Page 4 of King
Sinners all, never fall.
“He needs us to provide sanctuary and protection to his little sister and her friend.”
“Who are we protecting them from?” Snake asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what did they do?”
Snake’s one of the older members and ornery as hell, but very dependable. He stands about six foot six, and although he’s approaching sixty the motherfucker is built like a Mack truck. All muscle. The boys even boasted he can dead lift over four hundred pounds. For his age that’s unbelievable. And he has the mind of someone in their twenties. He can talk strategy with the best of them. If I need something done, he’s on it. One of the most loyal motherfuckers I’ve ever met. The man will be a Sinner until the day he dies.
“Bianchi Syndicate,” I respond to his question. “The friend is the ex-girlfriend of a Bianchi soldier, who gave intel to the brothers that led to charges against Alonzo Bianchi. And Grimm’s sister dated a Bianchi associate. According to Grimm, they may have bounties on their heads.”
Why the hell these women were allowed to be involved with the Bianchi’s, I have no clue. I didn’t question it because it’s none of my business who they fuck. I’m sure Grimm and his father, Chief, had their reasons for allowing it, but that doesn’t negate the fact that who they chose to spread their legs for has brought a bunch of shit to the doorsteps of both chapters. And good men could die because of it.
Groans and chatter sound throughout the room. The few run-ins we’ve had with the Bianchi’s over the past years had to do with our sports rackets. For years we’ve controlled most of the pro sports betting in California except soccer, which the Mexican Mafia controls. Dealing with the Bianchi’s has been more annoying than anything because our clients are loyal to a fault and anytime the Italians approach any of our clients we’re notified immediately.
“Listen. We’re not taking a vote on this. They’re family,” I call out over the noise in the room. Everyone quiets down. “Their fight is our fight, so fucking deal with it. Like I said, these women are our family. We're here to protect them not fuck them.”
The men groan.
“Hey!” I call out and the men quiet again. “That’s what the club whores are for. So, keep your dicks in your pants and make them feel at home. Church dismissed.”
Saint jumps up and heads for the door with the rest of the brothers, but he’s not getting off that easily. Our father has been ringing my damn phone off the fucking hook because Saint hasn’t been by in weeks without any explanation. I’m tired of listening to Da bitch and gripe about him making our Ma cry. It’s time for my little brother to grow a pair of nuts, handle his business and fix whatever shit is wrong between them because I’m damn sick and tired of playing the middleman and the peacemaker between two grown-ass men with shit that doesn’t have anything to do with me.
“Saint, Reaper,” I call out. We need to get some shit straight as a family. “Stay behind.”
Saint stops in his tracks and curses under his breath. He doesn’t think I heard him, but I did. He probably knows what I want to talk about before I’ve said anything. And Reaper has already voiced his concerns about him keeping his distance from the family too. Now it’s time to find out what the hell’s going on.
Reaper and I are standing at the front of the room while the brothers file out. When the door closes behind them, Saint plops down in the seat in front of us with a scowl on his face, while I lean against the table beside Reaper.
“Make it quick,” he says with his usual attitude. “I’ve got a client.”
I’m getting very tired of dealing with his attitude. I’ve always given Saint a little leeway with his feelings. He’s the more sensitive one out of us, like our mother. And he’d been locked up so long and had a hard time adjusting to the outside world because he went in as a kid. Growing up behind bars and missing some of the best years of his life, I assume had to be difficult. It’s not like he’d tell me anyway. But he has missed a lot and now he’s always angry.
I don’t understand where all the anger comes from, other than he’s pissed he got caught up in shit he had no business doing. I couldn’t save him, no matter how many hoops I went through, no matter how many bribes, and deals under the table I made. It wasn’t enough.
He was on his way to seminary school before he got popped. Searching for Jesus to save Da’s soul. Back then I hated to tell him, the Devil couldn’t be saved but he was dead set on giving his soul to the Lord, despite our Da giving up his to the Devil a long time ago. You can’t save someone from themselves when they don’t want to be saved.
We all have tried before Saint made it his mission in life. First our Ma, then me, and even Reaper. No one can help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. Our Da’s a piece of shit but our Ma loves him despite it all. He’s our father too, so we all try to do our part in making him a better husband, and a better father but so far, it’s been in vain. He was a piece of shit then, he’s a piece of shit now. The only good thing about him is our Ma.
“Where you been?” I ask, biting my tongue at the way he’s behaving. I’m trying to be the big brother and give him a little grace.
He rolls his eyes and I want to slap the shit out of him, but I don’t. I control my anger the best I can. I remind myself not to let his attitude get the best of me. That’s been my mantra lately especially dealing with him. He’s struggling with something, and I’m doing whatever I can not to add to it.
“Where I’m always at, King. Work.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Da said you haven’t been answering his calls.”
He shrugs. “Like I said, I’ve been busy.”
“You know how he gets when we don’t come around,” I say.
I’m so fucking tired of having this conversation with him. He doesn’t have to kiss Da’s ass. None of us do that shit. We aren’t having these conversations over and over for our Da. We’re doing it for our Ma. All he needs to do is show his fucking face once in a while. Not every day, just once a damn month. How hard is it to do that? Show up, let Ma know he’s alive and breathing, then leave.
Jesus fucking Christ! He’s going to cause me to have a damn stroke.
“Not my problem, Prez.”
I glare at him. I don’t like him calling me by my title. I’ll always be his damn brother first especially when we’re not talking club business. But I do however expect him to respect me as both. He only shows me respect when around the brothers. When it’s only the three of us or me and him, he comes at me with this damn chip on his shoulder.
He sighs. “Look, I have a life and a business to run,” he says before I can call him out on his bullshit. “I can’t be around all the fucking time. If he needs to talk to me, he knows where to find me.”
