Which is why I was not carrying, even if Lucky was.
Not to say I wouldn’t risk my life for my brother. Lucky was a pain in the ass, but he was my pain in the ass. Rude, crude, rough, hot-tempered and loud-mouthed.
Until the past week anyway.
Apparently, all it had taken was a woman to change him.
I texted Mols again and told her I’d give her a foot rub every day. Two foot rubs, I amended. And other, naughtier things too.
This late in the pregnancy, straight up sex was out. But I’d been pleasuring my woman on the regs. The truth was, I fucking loved doing it.
She was sexy as hell, but even more so with her belly full of our child. I could not wait to hold my babe. The truth was, I was baby crazy. But my woman made me even crazier.
In fact, if she was up when I got up, I planned to spend some time between her silky thighs tonight. She was the perfect midnight snack.
The door opened to the alley before we were even off our rides. A massive guy stood there, smirking at Lucky and cracking his knuckles.
“Back for more, jackass?”
Chapter 16
Lucky
“I need to see Vince and Tony.”
The behemoth in front of me raised his eyebrows.
“That’s quite a request.”
“I’ll make it worth their while.”
He grunted and practically rolled his eyes. But he stood back and let us in. It was quiet tonight. Not like the weekly poker game where the place had a kind of buzzing energy. Now there were just a handful of wise guys sitting around and drinking. A couple of old timers I knew, and plenty of younger muscle types. Those were the guys who broke your kneecaps if you didn’t pay your debts.
Cal leaned over as we entered and hissed in my ear. “It’s funny how everyone calls you jackass, jackass.” I ignored him.
“Give me your piece.”
I handed it over. He looked at it and back at me.
“What about your friend?”
“He’s not carrying.”
“Wait here.”
Callaway checked the place out without being too obvious. He’d never been here before. Meanwhile, I knew the place like the back of my hand.
I knew his artist’s eye would appreciate the room. It was old school, with dark burgundy patterned wallpaper that had to be at least eighty years old. Probably older. There were ancient leather chairs, that somehow still looked really fucking comfortable. The floor was an ornate tile, with a border and a circular emblem design in the center of the room. Old rugs, antique tables and lamps were scattered across the space. The light fixture was milky glass and what looked like solid brass.
The room we played poker in was pretty much identical to this, only smaller. The wallpaper was dark green in there. The color of money.
“Go ahead,” I said to Cal under my breath.
“What?”
“Make a joke about the tile floor.”
He smirked.
“You mean, ‘better for wiping up the blood’?”
I nodded.
“That’s the one.”
He shrugged.
“It’s cool. I like old shit. I have tile in my parlor but it’s nothing like this.”
Cal’s tattoo parlor was in an old barber shop, complete with the original chairs. He’d spiffed it up and kept all the old details intact. Mirrors, tile, trim. He’d even paid good money to repair the old barber shop pole out front so it swirled and lit up. In comparison, this was an opulent backroom dedicated to underground crime syndicate activities. But yeah, they were probably built in the same general time period. A guy who came here to gamble or curry favor with the mob could very well have gotten his hair cut at what was now Callaway’s Tattoo Parlor.
“Vincent wants to know what it’s about.”
The behemoth was back. I couldn’t remember his name, but he looked like he was related to Paulie and Joey.
“Tell him it’s about Charise.”
The guy nodded and disappeared again. He came back almost immediately and jerked his head, signaling that we should follow him.
Vincent sat behind a massive wooden desk in yet another opulent, windowless room. These guys hated windows. Too easy to shoot them out, I guessed. His brother sat in an easy chair on the other side. They both stopped talking and looked at me and Cal.
“Do we need four for this?”
I shook my head.
“Cal, wait in the other room.”
“Get Cal a drink, Bobo,” Vincent ordered. I heard Cal asking for a cappuccino as Bobo led him away. I shut the door behind me.
Vincent leaned back in his chair and stared at me. Antonio stared at me. I stared back.
The brothers were in their late twenties or early thirties. They looked like pro jocks, with their expensive custom suits and strong bodies. I was more than familiar with how hard either of them could hit.
Yeah, they were tough motherfuckers. But you could also tell that they hadn’t gotten hit all that much themselves. Antonio’s nose had been broken once or twice, which was the only imperfection in his pretty boy face. Vincent was more intimidating, with sharp features and cold green eyes that stared right through you.