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Adrian hitches his head to the side before speaking. “That’s her car.”
My jaw flexes, but he speaks again before I can formulate a lie that could get me shot right here in the driveway.
“Money is owed,” Larrick says.
“I figure that debt was paid,” I argue.
The Clarkes paid with their lives. If they wanted cash, maybe they shouldn’t have been so quick to pull those triggers.
Larrick shakes his head. “We didn’t collect that debt. Money is owed.”
I swallow. I know the man has no reason to lie. If anything, he’d seem more powerful, more capable of instilling fear into people if they did admit to their deaths, but he doesn’t claim Keres MC was behind the murders. The news doesn’t carry any form of relief. If anything, it makes it worse because now we’re dealing with two different criminal organizations, and one of them is unknown.
“There’s no one here capable of paying,” I say rather than outright telling him it won’t get paid.
If Carlen and Janet were cooking dope, this man isn’t looking only for the revenue he might’ve lost that day in the form of product. He’s going to be looking for the loss of potential revenue due to them no longer being able to work for him. The cycle will continue, and he’ll never be satisfied. This is the shit that gets people in so deep that they can’t dig their way out.
“Ten grand is due,” Larrick says.
“Fifteen next month,” Jesper adds. “And every month after.”
“That bitch better figure something out,” Larrick says. “She has until the thirty-first.”
Jesper sneers at me, making me wonder if he’s on his best behavior because his prez is here. He’s not someone I would want to meet in a dark alley any day of the week.
I stand in the same spot in the middle of the driveway as they climb back on their bikes. So sure he’s gotten his point across, Larrick doesn’t even look back in my direction before cranking his motorcycle and driving off. The other two fall into line behind him, a smile on Jesper’s lips as if he’s hoping they don’t get paid so he can mete out the punishment.
My hands shake with frustration, the fear I feel both for myself and Mila and the boys having a hard time finding an exit out of my body.
The roar of the bikes eventually fades to nothing, and I don’t move until several minutes after I can no longer hear them.
I have to bang on the front door before Mila opens it, but instead of relief on her face, she’s holding my cut out, rage filling her pretty features.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
I take the thing from her hands and shrug it back on.
“Those guys are fucking dangerous,” I mutter.
“And you’re not? Seems you’re in a different fucking biker gang.” She takes a step back when I inch forward, and I hate that she’s scared of me. “I was going to ask you for help, but you’re just as bad, aren’t you? I think I’d rather take my chances with Keres.”
“You’d be a fool if you did. When you get a chance, why don’t you do a little research on myclub.” I emphasize the last word so she can understand there’s a difference in what we stand for versus what Keres is involved in. “They knew that Honda was yours, Mila. You’re already on their fucking radar.”
This information makes her freeze.
“Carlen and Janet owe ten grand.”
Her chin quivers. “I don’t have ten grand. I spent everything on their funerals.”
I reach out to her when it looks like she may fall over, but she steadies herself and jerks out of my reach.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
“If I thought for a second that ten grand would fix all this shit, I’d give it to them, but Carlen and Janet are in for fifteen a month. I doubt there’s a signed contract that tells when they would’ve been done cooking for Keres.”
She shakes her head as if she can’t believe what I’m saying.
“That doesn’t make sense. Why would they kill them if they wanted to keep making money from them? Maybe Carlen refused, and they were killed?”
