Page 9 of Existential
FIVE
Hooch
“What the fuck were you thinkin’?” I crowd Digits against the wall before he can follow that sweet butt out of the parlor. “Bringin’ a stray back here when we’re in the middle of tryin’ to find out who’s dickin’ us?”
“She’s legit.”
“How do you know?”
He swallows, eyes flicking to his left to where she’s presumably waiting out in the entrance.
“Yeah,” I scoff, backing up. “You don’t, do you?”
“I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Fuckin’ better, my man. Too much at stake for us to have let a snitch wander right through our front doors.”
He nods, the sullen look on his face saying he gets it; he knows he fucked up. I feel shitty for grilling him when he’s just got back from running errands for the club. Fuck knows—the guy probably needed the pussy. Not that he has to look far for willing flesh.
“Make sure you sort your shit with Heather, too, man. That gripe of hers is gettin’ a bit old.”
“Yeah, I will.”
I nod as he leaves, the solid thud of his boots on the stairs telling me he’s taking the stray upstairs to the bathroom. My ass hits the nearest chair with a whoosh, the cushion compressing under my weight. I’ve been on a knife’s edge since that fucker Donovan showed his face in our city. Taking it out on the men won’t score me any points, and if I want them to understand that everything I did, I did for the club when it all comes to light, then I need them to believe that I’m leading with confidence. Not acting out of fear like I am currently.
Get your shit together, boy. The old man would have squashed that DEA asshole the moment he started laying threats at our feet. But then the old man’s shit was so damn watertight the guy probably couldn’t have got anything to leverage Dad with if he’d tried.
Keeping your skeletons hidden gets pretty damn hard when everyone’s got a key to your closet.
“Meeting goin’ ahead?” Murphy tips his chin up in greeting as he walks in.
“Yeah, man. Everyone’s been told.”
“Good. Let’s hope they’ve returned bearing gifts.” He smirks and crosses to the bar. “Talk to King?”
“Not yet.” I should. He’s the president of our mother chapter; everything should go through him.
“Better call him tonight after we’ve wrapped up, eh brother?”
“Sounds like a solid plan.”
Murphy pours himself a scotch in silence, his gaze flicking up to assess me every so often. I stretch out, legs wide and arms braced on the sides of the seat. All I gotta do is remind myself I’m in charge here. This is my show. My bloodline started this fucking chapter, and my bloodline belongs at the head of the table.
What would you have done, old man?
More so, would he still do it now? Times are changing. Back in the day the worst they had to worry about was some scrap over an old lady. Maybe a disagreement over where to hand-off boosted goods. Times were simpler, drugs weren’t rampant in our country, and the youth still upheld the morals of their elders, understanding they had to work to earn what they wanted. Nowadays? Fuck, everyone wants something for nothing, thinks they’re entitled to it just for fucking breathing. Nobody works to earn their status, or their position in the food chain. Loyalty is hard to come by, honor even more so. Most of the reason why Murphy and the old man recruited from where they did; soldiers hold honor, live loyalty. It’s as much a part of them as the club is to second-generation kids like me.
“Havin’ a drink?”
I shake my head at Murphy, my thoughts already back on that earth child who Digits took upstairs. She seemed genuine enough, but I wouldn’t put it past the Wingmen to take everyone by surprise and try the softly, softly approach. It’s not their style; bashing in your door while you sleep is, but who’s to say that won’t come later anyway?
If I want to wonder what my old man would have done, I don’t have to think hard. Fuck, I saw him do it plenty over the years: keep the enemies close. Only one way to know for sure if that woman with hair the color of leaves in fall is here to spy—keep her around for a while.
I’ve got time for that. Can’t be too much of a hassle when she’s so easy on the eye. A nice distraction while this shit comes to a head with Donovan.
“Something else troublin’ you?” Murphy leans both elbows on the bar, watching me carefully as he takes a swig of his drink.
I shake my head, painting that fake-as-fuck smile on my face once more. “Nothin’, Murph. All good here.”
“Right-o.”
He hardens his gaze to the point I can’t stand it anymore, and I rise from the chair. “See you in twenty.”
“Aye.” He lifts his glass and dips his chin. “Here’s to finding our snake in the grass.”
“Here’s to it.”