Third, a seventy-year-old woman is privy to information from said boyfriends. She knows about something that was dirty. Very dirty. Anything at all that has to do with Rock, or Snake, and both of them together – Oh, my God! - can’t be apple pies or baseball.
Mrs. Merriweather knows something about me and Rock and Snake.
This could be bad.
This could be very bad.
Now I can’t help but wonder how much she’s aware of.
“Um, Rock is wonderful. I’m sure he’ll be by soon,” I purposely ignore the comment about the fankle, which I’m sure was my punishment.
I stay a mile away from the reference of both of them being my boys.
I’m not ashamed of what we have. It’s perfect. It’s beautiful. But it’s unconventional. It’s different. When something is different, not part of the status quo, it’s deemed wrong by society. I don’t care what people would think. I know the guys don’t either. But we all respect Mrs. Merriweather and don’t want to do anything that would hurt her. Besides, that’s our private life, our sacred place. It’s for us, and we won’t allow anyone or anything to mar its sanctity.
I’m not going there. If Rock and Snake told her I got into trouble last night, I have to assume they didn’t tell her anything that would give her a heart attack!
“Gran, they asked us not to say anything,” Gwen cuts in.
I whip my head around to her.
Shocked, I ask, “You know about it too?”
“I, um…we,” Gwen looks everywhere but at me.
I can’t believe this. Rock and Snake are talking about us. To straight people, and you can bet my mind is working a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out what those two very filthy guys said. But even more so, I am completely shocked to find out that both Gwendolyn and Mrs. Merriweather have that kind of friendship with them.
“You know, and you didn’t tell me? I thought we were friends.”
“Summer, we are, but you know how they are,” Gwen looks at me pleadingly.
I know exactly how they are. That’s precisely what I’m afraid of.
Mrs. Merriweather claps her hands together laughing. “Och, lass, those boys are the little devils, they are. You should see them when they come in together, full of excitement like it’s Christmas and all.” For heaven’s sake! “Said they weren’t too pleased about it either, they did. Our Gwen ‘ere couldn’t stop beaming at ‘ow they were carrying on,” Mrs. Merriweather lets out another ‘Hah!’ and is very pleased with herself to finally make her announcement.
I’m speechless. Literally speechless. It takes me seconds as my gaze bounces back and forth between the two women to even be able to form coherent speech.
None of this makes sense. But then again it does. From the minute Rock met Mrs. Merriweather, they hit it off. I think she charmed him. She wrapped him around her finger and has kept him there ever since.
Apparently there’s more to their relationship than I’m aware of.
“How did he tell you, I thought you said he hasn’t been in today?”
I did have to run errands this morning before I came in, so it is possible both of them could have come in and I wasn’t here.
“Why on the phone of course,” she replies matter of fact, crochet needles clacking away once again.
What?
“He called you?”
“Nonsense, lass, he texted me.” Clack, clack, clack.
Texted her?!
After I pick my jaw up from the floor, I choke out, “Rock texted you.”
“Summer,” Mrs. Merriweather gives me an exasperated look, “don’t be daft. Rock phoned, Snake texted.”
Can this get any stranger?
“Of course,” I throw my hands up in the air, “what was I thinking.”
“No clue, lass. Tis a wonder those lads ‘aven’t taken you over their knee yet, I ‘ave a mind they want to,” she mumbles as her metal needles click loud and fast.
I almost swallow my tongue.
Gwendolyn giggles.
I just want the floor to suck me in.
Get it together, Summer, she doesn’t know about any of that stuff.
I pin Gwen with a glare, she’s still smiling and blushing. I’d bet a hundred dollars she’s picturing both Snake and Rock spanking my ass. From the looks of it, she likes the idea.
She has no idea how right she is.
“Are they calling and texting you too?” I ask Gwen.
She at least has the decency to sober. “Yes.”
“Oh posh, it’s that Bull ‘oo be … what do they call it, Gwen dear?” Clack, clack, clack.
Gwen’s attention finds an extremely interesting spot on the counter as she wipes it frantically.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answers her grandmother nervously.
What do we have here? Shoes on the other foot now, isn’t it?
With a hand on my hip, my gaze is fixed on Gwen but I answer Mrs. Merriweather, “I think you mean ‘blowing up her phone.’”
Another loud clap of the wily older woman’s hands.
“Brilliant, Summer. That Bull be blowing up Gwendolyn’s phone, ‘e does. The lass can’t even date without ‘im approving, which ‘e doesn’t.”
“GRANDMOTHER, that is not true!”
This just keeps getting better and better!
“Och, Gwendolyn, the lad be thinking no one is good enough for you, ‘e does. I’ve a mind to pull ‘is big ear and tell ‘im to shit or get off the pot, I do. Hrrrrrmph!”
“Don’t you dare,” Gwen huffs.
I don’t say a word as they go back forth. This is just way too good to stop it now. Frankly, I’m grateful me and my fankle and the fact that Rock and Snake have been conversing covertly with these two is forgotten.
“Bull doesn’t care who I go out with, or what I do.”
Is that hurt in Gwen’s eyes?
“Posh girl, ‘e cares as much as Summer’s boys care about what she does. Which is precisely why she was in a fankle last evening.” Another hrrrrmph.
I roll my eyes. Here we go again.
“How much trouble were you in last night, Summer?” Gwen immediately grabs that bull by the horns and directs the attention to me again, no pun intended.
Clever little thing, I’ll get her.
Mrs. Merriweather’s needles resume their clacking.
“’er boys told me it be one she won’t be forgetting any time soon.”
Hold up! Just wait a minute!
“How long have you been … texting and calling each other?” I ask them both, my gaze going from one to the other.
“At least a month,” clack, clack, clack, “wouldn’t you say, Gwen dear?”
“Regularly yes, at least a month,” Gwen replies.
What?
“A month! You’ve been phoning and texting a month and neither one of you said anything about it?” I finally mange to squeak out.
“We very well couldn’t spoil it for them, now could we, lass. You know ‘ow our boy Rock likes to be in charge,” Mrs. Merriweather gives me a very pointed and amused look.
Somebody please shoot me.
“You know how they are, Summer,” Gwen adds.
I know exactly how they are.
Mrs. Merriweather waves her hand at me dismissively, “Pfffft, you can handle those two lads, you could.”
She did not just say that!
I have to know what they know.
“What did they say about last night?” I ask.
“That you’d been playing that speed racer game again. That you’d been trying to get yourself ‘urt, you were.”
That’s true, but that’s not what I want to know. If I ask them if they said anything about a punishment, and Rock and Snake didn’t, then I’ll just be opening up a whole other can of worms.
I definitely don’t need any worms.
“Is that, um, all they said?”
Mrs. Merriweather peers at me over her glasses, her needles once
again silent.
Gwendolyn is looking at me expectantly, like she’s waiting for me to spill the big secret about Rock, Snake and me.
I am not saying anything else.
“Your boys said you won’t soon forget it.”
She’s right about that.
Not in the way she thinks.
At least I hope.
CHAPTER 5
Snake
“Snake, come in here,” Rock yells from his office.
I roll up the hose on my tattoo equipment, shut the drawers in the cart, then meet him inside.
“Close the door.”
Whatever he wants to talk about, it’s not good.
Taking a seat across his desk, I put my feet up on the glass top and sit back.
“What’s up?” I ask as I link my fingers behind my head.
It’s been a long day. Apparently it’s not over yet.
Some of my regulars, the chicks I’ve done many times, are not very happy with me. Since this thing with Rock and Summer … became official I guess, it’s been hands off with anyone else.
I might be a pervert, but I’m loyal. When I’m in, I’m in. I don’t dip my stick anywhere else.
Some of the women were really pissed. One said she would kick my ass if she ran into me on the street.
You can try.
I laughed.
They didn’t ask me to stop seeing anyone else. We didn’t discuss the dynamics of our relationship. It just kind of evolved, took shape, became an entity.
I like it. I’m happy. As happy as I can be. They’re happy. We’re happy. Content.
Right now, Rock looks like he wants to kick someone’s ass.
It looks like the day’s about to get longer.
“Did you get the notice for the Ink & Arms show this year?” he asks me.
What the fuck? We went to the show last year, and we’ve been planning on attending this year. Not a big deal.
“Yeah, I got it. I guess the other guys did as well.”
The event is a three-day affair that focuses on the lifestyle of the tattoo artist, not just the art. This function is different than others in that it incorporates guns and the masters who create them as well.
The Ink & Arms event is perfect for us.
We get to blend both of our jobs in one place. We can hang out with other tattoo artists, and we get to buy new toys for our other job with The Program. The Program, a civilian organization made up of the most dangerous people that life spat out. A company so fucking criminal, so damn corrupted, it would be illegal were it not for the behind the scenes government power players.
Us, the soldiers, the weapons, the mercenaries, are all that’s allowed to be seen, if it’s ordered. If not, we’re ghosts. We need equipment and toys to do our jobs. Some of it is too powerful to be obtained at the Ink & Arms convention. But some of us, like me, appreciate fine craftsmanship. We can find it there.
Sweet as hell.
“Did you hear from Hawk?” Rock’s voice is steely and hard.
Hawk.
Imagine a man so cold, so hard, so fucking dangerous, they should have locked him up in a dark cell and forgotten about him.
That’s Hawk.
“Fucker going to the show this year?” I ask.
Hawk wasn’t there last year. He’s a hermit. You see him if he wants to be seen.
Rock leans back in his chair.
“Yeah, he’s going.” He pauses, his jaw tense. He’s pissed. “To see us.”
Fuck no.
I’m instantly furious.
“Did he tell you why?”
Rock pushes himself from his chair and begins to pace.
“You know fucking Hawk. He grunts. And kills. I’ve never heard him say more than two goddamn words.”
Hawk doesn’t have to talk, his gun, or his knife, or his two miserable hands do all the talking for him. Right before he kills you.
We’ve worked with him on assignments before. The boy is bad. But he’s not evil. Dangerous, absolutely. But he won’t participate in an assignment if he feels it’s wrong.
Twisted principles.
Just like us.
“If he contacted you, he must have said something, dude. What the fuck did he say?” I’m losing my patience.
Rock tosses his phone to me.
“Read it yourself.”
I grab his phone and tap the screen.
Grim Reaper…
I look up at Rock. “The Grim Reaper. Really, bro?”
“Just read it.”
Turning my attention back to his phone, I tap the screen to open the message. Then I read the one sentence consisting of only three words:
Grim Reaper: How’s your summer?
FUCKFUCKFUCK.
Gently, I place his phone on the desk top and sit back again. Silence stretches between us.
Finally, I ask, “Do the other guys know yet?”
“No, I wanted to ask if you heard from him first.”
I nod.
“Have any of the other guys, (guys meaning hit men from The Program), reached out to you too?”
Rock sits again, his body tense, his rage rolling off of him. “No, but I’m not expecting them to. Hawk shouldn’t have, you know that. He wanted us to know.”
Rock’s right. Hawk plays the game, but he plays by his rules. He doesn’t give a fuck.
I nod again.
“Customers are gone, I’ll lock the door and get the guys.”
Rock doesn’t acknowledge me or anything I’ve said as I leave the room.
As I walk to the front door, I tell Bull and Gringo, “We’ve got to talk.”
They don’t ask questions as they follow me inside the office. Bull and Gringo take the chairs across from Rock while I close the door and lean against the wall, pull out my switch blade, and proceed to glide the tip under my fingernails.
A little habit I’ve acquired when I think about killing someone.
Gringo is still as stone, Bull is hunched over, his hands on his huge thighs, ready to lunge at any moment.
The tension is thick in the air. They can feel it. Good soldiers don’t need words to know shit’s about to get real.
“What?” Gringo asks quietly, that demon inside him ready to annihilate.
The muscle in Rock’s jaw is working a mile a minute, but no other muscle flinches on his body.
“You guys got your invites to the Ink & Arms.” It’s not a question.
Neither Bull or Gringo answer right away.
Rock, Bull, and Gringo are watching each other, reading each other, sensing what’s going on beneath the surface.
I’m observing them from where I’m standing, taking the whole scene in, watching my friends, my brothers as their monsters take over them. Right now, they’re not men. They’re machines, death and destruction, the transformation instantaneous and perfect.
“We did,” Gringo finally speaks with a slight dip to his head.
“Anybody else get in touch with you about it?” Rock questions, his tone deathly quiet.
“No,” Gringo responds just as ominously.
“Who?” Bull asks roughly.
A long pause passes as they stare at each other.
“Hawk.” One word, one name, and they know.
None of us say anything, but we don’t have to. They know Hawk. They know what he brings.
“I see,” Gringo practically whispers as he steeples his fingers in front of his face, his elbows on the armrests of the chair.
“So he’s the one.” Bull doesn’t ask, he states.
Rock leans back in his chair. “I’m not surprised.”
“We knew it was coming. Eventually. It was too fucking easy.” Bull’s fisting and unfisting his hands, holding back his fury.
“Yes, we did. He’s a good choice, The Program chose well. The Club has too much at stake. Summer’s too valuable to them to just let her go.” It’s taking everything in Rock to remain calm.
Summer came from The Club, a fanatic s
ect, a community with only multi-millionaires as members. Her father is their leader.
Summer was the prize for one very profitable business transaction.
In exchange for her in a marriage/business deal, her future father-in-law and husband would have been set. They just had to pay for it. For her.
Everyone lost when she ran away. They wanted her back. They hired us to find her and return her to close the deal.
We found her. We refused to bring her back to that hell.
Apparently they got someone else to do it.
Hawk.
“Do you think he’s fucking with you?” Bull asks.
Rock doesn’t answer him immediately. He knows Hawk, knows him about as well as anyone can know him. In reality, no one really does. What we do know about him is that he is the Grim Reaper, the Angel Of Death, or whatever the hell you want to call him. He’s the best at what he does. The only thing he does.
Kill.
“No.”
“Well, what do you think he wants?” Bull is this close to losing his shit.
“What he wants,” Gringo cuts in, “The purpose of contacting Rock was to let him know it was him who was given the contract on Summer. Which isn’t his typical MO. We know they don’t want her dead…”
“They want her back,” I add.
“She’s the damn business deal,” Bull grunts.
“Yes,” Gringo agrees calmly. “They want us dead because we’re in their way.”
There it is. The fucking assignment.
“So they got Hawk. The only one who could possibly do it.” Rock’s eyes are fixed on the spot in front of him on the desk where Summer was sprawled out the first time I tasted her.
Motherfucker!
I push off the wall, snap my blade shut and shove it in my pocket. “He wants to talk.”
“Before he cuts your throat,” Bull grumbles.
He’s pissed off, and rightfully so. One of our own has been hired to terminate us, then kidnap Summer and take her back to spend the rest of her life getting raped and beaten.
Not gonna fucking happen.
“He wants to talk.” Rock nods once. He still hasn’t moved his eyes from where they’re transfixed. “Hawk might be a death machine, but he has a conscience.”
Trifecta: The Program Book 1.5 Page 4