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SEVEN

SHOTGUN

I pull my Harley next to Biggie’s and kill the engine. Desperate for a little wind therapy, I could’ve ridden for hours, but I’m pressed for time, which seems to be a regular occurrence these days.

We make our way into the diner, and the hostess seats us at a booth in the corner of the restaurant as per Biggie’s request.

“Can I get you fellas anything while you look over the menu?”

“Coffee, black,” I say.

“I’ll have the same, sweetheart.”

“You got it,” the waitress says before she disappears behind the counter. Once she’s out of ear shot, I push the menu away from me.

Biggie tracks the motion, lifting an eyebrow. “You know what you’re getting?”

“Don’t got much of an appetite.”

I didn’t come here for eggs, I came here because I’ve been stretched thin, running back and forth between the hospital and Jade’s house, which is unacceptable for a man in my position. Irish would never. The man loved his family, and worshipped his wife, that was obvious, but he always showed up for his club first. I’m just not how sure he juggled it all, or how he managed to make it look so fucking easy.

Biggie laughs at my response as he opens his menu. “It was your idea to meet here.”

“It’s close to Irene’s nursing home, and Jade asked me to bring her some soup. She hasn’t been eating.”

Biggie hums thoughtfully. “How’s that going?”

It’s been two days since Jade was discharged, and we’ve fought about a dozen times, so not too well. Sighing heavily, I lean back and spread my arms over the back of the pleather booth. “The boys aren’t any trouble. I think they like having me around to help, but Jade hates it, and I don’t know if that’s because she’s bitter about what happened with Irish, or if it’s just me she can’t stand the sight of.”

I didn’t know a woman isn’t allowed to drive after a c-section, so I didn’t factor in I’d be her chauffer too. I just figured we’d be like two passing ships.

That’s not the case.

Yesterday wasn’t so bad because the kids didn’t have school, but this morning was brutal. I was ten minutes late and that fucked everything up.

“The woman is going through a lot.”

“I know that.”

“And she blames us,” he says pointedly. “Every mother needs a village, and hers consists of a bunch of bikers who don’t know jack shit about what she’s feeling. It’s killing her that we’re all she’s got.” He closes the menu and folds his hands on top of it. “She’ll come around eventually. It may be months from now, or possibly even years. The question is how long you plan on doing this with her?”

“I didn’t think about a time frame,” I tell him, shrugging. “I’ll be there for her and the boys for however long they need me.” But it’d be a lot fucking easier if I didn’t live on the other side of the borough.

“As noble as that is, I feel it necessary to remind you how slippery of a slope that can be.”

The waitress returns just then and places our coffees in front of us before taking our order. But as I listen to Biggie ramble off on how he prefers his eggs, I think about what he just said. No one, not a fucking soul on Earth, knows how I feel about Jade, and even if they did, what I’m doing has nothing to do with those feelings. They’re irrelevant at this point.

The waitress takes off, and Biggie’s focus returns to me.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“I’m not insinuating anything, brother. What I’m saying is straight facts. Jade and those kids will always be part of the Kings of Anarchy. She will continue to get a piece of everything that was Irish’s, and we will be there for her in any capacity they need. What she needs now though is support, and out of everyone, I agree that the only one fit to supply her with that is you. Aside from being tight with Irish, you have a longstanding relationship with her. She’s comfortable with you, and even though you wear the same patch as the rest of us, she knows who you are beyond the patch, and I reckon that makes you more of a safe space for her.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“You spend enough time with that woman and those kids, you will grow an attachment to them. It’s not a question of if, it’s a matter of when. So when I say Jade will always be part of the Kings of Anarchy, I mean she will always be Irish’s.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I inch forward, my jaw tightening as my heart pounds violently inside my chest.

“Just throwing out a reminder. She’s in the thick of it now, Shotgun, but she won’t always be. Gonna come a time when those kids don’t need her twenty-four seven. She won’t feel like she’s drowning anymore. It’ll be a day of reckoning for her. She’ll realize she’s still got some life in her, and she’ll start living for her again. When that happens she’s either gonna push you away to make room for someone else someone who will fill the days and make ‘em not so lonely. Or she’ll pull you close.”

I swallow thickly as I consider his words.

I can’t see a day where Jade belongs to someone other than Irish, but, man, if that day did ever come, I have faith I would be able to handle it. I’m a fucking pro when it comes to watching her love someone that isn’t me. That being said, I don’t know how I’d react if she did choose me. I don’t know that I’d be able to push her away. When a man gets a shot at everything he’s longed for, it becomes a test of character.

“I took an oath.”

“Brother, your cock won’t give two fucks about the oath you took if Jade chooses you. I don’t think anyone else has ever noticed, Irish surely didn’t or you wouldn’t be sitting in front of me today, but I see the way you look at her. The way you’ve always looked at her. That woman fucking owns you.”

I could deny it, but I don’t think he’s buying anything I’m selling. Biggie didn’t get as far as he is by being stupid. He’s a thinker and a watcher. He takes time to process things, and he doesn’t act on impulse. He doesn’t speak just to hear himself talk. The reason he’s bringing any of this up is because he is certain he has me figured out.

“I appreciate the concern, but I have plenty of experience in keeping myself in check. If the day should come when Jade decides to move on, I’ll step aside. They’ll be no issues for the club.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Lord knows we got enough of those.”

That’s my opening to change gears, and I fucking jump all over it. “How did the meeting with Mondestino go?”

“He’s very eager to assist in providing intel on Fatmir, and when I made it clear that taking out the leader isn’t our first priority, that we are saving him for last, he didn’t care for that. He offered to put eyes on Fatmir’s operations and told me he’d deliver the mercenaries to us in forty-eight hours.”

“You’re telling me this cocksucker is going to deliver the men to us? What does he want in exchange?”

“Well, for one, I think he wants us not to kill him.”

My eyebrows pinch inward as I study him. “You think he knows we’re aware that he made us Fatmir’s target?”

“I think he’s suspicious. He’s also got a lot of heat on him, and a shit ton of problems that we could help with.”

Help? The last thing that motherfucker deserves is our help.

“Why the fuck would we help him when the plan is eventually to have him meet his maker?”

He blows out a breath. “I’m going to bring this up at church, but I think before I do that, you and I should have a clearer picture of things, that way when it’s presented to the club, we have answers to these questions.”

“I’m taking that to mean you don’t have an answer to mine.”

Biggies sighs.

“Mondestino is in a jam. His beef with Fatmir is deeper than a power play for the seaport. It was revealed to me that Fatmir lit up Mondestino’s whore house. Torched the thing to ash while the women were inside.”

Not sure what that has to do with us. I’m a fan of pussy, but I don’t pay for it, and I don’t got any soft spots in my heart for the women who sell it. Call it mommy issues if you will, I don’t give a fuck.

“So?”

“So, he wants to join forces with us and expand Lipstick & Lace.”

Anger slashes through me. I got no problem expanding our businesses. The more legit our shit is, the less risk we pose at getting pinched. But going into business with a man who is our number one enemy, is just fucking absurd. The plan is to kill him, not make his pockets fat.

“You’re not seriously considering this, are you?”

“I am, and you should be too. The closer we get to Mondestino, the easier it will be to cut him at the knees. We can hurt his family, tie him up and make him watch, but it won’t hurt him. Family is disposable to him. That man only cares about money and power. Strip him of that, and he’ll bleed out.”

I shake my head, not because I don’t believe Biggie. I just find it hard that a man can find more pleasure in being defined by status that he can his family. Maybe that’s because I don’t have one.

“So what’s the proposal? He wants a percentage of the strip club?”

“He wants a place to house his brothel. The strip club remains ours. What he wants to do is expand the property. He’ll pay for all the construction, and when it’s complete Lipstick & Lace will expand their services. The only condition he seems to have with that is that we only employ the women he hires for those services. We can keep our dancers, and the rest of the staff, but Mondestino will be in charge of employing the brothel. He’ll pay us rent, we’ll provide security, and we take a twenty-five percent cut of whatever the brothel makes.”

Financially speaking, it appears to be a win for us, which makes no sense as to why Mondestino would do it. Before I can voice any of that, the waitress arrives with our food. Once she’s gone, I cut right to the chase.

“What’s in it for him? You said it yourself, he’s all about money and power. This guy is offering to cover all expenses, pay us rent, and give us a cut of his business.”

“If he’s in bed with us, greasing our palm, he thinks that saves him. Man can’t make more money or climb any ladders if he’s six feet in the dirt. Plus, I saw the financials. He must be selling some magic pussy, because that man is making bank. We’re talking a half a mill a year—out cut. And he projects that figure to double two times over in the first year.”

“Hang on a second, how many years do we let this go on before we take him out?”

He cuts into his pancakes, his eyes lifting to lock with mine. “I don’t have an answer for that. We cease the business, and all his assets, take out all his guys one by one before we kill him. That’s going to take time.” He sets his fork down and pushes his plate aside. “I know you want to revenge Irish as soon as possible, but it’s not as simple as you want it to be. Think of Fatmir as an appetizer, and his mercenaries the palate cleanser. The main course will be Mondestino, but you gotta fatten him up first before you sit down to enjoy him. The club has a lot of mouths to feed, Shotgun.” Pulling in a deep breath, he leans back against the booth. His hand shoots up and he scratches at his thick beard.

“In all the years you’ve worn that patch, you’ve never once questioned my judgement or doubted my leadership. I’m asking you not to start now. I know things are more personal with you and Irish being the victims of the attack, and I respect that. I want this as bad as you do, but I want to do it right. I want to make sure Irish didn’t die in vain, and I believe deep down you want the same.”

He's right about a few things. Biggie has never given anyone reason to doubt his choices, least of all me. I want revenge on what happened, but if there’s a possibility to make Irish’s death count for more than just brutality and violence—it should be explored. A deal like this could set up his kids for life, even if it comes by way of pussy. They don’t need to know that.

“I want to be at the next meeting.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Biggie says. “How does tonight work for you?”

“Just give me the time and I’ll make it happen.”