Wicked shrugs, jogging up the steps. “Well, it could be worse. She could be your blood relative.”
We enter the crib and find Lion, Gypsy, and a few of the other brothers already there around the kitchen table. Lion narrows his eyes on me. “Can smell the pussy from here.”
“Yeah? Been that long since Bonnie let you slide between her lips?”
“Fucker.”
I blow a kiss at him while taking my place on his right. “Why’s everyone so fucking serious?”
Lion shuffles in his seat. “Something has happened overnight, and I’ve been waiting for you to arrive before I filled everyone in.”
Pulling out a cigarette, I bite it into my mouth while grabbing out my lighter. “I’m listening.”
Lion cracks his neck. “The supplier that your old man was dealing with turned up dead on the cartel’s front door.”
I blow out a cloud of smoke. “Sounds like a mafia problem, not an MC problem.”
“It’s a you problem, which makes it an us problem.” I pause, looking around the table and watching everyone’s eyes zone in on me.
“How so?” I wait for the ball to drop.
Lion leans forward, a fucking sparkle in his eye that only ever comes when he knows murder is upon us. “Because he had been ripped.”
I pause, slowly blowing out the cloud of smoke from between my lips.
“Well, it wasn’t mine.”
Lion clenches his jaw. “Sicko, it’s yours.”
“Nup.” I shake my head, flicking the ash off the tip of my smoke. “It wasn’t me. I haven’t shaved anyone since—” I pause, thinking over my last kill. “Since three weeks ago.”
Lion leans back in his chair, studying me curiously.
Gypsy runs his hands over his hair. “Then fuck, you have a copy.”
“This is a problem because the cartel thinks that you killed their man, and now we have a possible war on our hands.”
This is the first time I’ve ever had a copy, and that’s not because I think someone can’t copy me, but it’s because the art in how I leave my mark isn’t something that people generally want to do. Ever.
“Call a meeting with them.”
“Royce.” Lion drops my real name. “This is the fucking Columbian cartel. You ever seen Scarface? They don’t fuck around.”
I lean back in my chair, tossing up the options that we have, when his words stop me in my tracks. “Who the fuck did they kill? Usually the third party is a fucking Falcon.” Falcon is what some cartels—mainly Spanish—call their eyes and ears. The bum boys who do nothing but sniff ass and then run back to their Capos to let them know what they smelled.
Lion chuckles, running his withered hand over his scruffy beard. “It was a Capo.”
I grit my teeth, squeezing my eyes closed while trying to think over what this might mean not only for me, but for my club, and now that Jade is back in my life, I’m not willing to gamble on shit. Which is exactly why I never wanted her back in my life. She’s a walking target for anyone who has a beef with me.
“We need to talk some sense into Jorge Carlos. Someone is crossing both of us, and I’ll make sure he fucking knows it. Bring your sister in.”
“Fuck no!” I say, my voice veiled in irritation. There’s no way in fucking hell that I’m bringing her into this mess. “Why would I do that?”
“Into the clubhouse, you fuckwit. We’re going on lockdown until we have shit sorted with the cartel. Direct families only, you all know the drill.”
With a round of “Run wild, Live Free,” everyone spills out of the room, leaving Wicked, Lion, and I alone. Once their rowdy asses are out of earshot, I say, “She hasn’t given me a name.”
Lion docilely strokes his beard, the sound of his leather cut rustling with every movement. He leans forward, hands in front of him on the table. “Bring her in. We can work on that.”
I shake my head. “You stay out of that. I’ll get it, I’m just saying, something doesn’t add up.” Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I flick off a text to Slim and Fluffy, who are on babysitting duty right now, telling them to bring her in.
“You might not want to hear this, but I think this goes a lot deeper than her having a little boyfriend who has a fetish for group fucks in an upscale mansion.”
“Mmm,” I say, running my finger over my upper lip. “Maybe.”
Being with Royce always felt right, but I’m not naïve to think that I could be the one to capture him in any way other than between my legs, and aside from that, knowing that I haven’t heard from James has instilled enough fear to make me distracted. He would have contacted me by now. He’s planning something, and I know that I need to tell Royce about him and everything I know before he finds out through someone else—namely James. It could help him in some way, but my fear drowns out my logic. I can’t seem to shake it off. The rejection, denial. What if he doesn’t believe me, and I look like a nutcase? What if James manipulates everything and has me sent to a nuthouse. Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him.