“I want to be like you when I grow up—ride your bike.” He points to my motorcycle with a toothy, lopsided grin.
“I’ll get you your own. The best one there is.” His eyes widen in excitement.
“Promise?”
Yeah, I fucking promise.
“Promise.”
A text from Copper comes through on my cell. It’s go time. I have one more thing to get done before I can rest fully. Dropping James back on his feet, I kiss his sweaty head and tap him to head toward Jameson, who nods back to me, then walk over to Willa, who looks absolutely fuckable in tight jeans, her natural curls, and her color back to normal. “I’ll be back tonight. Wait here for me, yeah? Then I’ll take you home and cook steak for dinner.”
Her teeth bite down on her fat bottom lip, teasing me, making my cock jump in my jeans. “If you make dinner, I’ll do dessert,” she purrs like a fucking kitten.
I need to get this shit done so I can come home and eat dessert.
Pulling into a roadside diner Copper texted the address to, I cut the engine and go inside. I didn’t expect him to get me the information I asked for so soon, but he always comes through, and I owe him again. He looks different, rougher than his usual suited and booted self. Right now, he looks like one of us, a brother wearing his cut proudly.
I slip into the booth he’s occupying and hold up a hand to the waitress, signaling for coffee.
“You look good.” He grins, giving me the once over.
“Feel it, brother,” I tell him honestly.
“Koyn and I were happy to hear about what went down with your woman. After all the shit you went through…”
“Appreciate that. Did you find anything for me?”
“I did. A word of warning, this guy is not the top dog, he’s a working mutt. He works for someone you don’t want beef with. This can’t come back on the club.”
Well, that’s intriguing.
He pushes the file across the desk. “I can’t let you keep that copy. This can’t be out there, so look it over.”
The waitress refills his mug and sets one down for me. “I’ll be back to take your food order in a couple minutes.” She smiles, but it’s forced.
“What brought this on?” Copper asks, tilting his chin to the folder. “Who is he to you?”
“Someone who needs to go to ground,” I grind out, seeing the picture of the fucker. He’s older and looks like a slimy cunt.
“Mafia ties?” I look over to Copper, who leans back, an arm over the seat. “And political.”
“Of course.”
“I set up what you asked for. The power will be off for ten minutes before the backup generators kick in and the cameras re-boot. He’s ordered a car for six-thirty and is a punctual motherfucker.”
I slam the folder shut, drop a twenty on the table, and offer my hand for Copper to shake. He’s a good man.
“You know where I am if you need anything,” I remind him.
“I will hold you to that.”
One thing rich pricks like? Being chauffeured around in expensive cars. Copper did me a solid by having the car he ordered pulled over a couple blocks away. I sit outside his building in the service’s stead, waiting for him to appear. The doorman to his building opens the car door for him, and the arrogant fuck slips in like it’s obvious the car is for him. Grinning like a fool behind the dark screen separating us, I take off just as the power for an entire three-mile radius cuts out, killing all cameras so the car can’t be traced. We’re a shadow. He knocks on the screen as I pull into the dock and park behind a shipping container. Jumping out of the car, I open the passenger side, much to Mr. Right’s confusion to the situation. Real name: Mr. Cage. A pensive flicker in his eyes as he take me in.
I take the seat next to him, and he warns, “I don’t respond to threats.”
“I’m Willa’s husband,” I tell him, and watch him file through the many names logged in his brain. “I don’t know any Willa.” He waves his hand, as if to dismiss me.
I pull my knife free and point the tip at his groin. “She remembers you, you sick fuck.”
“Do you know who I work for?” he threatens, like his words are sharper than my knife.
“I don’t give a flying fuck who you work for.”
Luca Leto, some mafia boss in a city fucking oceans away from us. Is he really going to give that much of a shit if this pervert goes missing? I don’t care either way. He hurt my woman when she was a fucking kid. He’s going to die.
“I helped Willa,” he sputters out.
“Oh, you remember her now?” I scoff.