Page 14 of The Trust We Broke
I’ll deal with her.
He packs up his shit and pulls his jacket on. “I know you will. If you want my opinion on the cash, I say leave it in the bank. There’ll be lean months ahead. We’re almost in December. The next quarter is the tightest. You’re gonna need it to make payroll in January. And you might need some extra insurance. The Rebels are not going to let what we did to them go lightly.”
What went down in that field, when there was finally revenge served, won’t be spoken of again. But Butcher is right.
They won’t let us get away without some kind of retribution. And we still don’t know why Wes Granger, the former president of the Midtown Rebels’ local chapter, was trying to buy some land this side of Idaho Springs.
I nod. “Drive safe.”
As I look around church, I can feel the whispers of all the presidents who have sat in this room before me. I’m aware I’m not the leader of the club. More of a custodian or steward of it. Mine to shape and grow for some undetermined period of time.
Then, it will become someone else’s responsibility.
Speaking of responsibility…
I reach for my phone and call my mom’s number.
“Zachary,” she says, joy in her voice. She’s the only person who still calls me by my legal name. Well, her and Lucy. “How’s my boy?”
“Ma, I’m thirty next birthday.”
“As if that makes a jot of difference to the feeling of you being my boy forever. Are you okay?”
“I’m good. Do you need anything from the store? I can grab it for you.”
I rub my thumb over the rounded edge of the table where so many bodies over time have brushed against it, trying to pretend I didn’t just offer to get Mom groceries from the store again on the off chance I see Lucy in there.
“I’m good, sweetheart. But thank you for asking. Are you at home?”
I look at the glass cases containing the cuts of Outlaws legends that hang on the wall. “No. I’m at the clubhouse.”
“Well. Take care driving home. It’s wet outside, threatening hail.”
“Will do, Ma.”
A knock at the door interrupts me. “I gotta go, Ma. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Zachary.”
I hang up the phone and shout, “Come in.”
Isla walks in. She’s wearing a torn-up vintage Iron Maiden T-shirt, which, to be honest, although it looks great over her tits, is sacrilegious. She’s wearing jeans so tight, they look like they’ve been spray-painted on. And boots with an impossibly tall heel.
For a moment, I have the thought of bending her over the table. Shimmying those jeans down just enough that I could force my dick between her lips and find some release for all the pent-up tension I’ve felt all day about Lucy.
“You okay in here, Prez?” She steps behind me and massages the tension in my neck and shoulders.
I sigh and roll my head to the right so she can get more access to the left, where it feels the tightest. “All good.”
She chuckles. “The knots in these shoulders would call you a liar.”
“Just overworked my traps yesterday,” I say, lying again.
She leans forward and places a row of kisses along the side of my neck. Her touch is familiar.
“Your lips are always so fucking soft, Luce.”
She smiles up at me. “Good, because they’re the only lips you’re ever gonna kiss.”
