Shakedown (Souls Chapel Revenants MC 8)

He snorted. “Shit ton of them. They had to break them up into groups to come visit him at the prison. He got out, got another job, and he’s been keeping his nose clean, having more kids, every time I check on him.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why do I get the feeling that you’ve kept an eye on him on purpose?”

“Because I offered his two eldest kids a job the moment I was out and able to do so. They both work at the strip club in Kilgore that Lynn owns,” he explained. “He’s a good guy. All of his kids are, too.”

“These kids you offered jobs. Were they girl kids or boy kids?” I wondered.

He burst out laughing. “Both big, strapping boys. Boys that can protect the girls that work there. They keep the place in line now that I’m not making it in as much as I used to.”

“Why aren’t you?” I asked curiously.

At this point he was leading us up the stairs to the rental.

Before he answered, he walked inside, pointed to a spot on the floor, and said, “Stay there. I’ll be back.”

I stayed, wondering what he would do if I’d moved.

I decided to try that particular move when it wasn’t my life that was on the line.

When he got back a few minutes later he answered with, “I’m not there because I’m doing more work with Lynn. Illegal work that I try to keep out of the legal establishments.”

I tilted my head and stared at him curiously. “What kind of illegal work?”

He looked at me thoughtfully for a few seconds. “Your dad is a cop.”

My brows rose. “Yeah.”

“Your brothers are cops,” he continued.

I rolled my eyes. “So that means that you don’t want to tell me because you think that I might snitch?”

He sighed. “I don’t want to put you into a position where you might have to. If you know what I do, or don’t do for that matter, then you won’t have to tell someone—like your dad, or that Jarome guy. Or Dremmel—that I was or wasn’t bad. You wouldn’t have to give me an alibi knowing that I did something illegal to require it.”

“This time you didn’t do anything illegal,” I pointed out.

“No,” he agreed. “But next time? When I beat the shit out of some meth head because he has some information I might need that would advance a case I’m looking into, I don’t want you to have to experience that.”

“Does that happen often?” I wondered.

He gestured for me to head with him to the kitchen, then walked to the fridge where he pulled a set of menus from beneath a rather large ‘I LOVE NEW YORK’ magnet.

“Italian, Mexican, American, or Chinese?” he asked.

“Mexican,” I answered instantly. “Unless it has less than four and a half stars. Then Italian.”

He looked at me curiously. “How would I know if it has less than four and a half stars?”

I grabbed my phone out of the purse that he’d so graciously brought in for me, disregarded the multitude of text messages from various people, and then went to my search app.

“What’s the name of the place?” I asked.

He read it off to me, then tossed the menu on the counter before hoisting himself up to wait for me to give him my verdict.

“They have really good ratings,” I said. “Except for one recently from a mother who was asked to leave because her child was being loud.”

Bruno snorted. “What’s wrong with that?”

I rolled my eyes. “Nothing. Unless you want to piss off every single household that has children. I mean, it’s not like she can choose whether or not her kid stays quiet while out to eat.”