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“More than thirty years,” Zach said. Though he was the youngest man at the table, he had the longest club memory. His father had been one of the earliest Bulls.
Reed let the tension sit for another second or two. Then he broke it with a quick nod. “Okay. Sorry.”
Cooper picked up where he’d left off. “Yeah, it’s a huge shipment, one of the biggest I can remember. That means extra caution and extra security. I think we all need to ride it. Any other questions that aren’t out of bounds?”
“The runs usually come about every couple months, right?” Kai asked.
“Give or take, yeah. Usually we’ll use our van. Something this big is rare, so don’t sweat it.” Cooper grinned. “And remember, our take is a percentage of the value—so do the math for your percentage and see what I mean when I say things are about to loosen up around here.”
“Our CBP contact is related to one of the Silver Dragons, right?” Ben asked. “We killed them all. We sure he’s gonna help us cross, or are we ending up in a Canadian prison?”
“Niko is sure,” Cooper said.
Ben nodded once. “Fair enough.”
“Everybody on board now?” Cooper asked. All the heads around him nodded. Relieved, he grinned. “Excellent. Bills are paid, work is scheduled. Now, let’s talk social shit. We need chicks around here, we need hangarounds, we need a fucking party. It’s time to put this charter on the map.”
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~oOo~
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After church, theywent out to the bar and had a couple drinks together, but the only woman around was Lyra—Ben’s daughter, Reed’s sister, and Zach’s old lady—which made the whole thing way too much like a family dinner. Everybody broke up and went their separate ways less than an hour after they’d stepped out of the chapel.
They’d made a plan for their first real party, when Tulsa was in town again. After that, they’d aim for a ‘grand opening’ blowout, when RockSteady was ready to grandly open.
Meanwhile, Cooper and Ben were back on charm patrol, getting all the suits and uniforms on their side. They’d meet with the Clark County sheriff soon. He had his hands full with Vegas, so they expected him to be pretty easy to charm. However, he so far hadn’t been so easy to sit down with.
Nothing Cooper could do about that right now, however, so he headed home. Alone. In the afternoon. He was definitely hitting a casino tonight. He needed the noise and clamor, if nothing else. And there was always good pussy to be found.
As he pulled around the corner onto his street, Siena came out the front door of her place. She was dressed for work—and he could tell by her uniform that she was a cocktail waitress at the big bar in the Cadence. For some reason, she dressed in that tiny, shiny getup at home and drove through Laughlin looking like a Rockette. He’d banged his share of waitresses in his time in the Land of the Casinos, pulled most of them while they were on the clock, and they all came out of work in jeans or sweats or shorts or something.
Not Siena. She was all spangled and made up when she got there and when she left.
The strangest thing: her boobs were excellent. Truly stellar rack. The first time he’d seen her dressed for work, his jaw had about fallen off. He’d been sure she was flat as a desert road. He’d only seen her in her work uniform or in hoodies and pajama bottoms or stretch pants, but he would never have believed a much-too-big hoodie could hide that great set on her chest.
On her way to work, fully made up, long blonde hair done, tiny little uniform showcasing excellent boobs, Siena was downright gorgeous. An easy nine, pushing ten.
Shitty personality lost her a couple points, of course, but her personality didn’t factor if he was only looking. And he was only looking, because she wouldn’t even look at him.
It was for the best. If she were nice, he wouldn’t have been able to resist flirting with her, or the delights she’d offer when his flirting flattered her. He couldn’t bang his next-door neighbor; things would get messy when she wanted more than he did, and then he’d have Glenn Close boiling bunnies next door.
But she was a bitch and didn’t bother to hide it, so the bunnies were safe.
Still, it pissed him the fuck off that she wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence. Her kid sister wouldn’t, either. If there was the slightest chance they might make eye contact with him, they both dropped their heads and scurried away like he had something contagious.
And what had he done? He’d been nice to a kid. That was it. Fixed her stupid fucking bike chain, found some light boxes for her to carry when she wouldn’t stop following him around, offered her a glass of water.
He’d liked her, too. Geneva. He still mainly thought of her as Robin. She was weird, but in a cute way. A combination of younger and older than her age. Maybe that was why he couldn’t put his aggravation to rest. He’d liked her, he’d felt sort of big-brothery with her, and then her sister had stormed in and turned it to shit. Now they both treated him like he was shit.
He was so damn tired of strangers getting a look at him and deciding he’d done something bad. That hewasbad. It was a not-insignificant reason he’d started hanging out with the Bulls in the first place. Might as well look, and be, as bad as every Karen and Chad figured he was. In that clubhouse, he’d found a whole family of men who felt the same way. Not all for the same reasons, but they were all outcasts and misfits, all treated like they were dangerous long before they actually were. He’d found a better family than his own, he’d found acceptance, he’d found everything he’d needed not to give a shit about the people out in the regular world, even when he walked among them. A kutte was armor and warning both.
But this one hit home. Because it was coming from right the fuck next door.
As he pulled onto his own driveway, Siena was putting her utterly craptastic twenty-something-year-old Pontiac Sunfire in gear. He stopped short of his carport and turned to stare directly through the windshield at her.
For a half-second, they made eye contact. Then she turned and looked out the back window as she pulled onto the street.
