Page 148 of Devil’s Disciples

“Nothing.”

I opened the refrigerator and grabbed the orange juice. “Were you mad because he was here?”

“I sure as fuck wasn’t happy about it,” he said.

Knowing he cared enough to get angry made me feel better about our situation. The argument between the two men seemed juvenile, nonetheless.

“What does it matter?” I asked. “He wasn’t doing anything but hitting on Jennifer.”

“What did he say?”

Thinking of what he said caused me to laugh. “He said he was going to pick her up tonight at seven, and that she should wear clothes that she wasn’t worried about wrinkling.”

Cash’s eyebrows raised. “Because he was going to toss them on the floor?”

“Yeah. But. How’d you…Does he say that a lot?”

Cash exhaled heavily. “Before you and I came in the house, did he know whether it was you or Jennifer that lived here?”

I looked up from pouring the orange juice. “I guess not. How would he?”

His jaw tightened.

“What?” I asked.

His eyes shifted to the window and peered out at the group. “Nothing.”

I made Jennifer’s mimosa in silence. When I finished, Cash grabbed three bottles of water from the refrigerator and followed me outside. After I handed Jennifer her drink, Cash offered me one of the bottles. Then he gave one to the neighbor.

I wondered if the last was for him, and if he purposely only got three, leaving Tito without a drink.

I didn’t wonder for long.

He extended his left hand, offering the last bottle to his MC Brother. When Tito reached for it with his right hand, Cash swung his right fist into the side of his jaw.

The punch landed with a crack! The impact knocked Tito completely off his feet. As he came crashing down onto his back in the driveway, the water bottle shot skyward. Appearing almost delirious, he looked up at Cash with wide eyes.

The bottle of water slowly rolled toward the street.

Cash kicked it aside and loomed over Tito with his fists clenched. “I’m the muscle of this club for a reason,” he said through his teeth. “Maybe now you’ll have an easier time remembering why.”

56

Cash

Baker stood behind his desk and gazed out at the street. While unidentifiable folk music played, I fidgeted in my seat. I realized he wouldn’t be happy with my decision, but it didn’t change how I felt.

I never second guessed myself. If I justified doing something, questioning myself later about it didn’t make sense. So, I always stood behind my actions. Punching Tito in the jaw might not have been how Baker would have resolved the situation, but as far as I was concerned it was the only way.

When the song was over, Baker turned to face me. “Tito’s jaw’s fractured in two places. Nose is broken, too.”

“Serves the little prick right,” I said.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers – a surefire sign that he was angry as fuck with me. After an awkward period of silence, he opened his eyes. “It’s bad enough they had to wire it shut.”

“When Goose wrecked into Ghost on the four-wheeler, it took him what? Six weeks to heal?”

“That’s what they said.” He pulled the chair away from his desk. “Four to six.”