’t have any interest in the family business, and they were in love.

It turned into a huge argument between the two of us. One in which I, stupidly, uttered terrible things to her. The kinds of things a father should never say to his daughter.

Diego overheard the argument and ordered me to take Fernando in on behalf of the cartel. And in return, once he worked his way up in the ranks, he’d come back for Maggie and “take her off my hands.”

When I told him I wouldn’t allow him anywhere near her, he made some threat that I gave no credence to at the time. And having not heard from him since, I thought any such ideas he had or dealings he thought we made were dead.

Seeing him now, however... I don’t scare easily, but it’s not hard to tell thatthisDiego isnotthe boy he once was.

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