by Lexy Timms
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rage filled Saks as he walked out of the diner. Luke’s own face was twisted in pure disgust, mirroring exactly the way Saks felt. In silence they walked to Luke’s truck, and climbed in under a tense silence.
“That was bullshit,” Luke grumbled as he started up the truck.
“Agreed.”
Luke put the truck into gear and didn’t say another word, obviously fuming about Okie’s lack of support. Saks’ gut soured, too, but he wouldn’t let one obstacle impede his goal.
“Fucking Okie,” Luke grumbled. “Maybe it’s about time he retires as president.”
“What? Luke, he put together this club.”
“I don’t need a fucking history lesson, Saks. Everything was fine until Okie went to prison.”
“That wasn’t his fault, man.”
“I know whose fault it was, Saks. That’s not the fucking issue. The deal is Okie hasn’t acted right since he returned. He should give the reins to someone else.”
“Who? You?”
“No. I’m too busy.”
“Well, Spider, as good a guy as he is, isn’t president material and you know it. You say you don’t want it, and hell, I don’t either.”
“You’d make a great president.”
“Sure. If I wasn’t a Rocco and carried the weight of one hundred years of crime history on my back.”
“A hundred years? Really?”
“Yeah. We got in on the ground floor. It was the Serafini who were the latecomers.”
“But you have almost nothing to do with them.”
“They’re still my family, Luke, where I spend Thanksgiving and Christmas. Whatever happens to them makes its way to me, as we recently found out.”
Luke pulled in to the shop property and parked his truck behind the garage, but didn’t get out. Instead, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his face twisted in concentration.
“I’ll go with you,” he said finally.
“What? That will screw you with the police.”
“Fuck the police. When have they helped me? You’ve been the one who had my back every turn of the way. When Okie tossed me out you walked away from the club, too. When those Rojos kidnapped Emily you kept me sane, and you handled the phone calls from the kidnappers.”
“You saved me from the Rojos,” Saks returned.
“It was my shit that got you kidnapped,” Luke retorted. “It was my own fucking uncle. It wouldn't surprise me if he was behind the hit on you.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Doesn’t it? What if he thought that, if he destroyed my business, I would be more willing to follow down his happy trail? And what better way than to take down my best and most irreplaceable employee?”
Saks admitted it made a twisted kind of logic, one that fit the mind of Raymundo Icherra, Luke's uncle. But it didn’t feel like the right answer. No. Something else was going on.
Rob Gibson rumbled in on his Harley and parked next to the truck. He gave them a wave as he walked to the back door.
Luke grunted. “Well, time to make the coffee.”
“What’s going on?” Rob asked cheerfully as they came to the door.
“Saks and I are going to take off for a while.”
“Oh?” Rob responded. He arched an eyebrow, which reminded Saks of Rob’s brother Gibs. Saks never could get over how much Rob looked like their deceased workmate and club brother. Only when Rob smiled and revealed his chipped front tooth did the illusion fade. Gibs was the best Harley mechanic Saks had ever met, Luke included. Rob was decent, too, but not as much fun to have around as Gibs.
Plus, there was the specter of Rob still working undercover for the FBI. He’d revealed this the day Chrissy left with Pearson.
Luke shrugged. “I’ll call Emily and ask her to watch the desk.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” Rob offered.
“No. This isn’t your thing. Saks, go get the jobs ready for the day. Sort out immediate jobs first, and we’ll push the rest for tomorrow.”
“Sure thing, Luke.”
The shop was always chilly when he entered. The cinder block building stood on a concrete slab which captured the cold of the ground in winter and stored the cold of the air conditioning during the summer. Saks shivered as he sorted through the plastic envelopes on the desk with keys and work orders. He picked four for Rob to work on, then hung them on the pegboard.
Rob stood at the coffee machine, getting it fired up.
“There you go,” Saks said.
Luke came in from the back garage.
“Em will be here in a few minutes.”
“You sure everything is okay?” Rob asked Luke.
“Yeah. Fine. Let’s go, Saks.”
“See you in a few, Rob,” Saks told him.
Rob stared after them as they left, and Saks felt the tension stretch from the undercover agent to them. But Luke, if he noticed, ignored it.
“We’ll take the truck.”
“I can ride,” Saks said stubbornly.
“No. Besides, a truck is more cover in a firefight.”
Saks' chest tightened as he remembered the weapons the Rojos had. Back then they’d lived in a trailer. Now the group lived in a farmhouse on the edge of Westfield.
Luke swung the truck onto the highway, his jaw set.
“We don’t have to do this now.”
“Hell, yes, we do. Those assholes will be still asleep and hungover. I want to strike them at their weakest.”
Within fifteen minutes they drove up the gravel drive of the Rojos’ unkempt farmhouse. The dirtied white paint was peeling off the building, and the grass had grown in thick and untamed. Luke did a three-point turn to make sure the truck was pointing toward the road.
“Come on.” Luke moved to the back of the truck and rummaged through the capped bed until Saks heard the sound of chains. The shop owner pulled out lengths of it and handed one to him.
“Not a gun, but can do damage.”
“Do you really think they’re going to let us in holding these?”
“Hell, no.”
Luke opened the driver’s side door of the truck and leaned on the horn, blasting it repeatedly until there was movement at the window of the farmhouse. The front door creaked open. Pez stood in the doorway, blinking, his long hair an unruly mess on his bare shoulders. He wore no shirt, showing an array of tattoos spread on his chest and arms.
“What the fuck you want, pendajo?” Pez growled.
“I’m wondering what design you want for your next prison tat,” Luke taunted.
Pez scoffed and made a dismissive wave of his hand. “Get your ugly ass off my property.”
Saks stepped forward, swinging the chain lightly from his hand. “Who the fuck hired those guys who shot me and Hawk?”
“How the hell do I know, cabrón? Look, I already talked to your buddy there, what’s his name?”
“Louis Anglotti?
“Yeah. I’ve got nothing more to say.”
Luke jumped over the railing of the porch and swung the chain in his hand. “I ain’t the police, and I have plenty of scores to settle with you pieces of crap. Spit out what you have, or you’ll be spitting your teeth out on the porch.”
Pez cocked an eyebrow at him. “Really, esé. After all, we’ve meant to each other?”
Saks had to admit it. Pez was one cocky mother, but that’s why he was the head of the Rojos in the state. “Hey, Pez. Eyes over here,” Saks called. “He’s just here backing me up. Your problem is with me.”
“I don’t think so, cabrón. The Rojos and the Hombres didn’t have anything to do with that clusterfuck. Do you think we’d pass up the chance to beat some gringo ass, especially you jotos, eh? Plus, we wouldn’t screw it up, either.”
“Pez, your language grows more colorful by the day,” Luke said. He spoke Spanish, so he understood the insult. Saks couldn’t care less. He was here for a purpose.
“Pez,” Saks al
lowed, “if what you say is true, why have you been hanging around wherever I am and giving me shit?”
The gang leader’s lips curled up. “Just to yank your chains. And look, you brought them.”
“Asshole,” Luke snarled.
“He has a point, Luke. Plus, these bastards are too cheap to hire help.”
The door behind Pez swung open on creaky hinges as other Rojos members shook the sleep from their eyes. Things were beginning to swing against Saks’ favor, and sticking around didn’t seem a good idea.
“Now, you pendajos,” Pez instructed, “get off my property before there’s a real beat-down. And I’m only letting you go because I owe you, pendajo, for helping us with winterizing our bikes. But I think we’re even now.”
“Luke,” Saks said, “we got what we came for.”
Luke snarled then hurled himself off the porch.
“You can call it even,” Luke spit, “for that. But you still owe for what you did to Saks and doing business with my uncle. Keep out of my way, because I’m not always this nice.”
“Yeah, I know, pendajo. You’re a real hard ass.” Pez snorted through his nose derisively. “Next time you decide to visit, call ahead.”
Pez jiggled his fingers, curled in the universal “call me” sign by his head, making his men laugh.
Luke and Saks jumped into the truck and rolled down the hill. “Fuckers,” Luke grumbled.
“I agree. But that’s one jelly packet down.”
“What?” Luke said.
“What Okie did in the diner—never mind. But for once, the asshole told the truth.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Chrissy’s throat clenched upon hearing her father’s question. It wasn’t a topic she wanted to discuss right now, or ever if she could help it.
“What about James Pearson?” she asked.
Her father’s eyes scrunched, and his lips formed a frown. It was difficult to watch him lying there immobile in his hospital bed. Tubes and wires ran out from beneath the fall of the thin blanket covering him. She wondered whether things were a bit more serious than he’d let on.
“How does he treat you?”
“He’s demanding, but he’s okay.”
“Is he now?” he tested. He sounded as if he didn’t believe her but she couldn’t bear the look on his face right now, as if she were five years old and had done something bad.
“Now, Vince,” her mother said. “You shouldn’t get yourself upset.”
But he didn’t stop. His next question came out as a growl. “What kind of business does this man do?”
Chrissy held her gaze steady as she thought over her answer. What did James Pearson do? The specifics of his business he kept from her. As long as she scheduled his meetings and kept the wheels turning in his day-to-day affairs, he didn't complain. If she asked a question specific to why they were meeting so and so, he’d wave her off. “If it’s not in the iPad, it’s not in your job description.” Not that the “flow” of his work evaded her. He met with many international business men and they discussed deals within her hearing.
“He works with multi-national companies to broker mergers and acquisitions.”
“That’s one way to put it,” he snorted.
“Vince,” her mother said with alarm.
“Do not scold me, woman. I’m talking about our daughter’s safety.”
“If she says she’s all right—”
“Stay out of this, Rose,” he said in a warning growl.
“What?” Chrissy asked. Now her father alarmed her, because he could blow up the simplest thing into a worldwide crisis. This could’ve been why her grandfather hadn’t turned over the family business to his only son, even though Vince Serafini was in his fifties.
Her father turned his head toward her, giving her a gaze full of worry.
“Do you not know who this man is? The things that make up his business? All these years of you trying to separate yourself from us, and then you work for a man like that.”
“Dad!”
“No, Chrissy, you listen to me. Your grandfather was so concerned about who hired you, he’s been investigating this man himself. It’s not good, Chrissy. There are the drugs, of course.”
“I’ve never seen—”
“It doesn’t matter what you’ve seen or not. These are facts. But the worst thing is the sex trafficking. This isn’t a few girls who like the cash. He kidnaps them, Chrissy, and sells them to the highest bidder.”
Chrissy bit down hard on her lip and curled her hands into balls at her side. Saks had tried to warn her that day, but she didn’t listen. Well, she did in one way. Chrissy had poked around to find a few answers. The women who disappeared from his employ? From time to time she’d wanted to jump ship, too. The one unfortunate woman who died in Venice? The woman was high on drugs and fell into the canal. It was sad. But it wasn’t murder. And really, despite being difficult and demanding, she didn’t see anything, aside from what people said, to indicate he was an international criminal.
Still, it was her grandfather who’d said those things, and he generally wasn’t wrong about such serious allegations. So, who was wrong? Was it herself, or her overprotective family?
Chrissy’s lower lip worried itself between her teeth. Jessica hadn’t been answering her calls, Pearson had been unavailable, and the schedule wasn’t updated. Was something wrong, or was she letting her imagination get the best of her?
“Chrissy,” her father said. “Are you listening to me?”
“Dad, what would you have me do? I have a contract with Mr. Pearson. If I break it, I’ll incur penalties that I can’t pay.”
Her father scoffed. “He’ll wish he never met a Serafini if he does one thing to penalize you. We still have family in Italy. All it will take is one phone call.”
“Dad, you don’t speak Italian.”
“I do.”
“Yeah, enough to insult someone. But a whole conversation? Grandfather has to make that call.”
“Pfft,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “That’s what I get for being modern. And look at you, laughing at me. I’m talking about your safety, your life, and you tease me.”
“I’m not laughing, Dad, and I appreciate your concern. But please, don’t worry about me. You need to relax and heal so you can bother Momma in the kitchen.”
“Chrissy,” her mother objected. ‘Bother Momma in the kitchen’ was the euphemism she and Gloria came up with as teenagers with to describe their parents’ bedroom activities.
“And why not? You ‘re both young yet. You should enjoy yourselves. You should travel. Gloria and I don’t need constant supervision.”
“Maybe you don’t, but your sister does,” her father said.
“Vince!”
“Rosalina Marie Serafini, do not talk to me that way.”
“Dad, Mom, please don’t fight. Dad, I appreciate your concern. If I had a daughter who flew around the world with a man I hadn't met I’d worry, too. But where did Grandpa get his information? He couldn’t be more wrong. And really, if investigating James Pearson is what he’s doing instead of being here with his only son, then I don’t know what to think of him.”
“Christina Marie Serafini,” her mother scolded.
“Geez,” another voice said from the doorway. Gloria bopped in with a big grin on her face. “There’s an awful lot of slinging three names around here.”
“Eavesdropper!” Chrissy accused.
“Totally guilty,” she said. Gloria swept down and gave their mother a kiss and then leaned over the rails of the bed and kissed their father on the cheek.
“I also brought guilty pleasures,” she said, holding up a bag. “Donuts from that bakery you like, Dad.”
“Gloria,” her mother fussed. “You know your father isn’t supposed to have those. The doctor said—”
“The doctor says a lot of things, but if he eats like he tells other people to do, no wonder he has such a sour expression on his face.”
&nbs
p; “You’re a good girl,” her father said, causing Chrissy and her mother’s eyes to roll simultaneously. “Just put the bag on the tray. I’ll eat it later.”
“Your father’s appetite has been off,” their mother explained.
“Well, he’s just had surgery,” Chrissy offered. “That’s natural.”
“Nonsense,” Gloria said. “You should eat.”
“Daughter,” he rumbled. “I love you, but don’t stick your nose in my business. I’d like to get some rest now.”
“Sure, Dad,” Gloria soothed. “Come on, Chrissy. Let’s get some sister time in. You won’t be in town that long.”
Gloria hooked her arm in Chrissy's as they left the hospital room. She was awfully chummy, which meant she was up to no good.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
One jelly packet down.
Saks thought about the other jelly packets as Luke drove back to the shop.
“Luke, what are the odds that your uncle is the one who sent those guys?”
Luke shook his head, and Saks wasn’t sure if that was a “no way,” or his sad recognition that his uncle was capable of anything,
“I would think that,” Luke said, “except he has this habit of showing up when he pulls his bullshit. It’s like he can’t avoid watching the show.”
“That’s true. But he’s stayed away before.”
“True.”
“How about if we ask Rob if the DEA has a location fix on him? Then we’d know.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll talk to him.”
Back at the shop, Emily was already happily working away behind Saks’ desk. “What?” Emily beamed at her husband. “No latte for me?”
Luke pointed to the coffee pot, which was half full of coffee. “My accountant tells me we need to control expenses.”
“Well, I’m going to need something stronger if I’m going to straighten out these books. Who’s been putting in these entries?”
“That would be me, Emily,” Saks said.
She waved him to the desk. “Well, Mr. Shop Manager, come on over and let me explain the concept of expense categories.”