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Victor Stoll left me standing there in the alley with his card in my hand as the only evidence that this encounter happened at all. Heels clacked on the sidewalk not far away, and I slipped the crumpled paper into my bra as a woman appeared in the entrance to the alley. A black apron covering her long-sleeve gray dress. A trash bag held at arm’s length.
“Uh, you can’t be back there, hon,” she said, pointing up. “Read the sign.”
“What do you think he wants?”Grey asked as we made our way into Sanctum.
“He has a job for us,” I muttered, holding the heavy door open for my brothers, allowing classic rock music to spill out onto the midnight street. I didn’t know for certain, but that was usually the reason Diesel asked to meet us here. He had something for us that he didn’t want to take to the table. Something unofficial. Usually.
The bar at the edge of town was one owned by the Saints. Complete with an illegal boxing ring in the basement and a fully functional escort service running out of the two upper levels. Top tier. Two-dollar hookers weren’t welcome in our city. Only the finest for Thorn Valley’s privileged upper-class.
The boxing ring had been Rook’s idea.
The escort service had been mine.
And with Grey helping run the books, the money was cleaner than it’d ever been.
Sanctum brought in a good chunk of the gang’s income and helped tide us over when things got tight. Like they were right now.
Sasha winked at me from the bar as we entered, leaning over the ledge to show her new tits off to a drunk guy who looked like he was about halfway into a midlife crisis. He’d already removed his wedding band, the white slice of untanned flesh on his ring finger probably brighter than any silver or gold.
She could be his for the night if he could afford the ride.
“My sons,” Diesel called to us from the back of the bar where he was setting up a shot at one of the pool tables. Playing himself and winning.
“Want some real competition, old man?” I asked him as we approached, shrugging off my jacket to toss it over a chair back. This late on a Monday night, there was little happening at Sanctum, and the echo of Diesel’s 8-ball sinking shot rang through the mostly empty hall.
Diesel snubbed out his cigar and removed the ashtray from the table side, his silver rings glinting in the vintage table light above. “Always. Here, rack it up, and then we’ll talk, yeah?”
He tossed me the rack, and I caught it, emptying the ball return to set up the game while Rook signaled Sasha for a drink, and Grey slumped into the nearest booth, frowning at his phone. Probably still dealing with an onslaught of messages from his former fuckbuddy. He still hadn’t given Bri the green light to hit back at Ava Jade, even though I’d told him to the moment she refused us. He thought I didn’t know, but it was obvious. Bri would’ve had Ava Jade carved like a Thanksgiving turkey by now if she thought she could get away with it. Or, she’d have at least tried to.
I’d let him think he was in control, at least for now, until the right moment.
Diesel polished off his beer and sighed. Not a great sign. He rarely drank. That, coupled with the deep lines in his forehead and the darkness beneath his eyes told me he was more stressed than he was letting on.
The more vocal members of the Saints were calling for blood after what happened with Randy. They wanted retaliation, and he promised it would come, but only once we had solid intel. The A carved in Randy’s chest could just as easily have been an A for Arty. A member of the Kings who Diesel gunned down last year for stepping where he shouldn’t. Or it could’ve been a member who acted alone.
There was that one time a year back when they tried to retake the docks. We lit them up like Christmas morning. Bells and all. Two Aces fell that day. It was only because their leader wasn’t aware of the attack that the Aces still existed at all.
Orthe whole thing could’ve been a set-up.
Dies wouldn’t act until he knew what he was dealing with, no matter how vocal they got. But it was him who needed to deal with them all in the meantime.
“All right, son,” Diesel said, giving a tight jerk of his head for me to have a seat before we started our game. “Let’s talk.”
I nodded and followed Dies to Grey’s booth, nudging my brother to move further in so I could sit across from our leader. Grey obliged and Diesel slid in opposite me.
Rook joined a second later, whiskey in hand. Diesel clapped him on the back, giving his shoulder a tight squeeze. “You look good,” he told Rook. “Up for a fight in a couple weeks? Some upcoming MMA aspirant wants to take a stab.”
A sly grin played over Rook’s lips.
“Has he ever done an underground cage match before?” I asked, needing more details before Rook could agree to it.
Diesel pursed his lips. He hadn’t.
I shook my head. “Rook will kill him, Dies. Bad for business.”
“I’ll make sure he knows what he’s signing up for,” Diesel agreed. “We could use the cash.”
That was the end of that then. Diesel had already decided. And Rook looked like a pig in shit. Swirling the golden liquid in his glass with a shiver of delight.
