I erased the message and tossed the phone on the bed. I stared at it, recalling the many instances Cash and I had opposed to one another.
I wondered if I could maintain my position in the club and have a heathy relationship with Reggie—or anyone for that matter. Committing crimes and stealing from federally funded institutions was going to end one day. It had to. If we didn’t end it ourselves, it would end at the hands of the law.
“Are you okay?” Reggie asked from behind me.
I faced her and forced a crooked smile. “Yeah.”
“What did he want?”
“He needed help with something.”
“Are you going to help him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I walked up to her and gave her a kiss. “Because,” I said. “I’m busy focusing on other things.”
“Is he going to get mad?”
“He stays mad,” I responded. “It’s the only mood he knows.”
“This guy’s a friend of yours?”
“He used to be,” I said. “Not so much anymore.”
It seemed strange admitting it, but it was true. In recent years, I felt anxious every time I was in Cash’s presence. Everyone did. What mistakes were made on our jobs were typically made by Cash. Those mistakes often came close to costing us our freedom. If it wasn’t for the rest of the members hustling to fix his fuckups, we’d undoubtedly all be in jail or dead.
She made a funny face and dropped her gaze to the floor. After a moment, she looked up. “People like that suck the life out of everyone around them.”
“Yeah,” I said. “They sure do.”
225
Reggie
Ten feet away from the trash can, he paused. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Watch this.”
“You’ll miss.”
“Just watch.”
“Oh, I’ll watch,” I said. “Watch you miss.”
I wasn’t the only one interested in the outcome. Everyone in the coffeeshop was watching. One of the things I liked about Tito was that he didn’t care. Not even a little bit. Make the shot, or not, he didn’t care if the people saw him.
He lobbed the cup high into the air. As soon as the it reached its apex, I knew what the end result would be. I glanced around the coffeeshop, making note of the silent gasps, shaking heads, and pointing fingers.
The cup crashed down onto the edge of the trash can’s opening. It then flipped in the air end over end. When it landed on the floor, the lid popped off. Frappuccino funk leeched from the cup and pooled on the tile.
Tito looked at the cup, me, and then the Barista. “Can I get a mop, please?”
“Bahahahaha,” I said. “I knew it.”
Wearing a grin, I finished my drink while Tito cleaned up the mess. After returning the mop to the mop closet, he waved to the crowd of onlookers and then took his seat at my side.
He collapsed into the soft leather chair. “That ended poorly.”
There was no sign of embarrassment or frustration at the outcome of his charade, only indifference.
“It doesn’t bother you that you missed it and everyone was watching?” I asked.
“Not at all.”
“Why?”
I knew the reason, or at least I thought I did. I wanted to hear him say it, though.
“Because there’s no definitive answer to the problem,” he said. “It’s all guesswork. That, and there’s no consequence. Nothing changes if I miss.”
His response was exactly what I suspected it would be. It was the same way I looked at obstacles in my life. If I could solve the problem, I’d work my ass off to do so. If there was no way to solve it, I’d give my best guess and live with the outcome.
“What about this?” I asked, wagging my finger back and forth between us. “Does it bother you that it’s not something you can figure out?”
His gaze narrowed. “What? You and me?”
“Yes. Us. This thing we’re doing.”
“Not at all,” he said, rubbing a spot of drink matter from his jeans with a napkin. “It’s similar to solving a problem, though.”
“How so?” I asked.
He set the napkin aside. “I do something you take exception to. It’s my duty to make note of that, store it, and make every effort in the future not to make the same mistake again. It’s not to say the act in question was a mistake, but if you took exception to it, it becomes one. Conversely, if I do or say something, and you express elation or happiness, it’s my same duty to make note of that, store it, and utilize it in the future to evoke the same emotion.”
“I like your outlook on matters,” I said.
“It’s common sense.” He turned to face me. “You wouldn’t intentionally do something if you knew from experience that it would upset me, would you?”
“I might.”
He gave me a sideways look. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Because I can be combative sometimes. It’s just an ornery streak I have. I do it to evoke emotion. Nothing big, though. More practical jokes than anything.”
“But you wouldn’t intentionally do something to hurt me?”
“Heck no.”
“You burned Jared’s things. Do you think that hurt him?”
“I gave him an opportunity to keep that from happening. He could have taken his things. He chose not to.”
“Do you like ice cream?” he asked.
“Where the hell did that come from?” I asked.
“Just a simple question.”
Food was my friend. I ate when I was angry, when I was sad, when I was happy, and when I was tired. Sweets were the pinnacle, and always would be.
“Heck yes, I like ice cream. Who doesn’t?”
“Do you want to go get some ice cream?”
I stood. “What part of I like ice cream didn’t you understand?”
“I’m dreading tonight.” He rose from his seat. “I need ice cream to put me in a good mood.”
“What happens tonight?” I asked.
“We have our weekly meeting,” he responded.
“Oh.” I winced. “Is Mister Happy going to be there?”
“He sure is.”’
“That sucks.”
“Life is a mirror,” he said. “When we’re happy, happiness is our reflection. I need to eat some ice cream before I go to the meeting. That way, I’ll walk in happy. He’ll see me happy, and he’ll be happy in return.”
“I disagree,” I said. “Not about the ice cream. About the mirror thing. I think sometimes people do like what I was talking about a minute ago. They do and say things to evoke emotion in someone, thinking the outcome will be in their favor. They may not necessarily mean to harm the recipient; they just think the emotion they cause will bring the result they want. Personally, I think you should tell him how you feel, and why. Let him know his actions and words piss you off, and that the end result is you’re pissed off. He’s hoping your anger will bring the result he’s after. Let him know it won’t.”
He lifted my chin with his index finger and gave me a stern look. “You may not agree with my mirror analogy, but we’re getting the ice cream.”
“No argument here,” I said with a smile.
He kissed me. “Let’s hope it leads to no arguments in the meeting, either.”
226
Tito
I believed love was like a plant. Upon sprouting, it was weak and underdeveloped. In time, it had the possibility to grow stronger, provided it was supplied with care and maintenance. Affection was its water. Kindness, its nourishment. Compassion, its sunshine.
Reggie caused me to take a step back and second-guess my previous beliefs. I now wondered if two people could be so undeniably compatible that love merely existed between them, waiting to be found and explored.
Toying with that notion, I spent three successive days with her. By Wednesday morning, I was certain we shared something special. I was willing to go to whatever length I must to explore the possib
ility that we were destined to be together.
Sitting in the clubhouse for the MC’s weekly meeting, I lacked the desire to participate in the club’s functions. High on ice cream, I decided I’d play it cool and hope I could figure out a way to make everything work out.
Baker scanned the group and then looked at me. “What do you mean you don’t know yet?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“If you were challenged to hack into the Pentagon’s computer, you could do that, right?”
“They don’t have a computer, but yes. I could.”
“Change the address of LAPD’s head detective in his profile in their database?”
I sighed. “Yes.”
“Explain to me why you’re having a hard time with the security system at a rinky-dink coin and gold trader’s place of business in fucking Ramona?”
“I’m not having a hard time. I just haven’t had the time to mess with it.”
He mussed his hair and then looked at me with crazy eyes. “It’s been two weeks.” He glared at the floor between us for a moment and then looked up. “Is it the hat? Are you still fucked up over that goddamned hat?”
“Nope. Over the hat, Boss.”
He scratched his beard feverishly. “Over it, huh?”
“Yep.”
“You haven’t responded to text messages. You haven’t been around the shop. Your participation in the meeting last week was lackluster, at best. The only thing you’ve accomplished in the past two weeks is to go get a bunch of pink flowers tattooed on your arm.” He lowered his hands and arched an eyebrow. “Is there something going on that I need to know about?”
“Nope.”
“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me, Brother.”
“I don’t need help.”
His brows raised. “Obviously, you do.”
“I’ll look into the security system,” I said. “As soon as I get a minute.”
“So, you’ve just been busy as fuck here lately?” he asked jokingly.
“Actually,” I responded. “I am.”
“With what?”’
“Life.”
“What, exactly, is going on?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Cash quipped. “What the fuck’s going on, midget?”
There wasn’t anything going on. Sooner or later, everyone gets tired of their job. I was tired of mine. I didn’t need the money. The risk was no longer worth the reward.
Initially, I agreed to participate in the club’s illegal acts because it was a challenge. Keeping up with the advancements in technology was a full-time job. Successfully breaking a code, hacking into a mainframe, or mirroring a security system was the reward for my efforts. Proof that I was staying one step ahead of the technological game. For years, I liked what I did.
We all liked what we did, and each of us had our place in the equation.
Baker’s planning would afford us the opportunity. My ability to manipulate the security system got us inside. Reno’s diversion tactics would assure the police were elsewhere. Cash made sure no one stuck their nose in our business, Goose guarded the premises with the precision of a well-trained sniper, and Ghost would make sure we got home safe, one step ahead of the police.
When the job in question was complete, the payment I received was a bonus.
I now looked at the men who I once considered brothers and saw leeches. Parasitic predators who were dependent upon me for their continuation on earth. In my absence, they’d wither and die.
I glanced at each of the men, and then looked at Baker. The ice cream wasn’t working. It was time for me to tell the truth. “I’m thinking this might be my last job.”
His eyes shot wide. “Excuse me? I thought there for an instant that you said this might be your last job.”
“You heard correctly.”
“I don’t have any fucking idea what’s going on,” Baker said, his voice nearly frantic. “But take whatever time you need. Fuck these coins. I’m not worried about this job, Tito. I’m worried about you. Something’s off, and I have no idea—”
“You’re not worried about me,” I said dismissively. “You’re not now, nor have you ever been. You’re dependent upon me. There’s a difference.”
He gave me a look. “What are you saying?”
I decided to apply the advice Reggie gave me. The men needed to know how I felt, and how their actions affected me.
“When was the last time you were at my house?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he responded. “Why?”
“You were there right after I bought it. You came over with a bottle of wine. That was over ten years ago.” I shook my head and looked away. He began to speak, and I cut him off. “When’s my birthday?”
“Fuck, I don’t know.”
“I know everyone’s birthday,” I said.
“That’s no big fucking surprise,” he said. “You store information like a library.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Goose. When’s my birthday?”
“C’mon, brother,” Goose whined. “Don’t put me on the spot.”
“When’s my birthday, Goose?”
“May 8th,” he responded.
I looked at Baker. “Goose was over last week. Want to know why? He was worried about me. He helped me find a solution, too. Gave me sound advice. Would you care to guess why?”
He sighed. “I’ll just let you tell me.”
“Because he cares.”
“I care,” he said. “I just show it—”
“You care about the next job,” I argued. “So you can give your proceeds away to make up for a deficiency in your life. Provide for others what your parents couldn’t provide for you. Well, brother, I’ve got news for you. Money can’t buy peace of mind. Neither can giving it away.”
“I think it’s time for you to take some time off,” he said in a bitter tone. “Before friendships are ruined and—”
“What about this job?!” Cash barked, shooting up from his seat. “What the fuck are we going to do about this job?”
I stood. “Don’t worry, Cash. I’ll take care of it. Because I know how much money you sank in that house, and in your business.” I glanced at each of the men, and then Ally, before fixing my eyes on Cash. “But everyone else? We don’t need the money. You’re the only one that does. Why? Because you’re a lazy irresponsible piece of arrogant shit who thinks he’s better than everyone else in the room. You’ve never cared about anyone other than yourself. You suck the life out of everyone around you. Personally, I’m sick of it.”
“Fuck you,” Cash snarled, puffing his chest. “I’ll whip your little—”
“Damn it,” Baker said through his teeth. “That’s enough.”
“It’s the fucking truth,” I said, clenching my fists. “Everyone here believes it. I’m the only one who has the guts to say it. Cash is a dick.”
I glanced at everyone in the room. Ten eyes stared back at me, each filled with disbelief. Not knowing if that disbelief was in opposition of my claim or nothing more than shock from my lack of tact, I turned toward the door.
Without saying another word, I left.
227
Reggie
Sunday dinner at my father’s house was a tradition that started when I was a child. Regardless of where I was or what I was doing, I always made it home for dinner. Other days of the week could be spent with a friend, having a sleepover, or, later in life, just running around doing nothing.
Sunday evenings, however, were spoken for.
As a child, I looked at it as a burden. An unnecessary cog in my life’s wheel. When I became an adult, I realized the importance of spending quality time with my father.
“You don’t have to.” I put my coffee cup in the dishwasher and turned around. “It’s just. It might seem weird, but I go over there every Sunday for dinner. It’s kind of a tradition, or whatever.”
“Believe me, I understand about traditions,” Tito said with a smile. His look went serious. “You don
’t think it’s too early?”
“What do you mean?”
“Too early in this…”
Seemingly at a loss for the words to continue, he paused. Apparently, I needed to finish his sentence for him.
“Relationship?” I asked.
He sipped his coffee. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“What else would we call it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m new to this.”
I didn’t think placing a label on what we were doing was necessary, but for the sake of argument, I’d give it a try.
“Was it a one-night-stand?” I asked.
“No.”
“A booty call?”
“No.”
“Are we fuck buddies?”
He shot me a glare. “I’d like to think not.”
“Well. There’s only one thing left. A relationship.” I raised my brows. “Are you okay with that?”
“If you are.”
“I’m fine with it,” I admitted. “I’m not saying I’ve fallen in love with you or anything ridiculous. I’m just saying this can’t be perceived as anything but a relationship.”
He nodded. “I’ll agree with that.”
“I guess it’s settled. For what it’s worth, I don’t mess around outside the relationship.” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for his response.
“Neither do I.”
The corners of my mouth tried to form a smile. “So, is that a yes? You’ll go over to my dad’s for dinner?”
“Sure.”
“It doesn’t bother you that he’s a cop?” I asked with a laugh. “You said cops were corrupt when we went on our first date. Remember?”
“He’s your father,” he replied. “How bad can it really be?”
My father shook Tito’s hand for an inordinate amount of time, studying him all the while. “Ted Gottschalk,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Taddeo Silva,” Tito said. “I prefer Tito.”
Devil's Disciples MC Series- The Complete Boxed Set Page 119