They broke apart, breathing heavily as they sucked air down into starved lungs.
“I’m going to get you settled in with some prospects.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you too, Gia. I wouldn’t go through so much trouble if I didn’t. You already knew that, though, didn’t you?”
She smiled. “I think deep down I did. It was never about you. It was about taking a chance.
Risks go against the code I set for myself.”
“And now?”
“The thought of being without you is far scarier.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Gia. But you have to stop trying to push me away and shutting
down. You have an issue and we talk through the shit. Understand?”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“Good, now get your sexy ass inside the car. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I get
back home.”
* * * *
Lefty drove up to the gates of the Concrete Angels and waited as it was pulled back by
prospects. He rolled inside and parked near the entrance. They had a friendly alliance with the smaller M.C. who made their money mostly moving drugs, though were always careful to keep it out of Dueling Devils territory. He walked into the clubhouse.
The VP, Throttle, met him. “Hey, man, you been a busy bee. The grapevine is buzzing.”
“Yeah. We want to shut this shit down before it’s a problem,” Lefty said.
“I hear you. Come on back,” Throttle said, leading him to the back of the club.
Music pounded a steady rhythm as he stepped into the room with a stage. On the platform, a slender blonde wound her way down a pole.
Rev sat in the center of the room with a few beers and a couple of bitches at his side. He glanced up as they approached and snapped his fingers. “Time to go.”
The two brunettes rose and clacked their way out of the room on too high heels. Their short skirts rode up the back of their thighs while their obviously fake racks threatened to spill out of their bikini tops.
“Lefty, sit. Enjoy the show while we talk business,” Rev said, gesturing to the recently
vacated chair.
“Good to see you too, Rev. Wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Agreed. You know C.A. has never had beef with Dueling Devils. We want to keep it that
way. Tell me what you need.”
“We want to freeze out a Jamaican client trying to come into Newson. She’s threatening my
old lady, trying to strong arm us, and looking to deal in skin.”
“You sure about that?”
“One-hundred percent, it’s her M.O. She gets them hooked, turns them into mindless
zombies, and starts selling them off to the highest bidder. Worst part, she likes them young. She looks for at-risk youth, comes in, and pretends to be their savior.”