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Marilyn is also a stripper at the MC-owned strip club, which is one reason Luella was extra judgmental toward her. I’m not a parent. I don’t judge shit, but I can see how that may bother someone in Luella’s position.
“Marilyn is good people, you know this,” I say. “Just tell her the truth. Guarantee you’re thinking this will be much bigger than she will. She’ll probably just feel relieved,” I say.
Before Luella responds, Jefferson pops his head into the room. “Prez wants to see you. Now.”
Lifting my hand, I wrap my fingers around Luella’s shoulder and give her a gentle shake as I walk past her. Jefferson is watching me nervously as if something big is happening. I reach for my gun, arching a brow so that I don’t have to actually ask aloud. He shakes his head once as I continue to make my way toward him.
He guides me toward the front door, and I’m surprised to see the fucking crew that we just left standing around the parking lot.
“What the fuck?” I ask on a whisper.
Uno lets out a guffaw and steps toward me. “We decided that we needed to finish what the fuck was started. As a show of faith, we’re going to help you get your woman back and help deal with Sinks. We should have gotten rid of him a long-ass fucking time ago.”
“No shit,” Prez and I say simultaneously.
“He called me,” I inform them, and all of the men stop talking and turn to me. It’s Uno who takes a step forward, his eyes wide and full of complete shock. “He has my woman,” I say, keeping my voice low, but it’s loud enough that they can all hear me.
“Hewhat?” Pins asks.
“He took my old lady,” I repeat. “I don’t know how he got her or where the fuck they are, but he’s got her and if I don’t find her soon, I’m going to have no choice but to call in her cop brother.”
Jefferson clears his throat behind me, but he doesn’t say anything—wisely. He really should be at the garage and not here anyway. He’s not quite old enough to prospect, but I’m sure that Prez has him in lockdown because he’s his woman’s little brother.
Family.
Fuck me, but family always, always, comes first with Prez. It’s one of the many reasons he makes such a great president.
“Well, we got some fucking problems. I need a crew to head out to do a run for the LA Mafia, I got this shit with Sinks, and that cop brother is racing in our direction so that shit I do not have the patience for right now.”
“Fuck,” I hiss as I turn my head in time to see the black detective car speeding to the gate.
“Tell us what to do to help,” Slots asks quickly.
Prez looks up at the gate as it starts to open, then shifts his attention back to Slots. “Two of your men, go with two of mine for this run. That would help a hell of a lot. I want as many men here as possible for whatever the fuck is about to go down.”
Uno jerks his chin then turns to Slots and Pins. “You two, do this,” he announces.
Rollin clears his throat and takes a step forward and I realize for the first time that he’s here too. I wasn’t expecting him. I wasn’t even paying attention to the sea of other faces.
“I got some men that are useful as well. We’re here to help and have hopes for a patch-over.”
Prez’s eyes widen, then he shifts his attention to me in question. I shrug a shoulder, my gaze holding his. Prez clears his throat, then turns to Rollin. “We’ll keep your men here as backup, as help. This is done, we’ll discuss a patch-over.”
Rollin dips his chin in a short nod just as the police car comes to a sliding halt in front of us. I watch as Brent steps out, wearing his typical detective clothes of jeans and a button-down shirt, his badge and gun on his hip, his sunglasses-covered eyes focused on me.
“You,” Brent shouts as he lifts his hand and points his finger in my direction. “I’m going to kill you, you sonofabitch.”
