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Chapter Forty-two
Mike
Mike had a large cup of coffee, bypassing breakfast like he usually did, and stepped out the patio door into his playground. He had to wait on Manny and Franklin, his horticulturist, before he could work on the Kadupul plant that Rayne had violated. Mike chuckled when he realized he wasn’t even mad about it, which was not like him. He had been surprised, not angry, to see that priceless flower butchered and snatched away from its home to die a slow death on his bed beside him.
Mike was trimming the hedges along his fence when he got a notification that his front-door camera had been triggered. A few moments later, he heard a forceful knock at his back gate that wasn’t either of his sons. He knew their knock well.
Mike dropped his pruning shears and picked up the shovel when his gate was pushed open and two hulking beasts dressed in black jeans and tight T-shirts walked in as if they had an invitation. Mike got a good look at the one in back, taking up point, and realized who it was. No wonder. These men didn’t need to be invited in—power didn’t have to ask permission for anything.
“Big Mike,” the taller one rumbled in a deep baritone. He glanced around Mike’s yard, checking all four corners, doing his job first before he gave Mike a slow smile. “Long time no see.”
Mike yanked off his dirty gloves. “Joey. It’s been a while, brother.” They gave each other a one-armed hug, Joey slapping him hard on his back.
He held Mike at arm’s length and stared him down. “You lookin’ good, man. Stayin’ in shape, I see.”
“Slaving outdoors twelve hours a day will keep anyone in shape,” Mike said. But he noticed his old friend was still large and in charge, with muscles for days and hands that could form a fist large enough to knock a heavyweight out. Mike glanced toward the silent bodyguard behind Joey. “Who’s the new guy?”
“That’s Buster—we call him the Bus. He’s gonna be my replacement. I handpicked this one for her myself.” Joey thumbed his finger at Mike. “This is him. This is Mama’s son, Big Mike.”
Buster gave him an unimpressed once-over. “I thought he’d be bigger.”
“I got some big balls if you wanna test me,” Mike growled, not giving a damn that the guy stood at least two inches over his own six three and had a neck thicker than a tree trunk. It didn’t matter. One swipe of his blade and it’d be all over.
Joey reared back and released a loud guffaw that vibrated Mike’s chest before he clamped his big meat hook of a hand down on his shoulder. “Same ole, Big Mike.”
“So, either I did something really bad or really good for her to pay me a visit at home instead of asking me to come to the club.”
Joey shrugged. “Hey, she said to bring her here, and I don’t question her. I just do what I’m told.”
Joey had been Mama’s bodyguard since Mike was eighteen, and he’d had to protect him and Bishop more times than he’d like to remember. Now, it sounded like he was ready to retire. “Hanging up the guns, huh?”
“Shit. If you can retire, then surely I fuckin’ can. I thought you’d be a lifer with the Devil Wreckers,” Joey said, glancing around Mike’s yard. “I wanna stop and smell the goddamn flowers on a Saturday morning.”
Mike smirked, but he understood. Joey didn’t live a peaceful life being Mama’s personal guard and head of security at her club. Mama’s nightclub was a neutral zone for all motorcycle gangs, crews, and any other clicked-up posses. People went to her spot for multiple reasons but mostly for the cool atmosphere, the amazing soul food, and, of course, for information. And if Mama was at his home, then that meant she’d heard something important he needed to know. Nothing was talked about in her club without her getting wind of it in her kitchen. Mama had eyes and ears everywhere. Mike knew it because he’d been one of her spies before, her best one.
“Is she gonna come in, or does she want me to come out front?” Mike asked.
Joey pressed a couple of buttons on his cell before he rumbled into the handset, “All good. She can come in.”
Mike went over to his newly blossomed angelique tulips and used his shears to cut off six of the brightest ones. Nothing but the best for his mom. She wasn’t his real mother, but she was the closest thing he’d ever had to one, from the moment she’d caught him lingering around the back door of her kitchen at the club with a one-year-old baby in his arms.
Ray—Mama’s fifth husband at the time—had tried to chase him away like he did all the homeless beggars loitering around his place late at night, but Mama took one look at Mike and his adorable, big-headed son crying on his shoulder and invited them inside. She fed them, gave Mike a job, and offered him a room to rent over her restaurant.
He’d worked security off the books at her club since he was only sixteen, but he was a big, strong, intimidating sixteen. Back then, Mike was angry at everything—mad at life, furious at the world for being so unjust. But when he lived with Mama, at least he had some semblance of a life for him and his kid, a family, and Mike protected the little he had with all of his might.
That was the year that Joe—the president of the Devil Wreckers—saw him fight and offered him a new job in his gang as a prospect enforcer. Mike had been hesitant at first—the Devils had a notoriously violent reputation, but he had a son that he needed help raising because he sure as fuck didn’t know what he was doing. Mike needed a bigger family than just Mama. Y’know, it takes a village and all that shit.
And the rest, as they say, is history. A long, tortured, some ups-but-way-more-downs history.
Mama came through the gate with two younger men also dressed in black walking a few paces behind her. She wasn’t a threat, and she wasn’t in danger per se, but she had a lot of influence and power in the community, therefore, she’d been targeted enough times to need her own detail that was just as dedicated to her as the secret service was to POTUS. She glanced around his yard with appreciation in her kind brown eyes before she finally looked at him and the bright bouquet he was holding out to her.
She ambled toward him, moving slower than when he’d last seen her a couple of months ago. Mike had to remember that even if she was a boss woman, Mama was getting older, and countless years managing a huge club and working in a kitchen that fed an entire neighborhood was taking its toll.
“You look younger and more beautiful every time I see you.” Mike gave her a crooked smile that made her chuckle. She was short and curvy, with dark brown skin and one long, thick silver french braid going down the center of her back and stopping just above her waist. She wore a pale pink summer dress with bright red roses adorning the lower half that reached her ankles and her standard black flats.
“You were always such a good liar, Michael,” she said in a light Southern accent that had faded over time.
“And you’re the only one that can survive calling me that.” Mike opened his arms and accepted her motherly hug. The loving embrace combined with the scent of her Avon perfume reminded him of the solace of home. When she was finished squeezing him, he released her and handed her the flowers. “How are you, Mom?”
