by Max Henry
“How can we find out for sure, other than the phone?”
Her muscles relax again, her body seeming to find comfort in my touch as I run my fingers gently along the curve of her waist.
“I’d need to be able to get in touch with her neighbors.”
“I take it you don’t have their numbers?”
“No.”
Her eyes follow me as I move out from underneath her and turn on to my side. “What if I made some calls? Surely there’d be ways for me to get the numbers?”
“Maybe.”
I move off the bed and cross over to where my jeans lie in a heap. “Who should we look up first? Do they have a directory number in Cuba?” I pull my phone out and turn around to find her propped up on one elbow, watching me.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Nothing I could find anyway.”
“Inconvenient,” I say, walking back to her. “But nothing we can’t work around. What’s her name?” I stand frozen two steps from the edge of the bed and open a message to Twig.
“Idoya del Omo.”
Between Gunner and him, one of them should be able to help. I enter in her mother’s name and hit send.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping.” I toss my phone over to my jeans again and slide back in to bed, adjusting the sheets over us. “I’ll let you know if I can find anything out, baby. Somebody’s got to know somethin’.”
Elena reaches out and takes my hand in hers, laying it between us. She turns my fingers over in her hold and looks at them, at the cracks in my skin. I watch her as she studies my palm, hard and full of callouses.
“You have worker’s hands.”
My lips curl up on one side. “My parents have a farm. They had me out working a rake when I was half the size of it.”
“They all tell a story.” She traces the hard flesh with a finger. “Are you proud of your story?”
I pull in a deep breath and exhale before answering. “For the better part.” I don’t think there’s a person on this earth who doesn’t carry at least one regret.
“My mother was a hard worker,” she says, nestling her head into the pillow beside my hand. “Papa? He was a dreamer. He wanted what my grandfather had, but without the sacrifice.”
“What did your grandfather do?”
“He flew a Cessna. Pride of his family. He worked two jobs, sleeping four hours a night to afford his pilot’s license.” She looks up to find me watching her intently. A flush spreads over her cheeks before she ducks her head. “He did a couple of small jobs, but there wasn’t a lot of market for a pilot where he lived. Not until cocaine took off in Miami in the 70s. He was one of the men who flew contraband between Colombia, Cuba, Miami, and return. He made very good money. Something Papa was envious of when my grandfather died and left it all to his siblings.”
“Is that why Carlos wants you around? Are your family involved in the trade?” It makes sense then why Carlos is so keen to trap her—why he married her. It can’t have been just because of her expired visa.
“I don’t know.” She lifts up and straightens my arm under her head to then lie nestled into the side of my chest. “Grandpapa’s plane crashed in 81. It was a set-up from the then largest kingpin to take down the last supporter of the previous cartel boss. None of these new kingpins operate by the same standards; they’re all out to kill each other for the top spot more than they’re in it to maximize the business.”
“What has that got to do with you?”
“I don’t know, but that’s the only connection I can draw.” Her eyes lose the spark that had grown as she talked of her family.
“You think that’s why he got involved with you, for your family?”
“Do you?” Elena glances up as I shrug.
Who would know? It’s obvious the guy is ruthless and fucked when it comes to how he treats people. But marry her because of some vague connection to past cartel bosses? It doesn’t make sense.
“What other reason could there be?”
I shake my head, pulling her tight against my side. “Now I see where Sawyer gets it from.”
“Is Sawyer his son?”
“Yeah.” I rub my free hand over the top of hers and then tug her on top. “He’s a prospect at our southern chapter. Crazy son-of-a-bitch.”
“Carlos’s son is with your club?” Her head pulls back, the most adorable look of confusion on her face.
“To piss his old man off, yeah. Thought he’d join to be a biker, not a drug dealer like his old man.” I wrap my arms around her waist, resting a hand lazily on her naked butt.
She sighs and tucks her head under my chin. “He never spoke about him. I only know what I heard in gossip.”
I guess that’s a good thing if they don’t talk about much. They can’t spend a lot of time together if that’s the case. My limbs turn to concrete, and I swallow twice before the words even stand a chance at coming out. “Do you sleep with him? I mean, I know you’re married now, but you said you don’t love the guy, and . . .” Where am I going with this?
Her fingers run a lazy path over my bicep, tracing the picture of a compass inked into my skin. “You know the answer, King. I’m not going to voice it.”
Jesus. A wash of heat runs the length of my body. “He hurt you?”
She chuckles. “I have a wicked temper sometimes. It gets me in trouble.”
If he hurts her . . . if he—
“Stop thinking about it.” Elena shifts, propping her chin on her hands to look up at me. “We have less than two hours left to spend together. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to spend most of it pretending there’s nobody outside of these four walls who matters.”
“Apart from your mother.”
Her smile fades. “Apart from Mama.”
I tuck her head back under my chin and run my fingers down the lengths of her hair, laying them out over her shoulders. “We’ll figure out what to do. I promise you if nothing else, I’ll ease that burden.”
TWENTY-SIX
Elena
The last three hours have been the best of my life. Cliché? Maybe, but it’s true.
We spent the time we weren’t having sex doing silly stuff like tossing peanuts in each other’s mouths, making out, and then playing twenty questions with each other. King had stepped out to take a few calls, and when I asked him who it was, all he’d said was ‘I told you I’d help.’
Mama.
I don’t want to get my hopes up. These past weeks I’ve grieved the inevitable, that she’s gone. If I start to believe she might be okay, just to have that hope torn out from underneath me when I find out the worst has happened, I don’t know if I could cope.
I lean my cheek against the warm leather of King’s back and watch the buildings fly by beside us. Our time was over too soon, and before I knew it King was breaking it to me softly that we’d better get going. I’m not ready to give him up just yet and return to the dark reality of being Carlos’s wife. It’s a title, nothing more. I don’t belong to him.
I never will.
The sun is relentless on our ride back to the mall, and I end up with a fine sheen of sweat over my body by the time we pull up in a nearby side-street to park.
“I don’t have any shopping,” I point out as he pockets his keys.
“What were you supposed to be buying?”
“Clothes, bags, shoes, that kind of stuff,.”
He slips his hand in mine and starts us toward the mall. “Best we hurry up then, hey?” His eyes light up as he smiles down at me walking beside him. “You look like you need to cool off, anyway.”
I eye the man head to toe and realize he’s nowhere near as hot and bothered as I am. “Why aren’t you sweaty? You’re in black, for Heaven’s sake.”
“Wear one of these long enough”—he tugs on his cut—“and you’ll soon acclimatize.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I bet.”
We head indoors, and I tune in to the lyrics of The Clash’s “Should I
Stay, Or Should I Go” as we cut through a department store. A laugh escapes me at the irony.
Stay. Always stay.
“What’s so funny?”
I stop and point to the ceiling, indicating he should listen.
He does, and the cutest smile spreads over his face. “Funny.”
“True though, isn’t it?”
He listens a little longer as we walk and then nods. “Pretty much.” I look across and catch his brow furrowing before he continues. “Elena, you need to understand how it is for me.”
“I do,” I say, trying to take the stress away. We were happy, leaving each other on good terms without arguing the obvious for a change. I wanted it to stay that way.
“I don’t think you do.” He tugs me to a sunglasses display and picks up a pair of ridiculously over-sized shades. I smile as he positions the arms on my ears. The damn things cover half my face. “Perfect disguise,” he says.
I go to take them off when he holds up a finger. King ducks around me, snatching up a hat from another stand. He plonks the fedora on and grins. “Now nobody will know who you are.”
I take the items off and return them to their displays. “Stop being silly.”
“Beats moping around until you need to head up to the car park.” He reaches out and snags me around the shoulders with his arm.
I relax into his hold, wrapping my arms around his waist. “I better find something to buy though.”
“How long we got?”
I pull away to check the time on my phone. “Ten minutes.”
“Race you.”
I’m left laughing as King dashes through to the shoe display and picks up a pair of strappy sandals.
“You like?”
I shake my head. “Hold this and watch a pro.” I give him my purse and lace my fingers together, cracking my knuckles.
Eleven minutes later, I’m jiggling my leg as the cashier rings up the purchases. “I’m late.”
King’s body envelops mine as he moves behind me, placing his arm over my shoulders and wrapping it across my chest. “Relax. Women always take longer than they say they will to do shit.” He places a kiss to my cheek.
The cashier gives me the total and I hand over my card. She swipes the purchases through and passes the bags over. King places my purse strap over my shoulder first, helping me hook the bags on my hands. I ended up snaring five tanks, two pairs of jeans, a dress, and three pairs of heels. For eleven minutes, I think I must have set some sort of record.
We walk to the exit of the department store where it joins on to the rest of the mall, and King stops.
“I’ll leave you here, baby. Any farther and I might get you in the shit.”
I pout. Yeah, it’s childish, but it sums up how I feel without me having to stomp a foot. “It better not be too long before I see you again.”
He jams his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor between us. “I got your number. I’ll let you know if I’m passin’ through.”
His reluctance confuses me. He was happy to ride down weekly before, why not now? “What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. They remain a deep forest green as he jerks his chin toward the elevator. “Get up there before you’re in trouble, huh?”
“It’s not over with us,” I say, reassuring myself as much as him. “Yes, it’s hard now, but I won’t be stuck there forever.”
He nods, glancing to his right as he frowns. “No, baby. You won’t.” His chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh. “But for now this is how things have gotta be.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
King
I never want to have to do that again. Walking away from Elena was hard. I shouldn’t have looked back. I should have walked out of that fucking mall, ridden down the street and focused on the road ahead. But I’m a love-struck fool. A fucking idiot. And I looked.
And of course, there she was. Beautiful and fucking perfect, walking in the opposite direction toward the elevator for the car park with her round ass swaying side-to-side.
And now I’m fucked. Because I want the wife of a drug lord for myself.
And I’ll do anything I can to have her.
Twig’s waiting for me when I pull my bike into the garage, his arms crossed as he leans a hip on the worktable. Fingers works on an engine behind him, the bike up on stands as he gives a socket some elbow grease.
“You left in a hurry,” Twig comments as soon as I’ve killed the motor. He wanders closer, out of earshot of Fingers. “Ready to tell me why I’m trackin’ some woman in Cuba?”
I messaged Twig first after Elena told me about her mother because he’s about the only guy I can trust, and let’s face it—a year with the club hasn’t earned me a lot of contacts yet. He’s been keeping me updated on what he’s been able to find out so far, which doesn’t sound good.
“All in good time, brother.”
He grunts a laugh, jerking his head back as he does. “Beefy wants to see you when you get in. He’s out on the deck eatin’ a foot-long.”
When is the guy not eating? I give Twig a slap on the arm as thanks and leave him pulling out two smokes, one for him and one for Fingers.
Callum tips his chin as I walk in, a beer in his hand while he leans against the wall and watches a game of pool. “Beefy’s lookin’ for you,” he hollers across the room.
“I know. Save me a beer, would you?” I carry on out the back and stop beside the obese officer. “Beefy.”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and holds it up to indicate I should wait. His jowls wobble as he chews, and with some decent effort, he swallows the mouthful and gives me a stern look. “King. How goes it? We need to talk.”
“I’ll let you know how it goes after we’re done, yeah?”
He pushes off the railing he’d been leaning on and leads me inside, all elbows and hips. The guy’s named Beefy for a reason, and it’s not for his love of a good burger—although that’s probably half of what’s contributed to his size. He leads me into the spare room beside Apex’s office and shuts the door behind me. I wait patiently while he performs the three-stage act that is him lowering his enormous size onto a chair.
“You know why I need to talk to you, right?” He’s puffed from just crossing the room.
“Think so, yeah.” It should be about what I overheard Apex saying, but there’s that one percent of me which panics that he knows where I’ve been the last half a day. I didn’t tell a soul about meeting up with Elena. And for good reason.
“We need to talk about what you heard Apex organizing.” He pauses for breath. “You need to forget it.”
And there’s the good reason right there. You can’t trust anybody to do what’s right anymore. When I’m told to forget our president is making underhanded deals, how am I supposed to trust that my brothers won’t sell me out to Carlos if they know who I’m involved with?
Are we ‘involved?’ Maybe. Hardly.
“Can I ask why?”
“No.” Beefy braces a hand on one knee, looking as though he’s mentally preparing himself for the task of standing. I seriously have respect for the guy who built his bike—it can probably withstand a nuclear war if it can survive carrying Beefy around for as long as it has. “If I hear anything else about those deals goin’ around that hasn’t come from myself or Apex, it’s on you.”
“Understood.”
Be the change. Dad’s voice echoes in my head as I watch Beefy leave the room. I hang behind, shake out a cigarette, and ponder where to from here while I suck it back to the filter in long, unfulfilled drags. Can I still make it through the ranks if this is how deep the dishonesty runs? Twig seems on side still. Who else can I count on, though? How deep does this secret society within our walls go? Is it even restricted to our chapter, or are other officers in on this thing Apex has going with Carlos?
On the flipside, what if more work turns out to be a good thing for our club? More money means more options, a bigge
r and better clubhouse, and more attraction for new members. Could Apex be doing us a solid by securing more cash? I want to say yes, but my gut’s going with no.
Nothing’s simple and uncomplicated with men like Carlos. The whole arrangement is bound to come back and bite us in the ass, but when? And how?
Once the dust settles, who’s going to be left wearing the crown?
I stub out the cigarette and pull my phone out. After punching a quick miss you—yeah, I know—to Elena, I dial up Mom and lift the phone to my ear.
“It’s only been a few hours,” she teases. “How’s my boy?”
“Well enough. Those sections—how much you sellin’ them for?”
“Hadn’t settled on that yet. The next available appraiser can’t get here until next week.” She hesitates, and I catch the clanging of dishes in the background. I’ve probably caught her in the after-dinner routine. “Why are you asking?”
“Thought I’d buy one.”
I’m met with a long silence.
“Is there a plot marked out next to the fishin’ pond?”
“There is.”
“Mark it for me, yeah?”
She sighs. “Lloyd. Are you sure?”
I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Spending those few precious hours with Elena gave me time to think. While she talked beside me, I plotted out our future. “That spot’s special to me—you know that.” It’s where Garret and I used to play until the sun had long dipped below the horizon and Mom would yell for us from the dirt track.
“I know,” she says quietly. “It would be nice to know it would be looked after. You know how it is—somebody new comes in and tears out the trees. They fill in the pond and have a tennis court or something just as ridiculous.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll let your father know.” She huffs before continuing. “How can you afford it, honey?”
“Don’t ask me questions you won’t like the answer to, Mom.”
“I thought as much. Your father wants a word.”