“Probably both.”
As they merged onto the highway, Rock turned and looked over his shoulder at the twinkling lights of the ski resort, knowing he’d be spending a lot more time in Aspen.
He had to.
The urge was too great.
Chapter Five
Lola placed awhite legal-sized envelope in front of Rock as she handed out the mail to the brothers in the great room. Rock took a bite out of his breakfast burrito as he watched cars speed around a racetrack on the big-screen TV on the back wall. He glanced at the envelope and moved it to the side of his plate.
“How’s the burrito?” Wheelie asked as he plopped down on the chair beside Rock.
“Damn good. Rosie and Kristy can cook. Where the fuck have you been?” He wiped his mouth.
“Aspen.”
“You and Bones have been there since Monday? Fuck, those chicks must’ve been damned horny.”
“More than horny, man. It was fucking awesome.”
“You tell him about our sex fest?” Bones chuckled and put his plate down on the table. “You and Rags missed a damn good time. Those women were open to anything. I meanfucking anything.” He bit into his roast beef sandwich, then washed it down with a bottle of beer. “And the redhead who was into you was fuckin’ wild. She told me to tell you she’d be waiting for your call.”
“Maybe you should call her since you all know each other a whole lot better.” Rock winked.
“Maybe. If she lived closer I’d consider it.”
“Bones and I were surprised you and Rags bailed. What the fuck was up with the ‘I have to get up early’ bullshit you guys were feeding those chicks? Did you have something waiting for you when you got back?”
Rock shrugged. “I just wasn’t feeling it. No big deal. Anyway, four guys are a crowd for fucking. I prefer two. You had the right ratio.”
“Don’t think you’re fooling me. I know you got a chick on your mind, maybe even on your cock.”
Rock smiled and took a gulp of his orange juice. He pushed his plate away and picked up the envelope. His name and address were handwritten in blue ink, and the writing looked like it’d been made by an unsteady hand. He opened it up and a small flannel bag fell out, indigo with twine securing the top of it. A flush of adrenaline tingled through his body. He unfolded a piece of paper that was in the envelope that read “Beware. You have agris-grison you.” Rock reread the two sentences several times, then picked up the bag and held it in his hand.
“What the hell is that?” Wheelie said.
He quirked his lips. “It’s a mojo bag.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“It’s to protect the wearer from evil. It basically wards off curses and hexes. I haven’t seen one of these in a long time.” He picked up the envelope and noticed the postmark was Lafayette, LA.
“What’s in it?” Bones said. “I remember when I was doing time in Angola that a lot of the inmates had bags like that one. They were in all kinds of colors. Don’t you remember?”
Rock slowly nodded. “The bayous are full of superstitions. Mojo bags have different herbs, roots, bones, and minerals in them depending on what they’re used for. This one probably has white sage, devil’s shoestring root, and maybe Dead Sea salts. Sometimes tobacco soaked in whiskey is placed inside for extra protection. This is fuckin’ strange.”
“You got a hex on you? Which chick did you piss off?” Wheelie laughed.
“Who’s putting a hex on who?” Jax asked as he sat down on one of the chairs.
Bones pointed to Rock. “Someone’s put a curse on him and he’s trying to find out who did it.” The guys laughed.
Rock read the note again. “It says someone has given me agris-gris.”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” Jax motioned for Puck to bring him a drink.
“Gris-grismeans curse in Cajun. I wonder who’s messin’ with me.” Rock scrubbed his hand against his face.
