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Chapter Three
Mike
“Manny, it’s about time you picked up. What the fuck is going on? Why am I still in jail?” Mike barked into the receiver of the prepay phone attached to the brick wall.
“Why are you in there? Let me see… it’s probably because you broke into our client’s house, gut-punched his grandson, and damaged property,” his friend droned.
“Manny,” Mike ground out through a tight jaw in an effort to keep his tone low. “Is there anything in the sound of my goddamn voice right now that indicates I’m in the mood for playing?”
Manny sighed, sounding exhausted. “I posted the bond and—”
“Bond! What happened to—?”
“Can you fuckin’ let me finish? I don’t have time for this shit either, Mike. I told you not to go into that house in the first place.”
“Not now, Man,” Mike warned, running his hand through his hair and cringing at the crud beneath his nails that was being ground into his scalp from his rough treatment. He’d been stuck in this shithole all night. He was cold, hungry, dirty… and most of all, he was mad.
“Jim is at Norfolk General Hospital, and since I’m not family, it took some maneuvering and Craig sweet-talking a couple of nurses at the front desk for me to get into his room.”
“Shit. Is he all right?” Mike asked first in concern for the old man who’d been one of his first clients to take a chance on his landscaping business.
“He’s fine. He had a small cardiac episode the other night, and they decided to keep him for observation. He said he forgot to call us.”
Mike exhaled. He really did like Jim Reynolds. He’d never judged Mike and his crew of misfits like so many others did. He would’ve felt horrible if anything had happened to him.
“I called the magistrate’s office, and when I was able to get someone on the damn line, Jim told them that it was all a misunderstanding and he had no intention of cooperating with the breaking and entering or the destruction of property charges… so that takes care of one problem.”
“Fuck me.”
“Yep. I had to post bond because the guy you leveled with one punch is proceeding with his charges of assault against you.”
“Assault! It was self-defense!” Mike felt his anger rise and bubble over like hot lava in his stomach as he flexed his right fist. “Oh, I haven’t assaulted that motherfucker yet. But he’s about to learn the difference real soon.”
“Mike! Leave it alone,” Manny ordered. “And I mean it. You’ve caused enough shit for me to deal with.”
Mike gritted his teeth but ultimately kept his mouth shut. Manny had been his voice of reason for over thirty years, and like always, he was right about this too. They didn’t need this squabble blowing up more and casting a negative shadow over their company when they’d just started to be considered a reputable business in the community, despite that it was headed up by two of the city’s most infamous ex-gangsters.
It’d taken a lot of convincing from Manny back then for Mike to get out of the motorcycle gang that’d been their only family since they were teenagers, but his best friend had started to make sense all those years ago. At the time, Manny had a new wife and a baby on the way, and Mike had a son, Bishop, who was serving time in prison. Mike had wanted Bishop to have a stable home and a positive role model for a parent when he was released. Even though he didn’t get out until age twenty-seven—it was never too late to try to be the father he should’ve been from the start.
Now that they were all together, Mike believed he was almost there. Content.
He had Bishop, Trent—Trent, whose parents abandoned him, was Bishop’s childhood friend and pretty much Mike’s adopted son—and a successful business he owned with his best friend. There was nothing more he could ask for. All Mike had to do now was keep his nose clean, keep his anger in check, and not fuck it all up. He could live like this the rest of his days and be a happy man. He didn’t give a shit about his personal life or lack thereof.
His last girlfriend had dumped him for working too hard, not taking her out enough, ignoring her needs, being emotionally unavailable, blah, blah, blah. At least that’s all the bullshit Erin spouted before she’d walked out of his front door for good. He’d wanted to feel bad about the loss of a two-year relationship, but he’d only felt relief when it happened and immense relief now.
Mike had bigger things to consider these days instead of getting revenge, protecting his pride, or saving face. He only had one reputation to defend, and that was their business. “I fucked up, Man.” Which, in Mike’s language, translated to “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I know, but that’s just what we do sometimes,” Manny said in that raspy grit, and Mike knew they were square. “Look. I get it. I know it burns to let that privileged little shit get one in on you, but just take the L and let it go. Everyone gets burned, Mike—the blaze will go out in time.”
“If those charges aren’t dropped, then the fire won’t fade in me… it’ll only burn hotter.”
“Then you know what to do.”
Yeah, he did. He needed to find a way to keep his composure and stop snapping.
“I told Trent to pick you up. He should be there in an hour or so, I guess.”
Mike groaned, clutching his filthy hair. “Why in the hell did you call my son?”
