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Blue sniffed. “The Zakarian Syndicate? Yeah, without the Demonios they’ve picked up a lot of the drug trafficking in the area. Getting rich, rising up…”
“Yeah, well, they have all complicated codes of honor and shit, quite old fashioned in their thinking, you know, the women stay home and look pretty and have kids, the men carry guns and get business done-”
“-maybe they got the right idea,” Blue muttered.
“-but they are fair, and level headed to a point, not bat shit crazy like the Guardians,” Colt continued.
Carmelo tried again with his eggs. His hands trembled and his stomach turned. Fuck, he thought he’d shared a bottle of whiskey with three of the girls, but by the sounds of things he’d drunk it all himself, and that was a lot for him. Too much.
“It’s good to get in with them, Colt, for now. We’re keeping the Zakarians in place, they are doing a good job, keeping peace, bringing stability, keeping the product lines flowing… they got a professional set up but we’ll keep watching them. Really good with your new Vegas Chapter because there's some cousin once removed or some shit who are doing business in Vegas so a consolidation is on the cards…”
Colt stretched his neck. Carmelo knew Colt hated that Blue basically dictated who the Black Coyotes should work for. Colt hated being at the beck and call of the FBI, but he went along with it, because that was the only option he’d had. Take the Presidency of the Black Coyotes, get the girl of your dreams, but work for us, Blue had said. Colt had grudgingly agreed, because he wanted to do right by the club again. Set up a safe space for guys like Lyle, like Colt himself all those years ago. Somewhere to come, where you won’t be judged for what you've done, where you can do an honest, or not so honest, day of work, enjoy a bit of wild living at night, and sleep soundly at night knowing you were surrounded by like minded brothers and sisters who would stand by you. Stand up for you. Take a bullet for you. Take you to rehab when things got to be too much. Rescue you and rehabilitate you. Carmelo thought of the state he was in now and how he had no one in his life who would offer any help or advice. He swallowed a lump in his throat and his chest hurt.
He gave up with his eggs. He excused himself from the table with Colt and Blue, they were basically done talking shop. And Carmelo felt like death. He had to get home, back to Cal. Poor dog was probably lonely and bored. He staggered up, forgetting his pants were broken, stumbling as they fell down to his thighs, trying to keep a hold of the plate and his pants and not fall flat on his face.
Hands came out to steady him.
Someone took the plate out from him.
“Fuck, pig, where do you think you’re going?” It was Sully. Carmelo hadn’t spoken much to the blond haired, easy-going guy. He had piercing green eyes and concern written all over his face.
“I… thanks, I need to get back-”
“Rafe, buddy, take these miserable eggs-”
Rafe appeared, steering him into a chair.
“You can’t go anywhere in the state you’re in, pig, you’re probably still over the limit.”
Fuck. Carmelo hadn’t thought about that. He put his palm over his face.
He felt pure shame. Self loathing.
This was how people ended up at the MC. One wrong move, one slight misjudgment. Then trying your best to fix it, but not being enough. People probably thought he had a problem, he didn’t, he’d just made one mistake…
“Come on, buddy, how about you go sleep it off upstairs, huh?” Sully said.
“I… I can’t,” Carmelo stammered. “Cal, he’s probably climbing the walls… I shouldn’t have left him so long… fuck…”
Sully looked confused.
“Cal’s his dog,” Rafe said over Carmelo’s head to Sully.
“Buddy, don’t worry, we’ll go get Cal, bring him here, huh?” Sully said.
“Wh… what?” Carmelo felt something stinging his eyes.
“Yeah,” Rafe said gently. “Go upstairs, we’ve got a spare room, or you can just crash in mine if you like, we’ll go get Cal, feed him, give him a walk-”
“He can play with Shadow,” Sully joked with a gentle smile.
Carmelo looked at the two guys, Sully hovering over him, rubbing his back, Rafe crouched down, peering into Carmelo’s face. Both so gentle, kind, giving. Carmelo deserved none of this. Carmelo was a pig, a police Sergeant, someone representing the organization that was fundamentally opposed to these men, to the life choices they had made.
Yet here they were, offering to help him.
“Yeah, buddy, drink some water, some seltzer, go get a few hours of sleep under your belt. Shower, get changed. Cal will be here all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when you wake up.”
“I’d… really appreciate that.”
