Page 27 of The Souls We Claim
“No fucking option. I?—”
On a roll, I cut him off. “Put my salary back into my account.”
Patrick laughs snidely. “Come home and I’ll put it back.”
“I’m not coming back, Patrick.”
There’s a moment of silence. “You’ll get your ass home and apologize, you no-good sack of shit. Do not make me come up there and drag you home.”
“Put the money back into my account…or I will call the police.”
I catch sight of my reflection in the store window. I’m ever so slightly hunched, and the hand not holding the phone is wrapped around my middle.
“Like my brother will allow anything to happen. He’ll pull all the right strings.”
A squad car drives by the store, and I’m suddenly inspired. I force myself to stand tall. “I’m not calling the police there. I’m calling the police here, where they don’t give a shit who your brother is. I’ll show them my face and tell them how once I left you, you went into my bank account without permission and took my money.”
The silence is a roaring whoosh in my ear, right up until Patrick disconnects the phone.
I’m not sure what I’ve done, but despite my moment of bravery, I’m pretty sure this isn’t the end.
9
HALO
Our warehouse sits on land northeast of the Pines. It’s discrete. Private. Perfect for storing the things we don’t want to store in the clubhouse. Like the weapons we just loaded into two vans.
I’ve got mixed feelings about it as Cillian O’Ceallaigh and the rest of his Irish mob disappear into the scenery.
On the one hand, King has a stack of cash in his hand so thick, we’re all gonna get a bumper packet this month. Hard to look at that kind of cash and not get excited at the prospect. Brings me one step closer to looking for a new house, as my side hustle is flipping houses.
On the other, the weapons we sell often end up in the hands of revolutionaries in foreign countries. And having been deeply conflicted about the time I spent serving as boots on the ground in foreign conflicts, I know I’m effectively selling weapons that’ll be used to kill my other brotherhood. Those deployed with the US military.
The two parts of me make for uneasy bedfellows occasionally.
Usually, the size of the cash in the envelope is all I need to get over it, but something is biting at me today.
Then I realize it might not be the deal at all.
“Let’s go back to the clubhouse,” I say, remembering that, after all, I’m road captain. “We’re gonna draw attention eventually. All this chrome out in the sun. We’ll travel in the regular formation. King, split the cash into three equal amounts between you, Clutch, and Spark so we can get it back to the clubhouse safely.”
This lowers the risks. If a cop pulls someone over, we only lose a third of the cash. Same if someone saw the cash exchanged and tries to run us off the road.
The low rumble of my bike does what it always does. Soothes the frayed edges. With the wind in my hair and the sun on my face, I can almost forget everything else going on in my life.
When we return to the clubhouse, we take five before joining King in his office.
“You planning a party for Lola?” Spark asks.
“What?”
“Lola. It’s her first birthday next week, right?”
Fuck. I forgot.
Vex was unable to trace the phone that sent me the message. It’s a burner. Unregistered. Even then it should be bouncing off cell towers or something. Vex is perplexed. And from the message, I think we all know why.
They are on to Vex and have found someone who can block his efforts.
