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I hate like hell she was put in that position. “I know.”
“You gonna lock her down?” He smirks at the play on my last name.
“Cute, Prez.” Christ it feels weird to talk about this with him. “Yeah, I want to propose.”
He doesn’t even blink. “When?”
“That’s it? When? No cautionary advice?”
“You want someone to talk you out of it?”
“No.” I roll my shoulders and stare straight ahead, avoiding his intense stare. “I’m not ready yet. I need to figure out this shit with Big Chief and I need to get Grillo to stop fucking with my life.”
“We’re working on that. He won’t be on your back much longer.”
“We both know he’s involved in this somehow.” I lift my gaze to his, staring right into his eyes. “If he’s the reason Serena got hurt, he needs to die.”
“Agreed.”
I clench my fists. “I want to reclaim my life but it’s like all these ghosts from prison and from my past wrapped themselves around me and won’t be satisfied until they drag me back to hell.” I hold my arms in front of me as if I’ll find some evidence of the ghostly shackles straining to hold me down.
“You’re not alone, brother.” He reaches across the table and grips my forearm. “We all live with the ghosts of our pasts. But they don’t have to define your present. Or follow you into the future.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Grinder
Over time, I’ve mastered the art of patience. Focusing on the things I can control. Moving ahead. Biding my time. Only acting after thinking through all the consequences. Never reacting out of fear or any other emotion.
The two weeks we wait to hear from Chaser slowly chip away at my patience.
Finally, the call comes.
I meet Rock and Wrath in the war room, searching for the phone. “Where? What’d he say?”
“He wouldn’t say anything over the phone,” Rock says. “Asked to meet in the same spot as before.”
“Already spoke to Remy and he’s fine with it.” Wrath claps my shoulder. “Let’s roll.”
“You trust this isn’t a setup?” I ask Rock.
He slips a 1911 pistol into a holster under his cut. “As much as I trust anyone I don’t share a patch with.”
“Z, Rooster, and Jigsaw are meeting us there,” Wrath says, adding a Glock to his holster.
Outside, Murphy and Teller jump into Wrath’s truck. Rock and I climb into his SUV.
The ride seems longer than last time.
As we pull up to the desolate-looking bar, my gaze lands on Rooster’s truck and several other black SUVs. “Looks like a fucking gangster funeral,” I mutter.
Rock snorts. “That’s exactly what it’s about to be.”
He backs into a spot next to Wrath’s truck and we step out.
Remy meets us with a hefty length of sturdy metal chain over his shoulder. “This everyone who’s coming?” he asks.
Rock quickly scans the parking lot. “All our guys are here.”
Chaser’s quick steps crunch over the gravel to meet us. No friendly handshakes this time.
“Everyone here?” Rock asks him.
“Yeah.”
Remy holds up the chain. “I’m gonna close off the road so you don’t get any surprise visitors. Behind the building is completely private. The basement’s also available if you want it.”
Chaser’s eyes widen as he stares at Remy’s stone-cold expression.
“Griff and I are going to head over to Zips,” Remy adds, nodding to his buddy. “Unless you want us to stick around?”
“Nah, that’s fine,” I say. These two have done enough for us. No reason to drag them in further.
Remy gestures to Rock’s truck. “You all should be able to drive around the gate easily enough. But there’s a set of keys on the bar for the lock if you need it.”
“Thanks.” I thump both of them on the back.
After they leave, Chaser jerks his head. Rock and I flank him on either side as we walk around to the back of the building.
The multiple sets of boots crunching over the gravel behind us says our clubs are following at a respectful distance.
Behind the building, there’s a wide concrete pad with a rusty metal drain in the center. Wrath reaches up and slaps a strip of thick, black tape over a security camera bolted to the roof.
A hint of grim amusement curls his lips. “Just in case.”
Z, Rooster, and Murphy join Rock, Chaser, and me in a circle. Wrath and Chaser’s enforcer stand back a few feet. The rest of our two clubs form a loose perimeter around us.
“All right,” Rock says. “Care to share why we’re all out here settin’ up like we’re about to film a scene from an El Chapo biopic?”
Chaser narrows his eyes, apparently not amused by the comparison to the famous, incarcerated former cartel leader.
The roar of an engine echoes around the side of the building. Everyone starts reaching under their cuts, except Chaser. “Easy, that’s Quill.”
A black SUV with darkened windows backs up to the edge of the concrete pad and shuts off.
