Page 46 of The Heart We Guard
“Atom, set up the perimeter,” I say. “Remember what happened to Catfish and Smoke.”
The look in his eyes tells me he already understands. The two of them were ambushed in this very back alley, arriving home to the clubhouse with a shot-up truck.
We make our way into the back office, and Big Daddy sits at a large wooden desk that looks like it was stolen from a bank. Thick, heavy, and ornate wood inlaid with thick gold-embossed red leather.
“We got the conversation on cameras. Thought you’d want to see and hear this,” Big Daddy says, turning the laptop around. “The cameras outside are camouflaged and hidden. Guess they were too stupid to realize they were there.”
“Motherfuckers,” Wraith gasps when he sees who we’re dealing with.
“The fucking Midtown Rebels,” I say. The motorcycle club who killed Wraith’s wife and baby girl. His killing rampage to get revenge scared most of them out of the city.
“Listen,” Big Daddy says.
It’s cordial, at first, lots of introduction. Then, the one they call Patriot, the one with the president cut, seems to step forward. “Daddy, word on the street tells us you’re the man to move some serious weed volume.”
Big Daddy crosses his arms on the video and in real life. “That’s Big Daddy, to you, punk.”
“No offence meant, bruh,” Patriot says. “The opposite, actually. Was wondering if we might be able to do some business together. We’ve committed to growing back in Denver, rekindling some old relationships, starting up some new. Time we reclaimed some of our turf. Wondered if you were in the market for a new producer. Willing to undercut the deal you’re getting for the next six months. You don’t agree the quality of our weed is superior, we call time on it and move along. You do, and we increase the price by ten percent and keep selling.”
“Been working with my partners a long time. Happy with the arrangements we have.”
Patriot narrows his gaze. “Giving you an opportunity to make a bit of extra coin. Be foolish to walk away from that.”
“Not explaining my reasons to you further. You’re back. Whoopdee-do. Now get the fuck off my lot.”
Patriot’s facial features change from mildly irritated to violent in less than a second. “That’s not the way to make friends.”
“Not in the market for new ones anyway.”
“You’re going to regret that choice,” Patriot says.
“No more than you’re going to regret yours, stomping onto my property, thinking you can call the shots here. Unless you want a bullet leaving tracks through your brain, you’ll leave.”
Patriot sneers, but turns away, and we watch them slink off.
“Fuck me,” I say, turning to Big Daddy. “Thanks for showing me this.”
Big Daddy nods. “Can I count on you for a little extra fire power to keep an eye on things?”
For a moment, I debate it. It’s his business. His fight.
But he said no to them to maintain our business. “Of course. We’ll figure out a way to have a couple of men here during the day.”
“Good enough,” Big Daddy says. He looks to Wraith, and it’s the first time I’ve noticed he’s standing still as a statue, his lips in a thin line.
“Sorry you got to deal with this bullshit twice,” Big Daddy says.
I reach for Wraith and squeeze his shoulder tightly.
“Not going through this again with them, Prez,” he says like he’s choking on barbed wire. He’s probably worried sick the same is going to happen to Raven and her son, Fen.
“You won’t need to,” Grudge says. “We’ll handle it. As a club.”
“Let’s talk business in church,” I say. “Thanks again, Big Daddy.”
We just got out of one fucking war with the Bratva, shouldn’t walk straight into another. And that will be the stance I take when we discuss it.
Big Daddy nods. “You’re welcome. We’ve been in this business together too long, Butch. Don’t have the energy to fuck around with people I don’t know.”
