But I can’t think of that shit right now. She’s just got to take care of his ass, dismiss him, and shut it down. Whatever she had him doing to look into Butch’s sentence needs to fucking stop. A club member gets locked up, it’s club business. Family or not, it’s not up to her to get him out, and she knows that.
I signal to the guys we got watching the doors that I’m going in. They move back out of respect and keep their semi-automatics tight in their grip. We had to pull men from a few of our support clubs in the Bay Area for full coverage just in case Mancuso struck again. The guys we got here are a little short on brain power, but they know the drill, and most of them know their livelihood depends on what we’re willing to sell them and when. They need us, and that need makes them eager to avoid fucking up, so this is working out well.
The safehouse used to be a tiny cottage a few miles off Highway 1, down a narrow dirt road that is almost invisible to the naked eye if you don’t know the markers to look for. Now, all the windows are boarded up, and there’s only one way in and one way out. We soundproofed it as best we could years back, and it does a decent job. Inside, there are three men. Two are from the support club, and the third is Michael Mancuso—Princess’s twin brother and Ruby’s long-lost son.
He’s sitting up on the mattress we’ve provided him that’s on the floor. He’s hunched over and doesn’t even bother to lift his head when I come into the room. I nod to the guys who are babysitting him this shift and tell them to wait outside. For a moment, they pause. The last time Michael and I were in a room together, it was with a prospect, and the kid lost his shit and started wailing on the prospect so I ended up wailing on him. It got bloody and mean, but Ruby’s made Jim bring the kid home-cooked meals and fresh clothes every day. It’s not his fault he’s this fucked up, she reasons.
“You check out that lead I gave you?” Michael asks. When he lifts his head, I can see the black eye and swollen lip from our last encounter. I hope it fucking hurts and Ruby’s not been made aware of his injuries and provided him with any ibuprofen. He deserves to feel every moment of pain for how he beat his sister.
Even though I’m starting to understand him and why he did it, the reasoning is still fucked.
“Took it to the club,” I say and walk to the chair in the corner of the room and sit down. Earlier, when we were in Church to take a vote about Chief’s funeral, I brought up the little nuggets that Junior shared with me. Club voted him down cold, which is a problem, because I think he’s telling the truth.
According to Junior, it’s his cousin Tony who’s running the show back in New York. Tony doesn’t have the rank or the right to make the decisions he’s making, but he’s doing it anyway. And the first decision Tony made when he got out of the hospital was that he wanted Alex dead. Junior says that Tony did some kind of bullshit initiation process with him then gave Junior the gold Desert Eagle he says all his father’s men carry. It’s the Mancuso signature.
He was given a choice—kill his sister or Tony was going to kill him. Junior hasn’t been able to make contact with his dad or Uncle Emilio, his father’s underboss, because he’s got his own charges pending, but he doesn’t think his dad knows what Tony’s up to. Still, New York is a hot fucking mess, and Junior was more than happy to do Tony’s bidding. Or so Tony thinks. To this day, he maintains he just snapped in a moment of fear and couldn’t stop himself. He never wanted to hurt his sister.
“And?” he asks.
“They think you’re full of shit,” I say. “Got no reason to trust you.”
“She’s my sister,” he says. His large brown eyes look sorrowful and thoughtful. He isn’t pissed like he was last time. Now he’s just resigned. Then again, last time was when Jim delivered the news about Ruby. So maybe I’m feeling generous, but I’m gonna cut the kid some slack.
“My twin sister. I’m trying to help her, and since she refuses to let go of your club, I guess I’m trying to help you, too. Tony’s out for blood, and he knows by now that the plan he concocted didn’t work. Think about it. You cannot possibly understand the choice I had to make, but do believe that everything I did was to protect my sister.”
We go back and forth for another few minutes before my phone rings. I ignore it the first time, but by the second call, I pull it out of my pocket and see NIC across the screen. Sliding my finger over the green bar, I bring the phone to my ear. She’s sniffling and breathing heavy.
“Nic?” I say. Concern fills me, and I stand from the chair and walk to the door, where I signal for two of the men to come back inside. I walk to my bike. Whatever’s going on, it doesn’t sound good.
“Jeremy,” she says in a rush. “I need you to find Jeremy.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, positioning the phone between my face and my shoulder so I can strap the half helmet on my head.
“He took my car and went after Darren.”
“Why’d he go after Darren?”
“He was defending me,” she says. Her voice sounds strangled and hoarse.