Kane Page 16

  His brother lunged forward, but Malcolm grabbed him by the back of his shirt. “Cut it out, Scott.”

  Scott froze in his father’s grasp.

  “We got a tip we’re gonna be the target of a raid. We need to get moving and clear out right now.”

  “But—”

  Malcolm swatted the back of his head. “But nothing. We’ll find out soon enough if the tip was legit. Either the cops show up here and prove him right, or they don’t.” The part about what it would mean if the cops didn’t come remained unsaid.

  Mama V pulled down her mask. “It’ll take two or three hours to finish up with the batches we’ve got working now.”

  “Use up anything we can’t transport as is.” Malcolm glanced around. “Where are the rest of the boys?”

  “We’ve got the last steps going in the chapel. Pete, Scratch, Randy, and Joe are in there. Cue is working with Frank and one of the prospects up front. Everyone else is at their day job.” Scott’s evil eye still trained on Kane. “Ain’t you supposed to be at yours?”

  Any other day he would be, but he cut out early to warn his family.

  His father saved him from any more conversation with Scott. “It’s actually a good thing you’re here. I got a call from Ace McClinton. He wants a meeting.”

  Scott tried to run his fingers through his tangled hair, but the knots were too strong. A brush every now and then would go a long way. He let out a frustrated breath, then planted on a serene smile. “I’ll go. Since Kane wants to clean house so bad, he can stay here and pack up.”

  Malcolm gave a sharp shake of his head. “He wants to meet with your brother. The man was real clear about it. Besides, Kane is the one with a head for business. He can finally use the shit he learned in night school to help the club instead of just walking around thinking he’s smarter than everyone.”

  There might have been a trace of a compliment somewhere in there, deep down. Very deep down.

  Scott’s hands fisted, his knuckles turning white. He didn’t argue with Malcolm, though. He swallowed whatever words he wanted to say and stalked off toward the chapel.

  Mama V scuttled behind him. “SP, baby, you all right?”

  Her clucking would only make it worse.

  Malcolm’s gaze followed them out of the room before it swung back to Kane. “What the hell are you still standing around for, boy? Go make us some money.”

  ***

  At least he didn’t have to go back to the damn apartment complex. Kane held no misconceptions he wouldn’t have to return there at some point, but anytime he could avoid the burned-out reminder of his past, he considered it a small victory.

  He arrived at the café five minutes before the meet time with Ace. It gave him the chance to brave the line which curved almost all the way to the glass door. Who knew so many people spent their Friday night in a coffee shop?

  The middle-aged mom in front of him gave Kane a wide berth. She wrinkled her forehead a little as she propelled her two kids in front of her, almost into the generous backside of the woman ahead. The boys squirmed to carve out a little more room, but their mother hemmed them in with her body.

  He didn’t blame her; he probably looked like a nightmare. His ponytail reached the middle of his back these days and he’d wrapped a black bandana around the top of his head. No doubt his eyes were bloodshot since his churning brain refused to give him any peace last night. His beard had grown long and ragged. Top it all off with the scar across his face, and Ms. Middle Class probably saw a demon incarnate standing next to her and her kiddies. At least his long sleeves covered his tattoos.

  He was used to reactions like hers. For the first time in a long time, though, it bothered him.

  The line moved quickly, despite its length, and one of the kids was brave enough to wave at him as his mother ushered him out of the door. He’d just sat down with two lattes when Ace took the seat across the small table.

  The guy had dressed a little more casually for this meeting than their last one, but his slacks and dark cashmere sweater still contrasted sharply with Kane’s flannel shirt and jeans. Ace tilted his head toward the two coffee cups. “Thirsty?”

  He pushed one of the large mugs toward the club’s supplier. “I got one for you, but if you don’t like lattes,” he lifted his shoulder, “I won’t let it go to waste.” He plucked two packets of sugar from the black plastic square at the center of the table, tore them open, and dumped the contents into his cup. As he stirred, the rich fragrance of the espresso made his mouth water.

  Ace chuckled and lifted a blue packet for himself. “I like lattes fine.” He sweetened his drink, then sighed in appreciation with his first sip. With his face relaxed and a smile playing on his lips, he looked like an everyday guy chilling out with a cup of joe. He could be someone’s neighbor or banker or realtor. Not the guy piping a shit-ton of heroin into the community.

  But Kane was the guy the moms shielded their kids from. He swallowed down his indignation with a gulp of his coffee.

  Setting his drink on the table, Ace gave him an assessing look. “You are one surprise after another, Mr. Hale. No one has ever asked to meet me at a cafe before.” He glanced around the crowded room, his eyes catching briefly on the dry erase board declaring:

  EVERYTHING IS BETTER WITH CHOCOLATE. TRY A MOCHA TODAY.

  “It’s a nice change of pace.”

  No way did he want to go back to their last meeting place. For sure, he wouldn’t invite this guy anywhere near his own life, which left somewhere public. Someone might have recognized them at a bar or somewhere close to the neighborhood where they sold their product. He used to visit this little café when he was in college. No trace of the club life anywhere for miles.

  But Ace didn’t want to meet to talk about any of those things, so he drank his coffee and waited.

  When he offered no small talk, the soft look on Ace’s face sharpened. “All business, eh? I wanted to touch base with you on how things are going for the, uh, candy sales for the…church.”

  Kane let out a small snort. “The candy sales,” he echoed. “They’re going well. The H—Halloween type stuff isn’t moving as fast as the crack—erjack boxes.” This shit took ridiculous to a new level. “I’d say we’ve probably sold half of what you gave us.”

  “Half?” Ace blinked. “Quite impressive. You move faster than I expected.”

  “Pretty basic supply and demand. No one’s been filling the void and people are hungry. We’ve changed the pricing system and expanded the distribution from the earlier operation…folded in some of the college bars. College kids love candy, too.” The club’s pretty boy, Frank, now sported a clean-shaven face and had a costume from American Eagle to wear when he hit the college bar circuit. He was bringing in cash, hand over fist.

  Ace’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, they do, Mr. Hale. Kudos to you for considering it. I like the way you think outside of the box.”

  Whatever. Becoming a successful drug dealer had never been high on his to-do list. “We’re also making some of our own stuff, and it’s moving pretty well. The ingredients are cheap. Not a lot of time in the kitchen, but it’s keeping everyone busy enough.”

  “You don’t like it.”

  He didn’t bother to lie. “No. It’s profitable, but it’s messy. The whole thing is messy, but cooking brings it to a whole different level. I can see why you don’t fool with it.” He drained the last of his latte. “It’s not up to me, though.”

  Ace was silent for a moment, then spoke quietly. “What if it was?”

  The man had said, himself, he was a businessman. The old-school variety, it seemed, with his own kind of code of honor. And he clearly saw something in Kane he found intriguing.

  Dangerous as he was, something about Ace made him feel like he could speak freely. Maybe that was part of his skillset.

  Walk into my parlor said the spider to the fly.

  “If it was up to me, we wouldn’t be doing any of this. We’re tempting fate, and it’s going
to come back and bite us in the ass. You seem like you let your guys speak their minds. My family isn’t like your crew. Dissent isn’t an option. And even if it were, my father would be the boss, not me.”

  Ace spoke slowly. “You could come work for me.”

  He barked out a laugh. “No offense, man, but the last thing I want is to fall down deeper in this rabbit hole.”

  Thankfully, Ace didn’t seem ruffled by his honesty. He lifted his hand, palm up. “Get out, then. I barely even know you, and I can see you’d rather go straight, so do it. I can always find a new distributor.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “Take it from someone who knows firsthand. Your life is what you make it. If you don’t like it, make it into something else.”

  “It’s not so simple.” Of course, he wanted to get out. Hell, he’d never really wanted in, but after everything went down with Mandy, the club felt like the only safe place. Stupid, but his head and his heart didn’t always see eye to eye. The club had never been and would never be safe, but he did have family there, and they’d held him together when he thought he would shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.

  “It is simple. You’re the one making it complicated.” Maybe the man could have been a motivational speaker in another life. Ace pursed his lips and leaned forward. “I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life, because, hey, I’m not exactly on the PTA, man. But I am a little older and maybe a little bit wiser, so let me say this. It’s not gonna get better. The situation you’re in? It’s not going to change unless you change it. Bottom line, either you modify your organization or you modify your circumstance. You can’t be a passive participant in your own life, Mr. Hale, not if you want it to turn out a particular way. If you simply follow the current, you can’t be surprised if it doesn’t take you where you want to go.”

  He was right. Course, he was right. Still, what Ace suggested was no small thing. Either you’re in the club or you’re out, and if he chose to get out, it meant leaving his entire family behind. There would be no welcome for him as an outsider, not even from his mom. He’d be starting over, completely alone, and the idea terrified him.

  I wouldn’t have to be completely alone.

  Mandy’s face flashed in his mind, then Brick’s and Robby’s. He had people in his life who cared about him.

  Ace’s advice gave him a lot to process, and he wouldn’t come up with an answer at a coffee shop, three feet away from one of the biggest drug distributors in the state.

  Thankfully, Ace didn’t wait for a response. He stood and paused with his hand on the back of Kane’s chair. “Think about what I said. In the meantime, it sounds like your boys have a solid system in place. You know how to get back in touch when you’re ready for your next box of chocolate.” He lifted his hand in a brief salute. “Thanks for the coffee, son.”

  Son.

  He almost laughed at the word, but in truth, he didn’t find it funny so much as a little bit sad. Sure, Ace ran a criminal syndicate or whatever, but the guy actually seemed to be looking out for him. In one conversation, the man had given him better advice than his own father probably had in his entire life. Malcolm wasn’t the kind of guy who would ever win father of the year, but it seemed more obvious now than it had for a long time the man was only interested in looking out for Number One. His wife, his sons…hell, even his club…he considered them all tools to advance his own interests.

  He knew it well enough when he was younger. How could he have let himself forget?

  But knowing his father’s flaws didn’t make him prepared to walk away from the club. He wouldn’t only be leaving his dad. He’d be cutting off his connection to Cue Ball, Scott, and his mother. Just like Uncle Wes had.

  For what?

  Unbidden, an image of Joshua Cooper danced through his head and with it, the fragile thread of hope he could have a family of his own. Josh wasn’t his, but the dream of a family didn’t have to die. He didn’t have to be alone; he could make a new future.

  His phone buzzed.

  He didn’t have to decide right now. But he wasn’t getting any younger. If he was going to start a new life, he’d have to do it soon.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Amanda

  The summons from her father came faster than Amanda had hoped. Not even forty-eight hours had passed since her break-up with Nathan. Apparently, her desire for a longer reprieve was unrealistic.

  The hairs on the back of her arms rose as she left her condo late Saturday morning. For the second time in as many days, she felt like someone was watching her, but she focused on the dread pooling in her stomach over the idea of facing her dad.

  He’d never handled disappointment well. When she’d decided to join Charlie’s company, for instance, he went on a tirade spanning more than an hour, covering everything from her lack of loyalty to him to the disregard for her future and the waste of her education. Honestly, he still wasn’t over it. The man put up a classy, Old Southern front, but he had a temper hotter than Tabasco sauce.

  The ride over stretched interminably yet ended instantaneously. She wanted to get it all over with, but facing the music was going to suck beyond imagination. Part of her had fought the summons, but the man was her father, and years of conditioning had taught her not to ignore him.

  She’d even dressed in an armor of sorts: dark blue jeans, with calf-hugging brown boots, and a dark green sweater. It felt like crushed velvet, warm and soft and casual, and her dad would probably hate it for all of the same reasons she loved it.

  Steeling herself, she sought him out in the study. He sat rigidly at his desk, red pen poised over a stack of papers. His face tightened when she stood on the opposite side of the heavy wooden surface, but he didn’t look up. “You reneged on our deal.” His voice cut like pure ice.

  She could do ice too. In fact, that particular mask gave her an extra shot of courage. “It depends on how you look at it.” Folding her arms, she ran her hands over the comforting softness of her sleeves. “I kept up my end of the original agreement perfectly.”

  His gaze shot up to her. Forget ice, now he was all heat. “So, you never intended to give me those four weeks?”

  The answering fire inside her came as something of a surprise. “I intended to give you six months, which is exactly what I did. Six months of laughing at his shitty jokes. Six months of tolerating his abuse and making myself small.” The heat burned hotter. “Now I’m done. He’ll never belittle me again. Never hit me. Never kick me. And never hurt me.”

  Her father tossed his pen onto the table with an exasperated huff. “No need to be crass, Amanda, or so dramatic.”

  “Dramatic? Would you like to hear about the time he pushed me for disagreeing with him? Or when he threatened to sodomize me to teach me my place? It happened only a couple of weeks ago, Dad, and a few days later you tried to extort me into keeping him in my life.” She clasped her hands together to stop the shaking. But fear no longer fueled her, rage did.

  Her father didn’t so much as flinch at her words. His expression stayed infuriatingly neutral. “Enough.”

  “Really? Because you summoned me here to talk about it. You want to talk about the time he kicked me in the ribs? Or hey, I can show you the marks he left on my arm two days ago.”

  He rose to his feet. “We’re done here.” He looked at her like a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. “I expect you won’t be returning the money.”

  The money? After everything she’d just told him? Fuck him. “You expect right.” It wasn’t about the money; it was about him. About her bowing and scraping to him, trying again to fill his bottomless well of need—for attention, adulation, obedience. A fool’s errand, and she was done being a fool. She’d figure out some other way to keep Kane safe from his threats.

  “Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost me?” he hissed.

  She turned on her heel and paused at the office door, looking back at him over her shoulder. “I know exactly what it cost you. It cost you your daughter.”<
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  He didn’t say another word as she resumed her path out of the room and out of his life.

  ***

  Kane

  The I-95 route to Jacksonville took a little longer thanks to the detour along Highway 17, but the view made up for the delay. Cue Ball said all road trips were the same, but something about being close to the water on his bike made hours on the road go by in half the time.

  Though he’d never really minded making gun runs for the club, getting away from all the drug garbage, even if for only a day, came as a downright relief. He and Frank left right after dawn to make it for the lunchtime meeting with Sergei. Frank drove the SUV, and Kane escorted him on his Harley. They could have ridden together, but Kane was in no mood to hear about who the man fucked last night. He struggled more and more to fake any enthusiasm about his friends’ sexual conquests or even to jump in on singing the praises of the club. It seemed like those were the only things anyone wanted to talk about anymore.

  Had it ever been any different?

  He let his memory stretch as his body relaxed into the rhythm of the open road. When he had tried to exorcize Mandy from his life, his brothers provided an endless string of distractions to keep him from going crazy. If he got too sad, someone—usually Scott—would drive him to the strip club down the street from the clubhouse and slap a Bud in his hand.

  At the time, the club provided security for Bottoms Up, so they never had to pay a cover. Most of the guys would’ve said the free admission was payment enough, but the job also brought in a few extra bucks.

  Those first few years after the break-up blurred into a loop of lap dances, benders, blowjobs, and even a few three-ways. They were bitter and broken years, where he intentionally scraped the bottom of the society barrel as a big fuck you to the woman who would have been devastated to see him sunk so low. After a while, it simply became the reality of his life.