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Julius
“The natives are growing restless,”Luca tells me as he inhales a puff of his imported cigar.
“Would that be the men or the women?” I ask, my eyes firmly glued to the convent where our little ace in the hole is hiding.
“Seems to be a chain effect,” he informs me, sighing. “First it’s the women groaning and moaning, then like dominoes falling into place, the men join the bitch club.”
“Don’t let them hear you say bitch, in any form, when it comes to their women,” I warn, side-eyeing him.
“Wasn’t meant that way.” He harrumphs, narrowing his eyes at me.
Luca hasn’t always been the best at holding his tongue or being tactful, and he enjoys ruffling feathers, but I don’t advise him to stay on that path with these men. I should know how they’d react, which is not well. I raised most of them, and they saw how protective I was over the love of my life.
Damn, I miss that woman. She saved me, and by proxy, gave me the two best gifts I’ve ever received—Gunner and my Charlee girl. My sweet daughter with a gargantuan-sized chip on her shoulder but who would hand a stranger the shirt off her back if they need it more than she does. That’s her ma coming out in her because she doesn’t get that trait from me.
“If we don’t find a resolution to this crisis soon, there may be a revolt, and we may have to make some decisions.” A groan of apprehension escapes me at his words. I’m not sure who I fear facing the most.
My son and his men, or the women at their backs.
Both are scary as fuck when they’re at their wits’ end.
Being underground for as long as they have been is the straw that broke the camel’s back. I get why they’re stir-crazy and climbing the walls, but their safety is more important to me than their incessant whining and complaining.
A cluster of nuns, opening the heavy wooden door to the monastery, catches my attention. “We’ve got movement,” I announce, leaning forward and squinting my eyes.
Luca clears his throat, exhaling a plume of smoke, and asks, “Is it just me, Julius? Or is it always the same group of cross-wielding virgins going in and out of the nunnery?”
“Luca Alvarez!” I half-shout through gritted teeth. His brazen description has me fighting the temptation to make a sign of the cross across my chest. “Lightning’s going to strike you down one day for your insolent tongue.”
Why is it that I’m not surprised with his flagrant retort at my forewarning?
“As long as it leaves my dick and tongue out of the equation, I can handle it.”
Out of my peripheral vision, I see a cunning smirk spread across his face. I’m not a man of God, per se, but I am a spiritual man. My aim is to not be in the same vicinity as my brother when a higher power decides it’s his penance day and strikes him down with a bolt of lightning.
“Seems like they’ve got two packages with them today. Where’s the photo you uncovered of the Crumley’s hidden gem?”
“Right here,” he tells me, pulling a manilla envelope out from the side panel of the car.
As he hands it over, the vapor of his cigar wafts in front of my face, causing me to choke on it. “Keep that shit away from me,” I demand, waving my hand through the fumes.
“Secondhand smoke isn’t as harmful to you as firsthand. You enjoy some imported tobacco as much as I do, Julius.”
“With a tumbler of whiskey. Do you see a tumbler in my hand, Luca?”
“Semantics, Julius.” He tosses his hand through the air as if what I’ve said has no significance whatsoever.
As I scan the photograph, I compare it to the woman who’s surrounded by a bunch of black and white robes and habits. As hot and humid as it gets in Texas, I’m not sure how these ladies can wear that garb day in and day out without passing out from heat stroke.
“Now that we have confirmation that she’s here, we need to make a game plan about how to get her out,” Luca states.
“Call our contact down at the city and get us a set of blueprints on the monastery. As soon as we have it mapped out, we’ll make our move.”
“We’re gonna need Master and Tyson to infiltrate that place. You know that, don’t you, Julius? They’re the best at incognito infiltration and retrieval. Our men have nothing on those two, no matter how well they’ve been trained.”
“That’ll piss a few of the others off,” I mumble, not looking forward to that conversation with my son. Since I’m no longer the president of the DreamCatcher Motorcycle Club, and Gunner is, he has to approve every mission his men are sent on.
“I’ll get a bottle of scotch. That should loosen his tension,” Luca jokes.
