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“I don’t like you,” Manuel declared, “but I also can’t keep you from sneaking out of the house and hitching rides to meet up.” With this, he looked at his daughter, who stared at the floor looking guilty as sin.
Cricket had no idea what was going on between them, but he had a feeling they sure did.
“I’ll be keeping my eye on you,” Manuel warned Cricket. “If I feel like anything at all is going on that I don’t like…let’s just say you won’t like what happens next.”
“Papito—”
Manuel held up his hand, cutting Victorija’s attempt to scold him off. “This is how it will be,” he declared, ending any further argument on the spot.
Cricket didn’t particularly like how he spoke to his woman, but he wasn’t going to correct him. This time. If they made the journey together, though, he’d be sure to put the asshole in his place if he stepped even a toe out of line.
Appearing embarrassed and more than done with this whole shenanigan, Cricket decided it was time to get Victorjia out of there. Announcing their plans for the evening, Cricket reluctantly shook hands with Manuel and guided his woman out of the mansion to his bike. As he placed the helmet on her head and got her fit up against his back, he could feel her father’s eyes boring a hole through his head same as any bullet, but he didn’t let it get to him.
A reasonable man, he could understand where the man was coming from, and that was where he was going to try to keep his head. Peace. That was the name of the game, and starting a fight over things like ego wasn’t wise. Now that Blake had secured a tentative agreement between the Spartans and Contreras, it was in all of their best interests to maintain it and try to strengthen it.
Besides, Contreras made a good faith effort by giving up his main supplier. A big player like Rubio off the market was a huge win for everyone. Not only did it mean a chance at a normal life again, with their turf unthreatened, but it meant that their town could start to heal. That anyone Rubio’s organization had touched, anywhere he had his fingers, had a chance to heal. That was priceless, as far as he was concerned.
Twenty minutes into their ride to nowhere in particular, Cricket pulled the bike over, parking it at the top of a hill that overlooked their little town center. Rolling hills covered in lush, green trees, little houses interspersed along the winding neighborhood roads, a swimming hole peeking out from a forest stared back at them. But Cricket’s attention wasn’t there. It was on the woman sitting behind him with her arms clamped around his waist as if she was afraid to let go.
Cricket pulled off the glove on his left hand and covered hers.
“I’m sorry for my father,” Victorjia said before he could speak. “He comes off strong, but he means well.”
“I know. I don’t blame him,” he said, even if he kind of did. He couldn’t help it; he didn’t like the man.
“I hope you won’t hold what he is against me,” she said with a tremor in her voice.
Cricket understood, with just that little shake, she was in as deep as he was. So neither of them had a chance in hell of rewinding this whole thing. Huh…that was interesting. Almost amusing.
“The only thing I’ll ever hold against you is my body,” he teased, and they both tightened their grip. Comfort, that’s what they offered one another. The world was so cold and unforgiving, and yet, just like his brothers, he’d managed to find that warm, soft sliver of paradise. Imagine that.
As they sat there staring out at the incredible view, Cricket couldn’t help thinking about how everything had come together. All the struggle, the carnage, the heartache and loss and pain had all led up to this point, and in an unlikely turn of events, two opposing sides had come together with one mutual interest: the love of another person.
Manuel Contreras was a monster. But he was also a father. In the end, he cared more about his daughter and Rena, the new woman in his life, than he did about all the money in the world—not that he didn’t already bathe in the shit. He’d cut a deal that could just as easily sign his death warrant as it could set him free. That impressed Cricket because not a lot of people would do that. Manuel gave up a lot, but he was gaining so much more in return. Maybe that’s why he did it. Maybe he had ulterior motives that none of them had realized yet. Only time would tell.
Cricket was praying for the best possible outcome, because he still had hope for the world being a better place someday, and this felt like a good step in the right direction.
“What do you say we go get some ice cream, head back to my place, get naked, and make a mess.”
Victorija’s blunt teeth bit playfully down on his shoulder. “I say that’s the best suggestion I’ve heard all day.”
Oh yeah, Cricket thought as he revved the engine and shot off back down the hill. They were definitely headed toward something great.
twenty-seven
Taco looked at his little boy lying helpless in his arms and couldn’t imagine a better ending to the day. Then he looked over at Bambi, his woman, who was swollen and miserable with their third child, and he couldn’t imagine a better start to the rest of his life. He was one lucky bastard.
Today, they’d made a deal that would set the stage for years to come. If it held, he’d never have to worry about the club business bringing shit to his door that would endanger his family. After all these years, Blake had finally brought true peace into their lives.
He had to admit, he was starting to think the dream was just that—a dream. But the asshole had come through for them, and now the future was so bright, Taco might have to wear shades.
Being on cloud nine wasn’t high enough. He was on cloud twenty-nine. Even a golden ticket into Heaven couldn’t make him as happy as he was now, and he’d done some sketchy shit in his life; that pass would be super nice to have.
Everything was falling into place, it seemed. They all had a path toward a nice, cushy life with the normal worries, instead of some outlandish, unbelievable bullshit that was better fit for a fiction novel rather than real life, and if they played it right, played it straight, it might actually stay that way.
Who could ask for anything better?
Taco felt like Julie Andrews. He could really go for a spin or two on a hilltop. Except he fucking hated that song. There was only one musical he liked, and he’d take his secret love of summer lovin’ to the grave. In the biker world, that was called survival. Even if they were all just a bunch of pussy-whipped losers.
