Strength from Loyalty (Lost Kings MC #3)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Probably.”

  That’s it. We don’t discuss Lynn again. Hope moves forward… sort of.

  Club business pulls me away from my girl more than I care for. Loco from the Green Street Crew calls another one of his bullshit meet-and-greets. They’re our biggest customer, but they’re starting to wear on all our nerves.

  “He does this shit again, prez, I say we take a vote to put his ass down,” Wrath suggests at church the day after.

  “Simmer down.”

  Z pipes up. “He might be right, prez. Something stinks about this. He’s way too up in our business.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  As much as I dislike it, I need to spend some time at Crystal Ball, cleaning house, too. The phone call I had with Inga prompted me to have all the employees—not just the dancers—take a surprise drug test. Should have done this a long time ago. The results were discouraging, and in the end, a lot of people had to be cut loose, which means I need to spend time there filling in for Z and Dex. I plan to leave the hiring to them, though.

  I don’t think Hope’s mad about all the time I’m away from her, but it’s hard to tell because it feels like we barely talk anymore.

  What I do know is every fuckin’ night we’ve spent together since she ran into that fuckin’ ex-sister-in-law of hers, Hope’s been cryin’ in her sleep. At some point, she’ll turn and cling to me as if she’s trying to keep me anchored to the bed.

  Once the sun comes up, though, that invisible space between us comes right back. It’s so fucking thick I can’t cut my way through it. Hope’s polite but distant when we cross paths. My body’s in knots whenever I see her.

  I gotta fix this before we get married.

  If she ever sets a fuckin’ date.

  Lately, I’m feeling like the chick in this relationship. I keep pushing her to set a date, but she keeps making excuses.

  Is she having second thoughts? Has the reality of what it means to be married to me—married to the club—finally settled in? Has she decided it’s not for her, and she doesn’t know how to tell me?

  I’m too fuckin chicken to ask, because if she confirms my worst fears, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  No. There will be a fuckin’ wedding. Even if I have to wait another two years for her.

  Or a lifetime.

  I convince myself it’s not the club. She gets along with all my brothers. They fuckin’ adore her. Even Wrath, although he’ll never admit it and he still loves pickin’ on her.

  It’s not the club. Unless she’s still worried about all the illegal shit we’re into. Especially after that fuckery with Sway’s club. Shit. I know how ballistic she went when she got called into the ethics board. Let’s face it. My activities endanger her career all the time. One arrest could easily get tied to her and bring all the shit right back up.

  Has that finally dawned on her the way it’s dawning on me?

  “Babe, have you told your mother about us gettin’ married yet?” Rock asks me not long after the incident with Lynn.

  My entire body goes rigid at the thought. “No. After she wasn’t worried about me when I was in the hospital, I don’t see the point.”

  “She’s still your mother. Maybe she didn’t understand. I probably should have done more and called her back. It was just so—”

  “Rock, trust me. It’s not your fault. She’s always been like this. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll call her.”

  He nods, and I can tell he won’t be happy until I make the call. I know how stressed out he’s been lately, so I’ll just have to set aside my discomfort.

  My hands are shaking as I pick up the phone and dial the number. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Hope! Why haven’t I heard from you in so long? You have no idea what I’ve been through at work…”

  And as usual, my mother can’t stop talking about her favorite topic—herself. No motherly concern about my recent hospital visit. Not even a simple “how are you.”

  I flick my gaze to Rock, who quirks an eyebrow at me. A small part of me is embarrassed he’s about to find out how little my own mother cares about me. I long to crawl under the bed and hide.

  My mother continues for a good five minutes before taking a breath. “Hope, are you listening? Can you believe that?”

  “No, I can’t. Um, I actually called because I have some news. I’m getting married.”

  “What are you talking about?” Her screechy voice makes me pull the phone away from my ear. “How can you get married again already? What’s the matter with you?”

  This is why I hadn’t told my mother yet.

  Lead settles in my gut as I watch Hope on the phone with her mother. Why the fuck did I insist she do this? Even from that brief conversation we had while Hope was in the hospital, I could tell her mother is a piece of shit.

  I guess I have some guilt about yanking Hope so deep into my world. I don’t want her to feel cut off from her only remaining family.

  And maybe a small, selfish part of me thought talking to her mother might get her out of this funk she’s been in so she can plan our wedding.

  “Mother, it’s been almost two—yes. I remember. After Dad. Yes. You waited. I know—”

  This is a train wreck. A fuckin’ mess I caused. “Give me the phone, Hope.”

  She shakes her head and walks over to the corner of the room so I can barely hear her.

  “No, Mother. No, I’m not pregnant again. That’s not—no. He’s very good to me.” She turns and half smiles at me. “He’s a businessman. … A couple different things. … No, I still have my legal practice. It’s fine. … No, we’re going to have a low-key wedding. … Outside. I don’t know yet. … I don’t think so. Maybe.”

  She flashes uncertain eyes at me, and I’m not sure what’s causing that panic-stricken face. “Sure, I’ll try to set something up.”

  I can’t take any more. She’s in the same room, but it feels like we’re miles apart. Crossing the short distance, I take her hand because I can’t not touch her for another second. Turning it over in my hand, playing with her fingers, stroking my thumb over her soft skin. Her hands always seem so delicate, small compared to mine. She glances up and flashes a nervous smile while listening to whatever her bitch of a mother says on the other end. It’s the same smile that always makes my heart stumble and want to do anything I can to protect her.

  “Give me the phone, Hope,” I whisper.

  “Okay, Mom. I need to go. We’ll talk about things soon.” She ends the call and then hands me the phone.

  “What was that about, baby?”

  She shakes her head. “Just my mother.” She breathes out an exasperated sigh.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you call her.”

  “It’s fine. I’d be a terrible daughter if I didn’t tell her about my own wedding, right?”

  I’m not sure how to answer that. She seems to be searching for an answer, not just being sarcastic. “If you guys had a normal relationship, then yeah. But if you don’t, then no. Not if it’s going to upset you, baby.”

  She opens her mouth, then closes it.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, Rock. Can we—I just need to lie down for a while. I don’t feel well.” Her hand drifts to her stomach, rubbing in circles.

  Fuck. Why couldn’t I just mind my own business? “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” she mumbles as she walks over to the bed and crawls under the covers.

  Now I’m fuckin’ scared. I walk over and sit on the edge of the bed next to her. After almost losing her, anytime she so much as sneezes, I’m on alert. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  She turns over and takes my hand. A ghost of a smile plays on her lips. “No, it’s nothing like that. My stomach is just upset.”

  “Okay.” Unsure, I let her be. But I can’t help thinking there’s something more I need to do for her.

  Talking to my mother brought up many bad feelings. Planning my first
wedding with her had been a nightmare for a lot of reasons.

  Reasons she so kindly reminded me of during our brief conversation.

  It’s probably all in my head, but I’m sick for a couple days after that call. I run a pretty high fever for a day or two and generally feel miserable. Rock’s sweet and understanding.

  At first.

  He’s out pretty much night and day. Between Crystal Ball and club business, he’s gone a lot. I try not to be clingy and whiny. I don’t ask him where he’s going or when he’ll be back. It kills me, but I sense he’s under some strain and I don’t want to add to his worries. I’ve done enough to distract him lately.

  I wonder if the time he spent away from the club while caring for me in the hospital and after has caused problems. When I try to ask, he brushes off my concern with a quick smile.

  While I’m getting over this stomach bug, I stick to his room. I’d almost rather go home. The clubhouse is so big, and I feel so awful that walking to the kitchen for tea or toast is too much effort. Trinity says she’ll bring me whatever I want, but I hate doing that to her.

  Rock sets me up with water and breakfast before he leaves in the mornings.

  On the third day, I finally feel well enough to spend the afternoon downstairs with Trinity, watching a movie.

  Even though Rock’s not back from wherever he had to go, I still head to bed earlier than normal. I’m almost asleep when his heavy footsteps enter the bedroom.

  He flips on the light, startling me. “Sorry,” he mumbles before shutting off the overhead light and turning on a softer lamp. “Christ, Hope. Did you even get out of bed today?”

  I bolt upright at his words and tone. Rock’s never spoken to me like that.

  Yet another bullshit meeting with Loco. I tried to do the right thing and warn the little fuck we might not be able to meet his increased demands. We can rally our regular delivery, but the extra amounts he squeezed me for at our last two meetings might be an issue.

  “You call off your western run?” Loco asks me with a straight face.

  This motherfucker up in my business again. I swear to fuck I want to kill him.

  I should have kept my mouth shut. My mistake for trying to treat a gangster with the respect of a normal businessman. This aspect of outlaw life is the same as working a fucking retail job. Even when my customers irritate the fuck out of me, I’m still under an obligation to maintain a certain level of friendliness.

  “Yeah, man, they’re aware of the situation. Sparky’s working his magic to pull the additional amount together in time for your drop.” My emphasis on additional doesn’t make any impression that I can detect.

  “I’ll allow you an extra two weeks, Rock. That’s the best I can do.”

  Allow? I’m not gonna allow you to walk out of here without a few holes in your lungs if you keep that shit up.

  “Thanks, man. We shouldn’t need it. Appreciate it, though.” I don’t appreciate any of this. Loco has been a constant pain in my ass. But until I can get some other things in place, I gotta pretend I don’t want to gut him and toss his body in the Hudson River.

  The Hudson River. Mere feet from where we’re standing. Fuck, it’s tempting.

  Although it’s galling me to no end—and Wrath almost lost his shit when we took a vote on it—I hand over one of the short barrel rifles Sway gave us. It’s a high-end piece for a street thug, but Loco expressed some interest in obtaining one for his personal collection the last time we met.

  He looks through the bag. Probably searching for ammunition to go with the weapon. Fucker won’t find any. I’m not completely suicidal. “Daaamn, brotha. Where’d you come up with this?”

  He knows full well I don’t appreciate being called “brother” by anyone who isn’t a Lost King.

  “Sort of fell in our lap. But you said you were looking for something along those lines.”

  He cocks his head and stares at me. “Thought your crew was outta guns?” He persists.

  “We are. That’s a one-time gift. Thanks for your business and all.” I hate every fucking second of this little game.

  Loco nods and runs his hand over his chin. I just know whatever he’s going to say next will piss me off. “Rock, be straight with me. Shit like this don’t fall outta trees. Word on the street is your charter down south handles this kind of merchandise.”

  I shrug.

  He smirks in response. “I also hear they got a problem with Shadow Nation pushing up out of NYC into his territory.”

  Sway never mentioned the name of the crew he’s having trouble with. “I don’t have details.”

  “Listen, I know your boys down there ain’t as… colorblind as you are,” he says. This is true. While I don’t care about the color of anyone’s skin as long as they deal with me fairly, I can’t say that’s true of everyone in my world. “Introduce me.”

  Like fuck. “Can’t.”

  “I ain’t askin’ you to get involved. Just make the introduction.” Yeah, except I know what’ll happen. I’m the one in the area, so when problems come up, one of them will be contacting me. It’s a slippery slope I don’t want to set foot on.

  “We got a long history, Rock. Your word will have some sway down there.” His smirk tells me he’s done his research.

  While he annoys me no end, Loco and his crew have been loyal customers for years. He’s never overtly threatened me. He is pissing me off lately wanting to dominate my entire supply. Although, the more I think about it, in Loco’s twisted, gangster brain, he probably thinks he’s doing me a favor.

  “I’ll take it to the table.”

  One eyebrow shoots up. Yes, asshole, that’s how our brotherhood works. Gotta put shit like this to a vote. I keep the thought to myself. He wouldn’t understand.

  We shake hands and go our separate ways. Thankfully, he left his entourage behind this time.

  Z and I meet up at Crystal Ball and head back to the clubhouse. After I fill him in on the meeting, he groans. “Jesus Christ, we can’t get involved in that, prez. Wrath might be right.”

  “Yeah, I’d like to avoid it too. I’m gonna put some feelers out to Ulfric and Stump, but they’ve never been able to move that much product. Sway mentioned he might have a connection down his way.”

  Z shakes his head. “You know what that’ll mean.”

  Yes. What’s worse? Possibly getting involved in Loco’s gun dealing with Sway from time to time, or having Sway involved in every single transaction I make with his contact?

  Neither option appeals to me.

  I don’t have to say anything. Z knows what I’m thinking.

  His hand smacks against the dashboard. “Fuck. Empire’s stable right now. We go messing with GSC, that’s gonna leave their turf vulnerable, and who the fuck knows who ends up taking their place?”

  I’d like to say, “They can all kill each other for all I care.” But what I actually say is, “My concern is losing our largest income stream. We don’t have the manpower and we don’t need the exposure of taking on the distribution end of things.”

  “Be a lot more money in it, though.”

  He’s right.

  “A lot more risk,” I remind him. “Besides, you feel like standing around weighing out nickel and dime bags all day? I sure as fuck don’t.”

  He chuckles, then turns serious. “Prez, we’ve been managing our money well for years now. We could take the hit and wait out any shakeup.”

  This is true. Teller’s done a good job since he took over as our treasurer. Our former president became intoxicated with the large amounts of cash rolling in off his brothers’ backs and spent it recklessly. Managing our money properly and for the benefit for the whole club was our first priority when Wrath, Z, and I took over.

  Still, there are a lot of us to support.

  “I know. I’d rather not if we can help it.”

  “CB still brings in a shit ton of cash,” he reminds me.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “I’m just sayin�
� we’ll get through this. Don’t stress so much.”

  One corner of my mouth lifts. “Someone has to worry about big picture stuff, pretty boy.”

  “Fuck you,” he jokes back.

  When we get to the clubhouse, I call a meeting. It’s informal since not all the brothers are on the property. I have to physically go downstairs and bring Sparky up to the war room where Wrath, Z, and Murphy are waiting. Stash is miraculously out.

  “Prez, the plants are doin’ better,” he assures me as soon as we’re all seated.

  “Thank fuck.”

  I give everyone a rundown of my meet with Loco.

  Wrath shakes his head, then turns to Sparky. “The plants gonna be affected by this?”

  “You mean their potency? It’s possible.”

  “We can’t get a rep for selling shitty ditch weed, prez,” Wrath grumbles as if I don’t know this. “Probably shouldn’t have even told the little fuck we were having issues.”

  “Yeah. That’s on me,” I answer. “We’ll take a vote closer to the drop date. What’s worse: not delivering top product, or not delivering at all?”

  Murphy pipes up. “We really gotta vote on that, prez? No product at all will fuck us royally.”

  “Yeah, but a shitty product could fuck us long term,” Wrath says.

  Sparky bristles at the way Wrath refers to his plants.

  I stand, signaling the meeting is over. “We’re not going to solve this tonight. Just wanted to keep everyone informed.” I point at Murphy. “Fill Teller in?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Now that business is taken care of, I’m eager to get upstairs. Hope’s been sick, and I’ve been neglecting her. She’s had me worried for days but refuses to see the doctor, saying it’s nothing.

  Without thinking, I flip on the overhead light when I walk in the bedroom. Hope shakes herself, blinking at me with bleary eyes.

  It’s no excuse, but I’m so irritated from the other shit going on that I end up snapping at her.

  “Christ, Hope. Did you even get out of bed today?”

  She sits up, the hurt and shock written clearly on her face.