Up in Smoke (King #8)

We’ve got a lot of history between us and a shit ton of mutual respect, but I didn’t realize I had his loyalty until he just offered to help me go after Griff.

I feel unworthy and grateful, the same way I do about Frankie’s love.

“I’m still in shock you let her convince you to join your club,” I say, lighting a smoke.

Bear shrugs and looks me in the eye, man-to-man. “Would you have done any differently?”

I shake my head. “Fuck, no. I know better than anyone that it’s always better to have Rage with you than against you.”

“You two still got unresolved business,” King says.

It’s a statement, not a question. King, otherwise known as King of the Causeway, rounds out the trio in the room. These cats couldn’t be more different, but they’re tighter than a nun’s vagina. They run Logan’s Beach and everyone in it like the white trash mafia. Nothing happens in this town without them knowing.

Guns, drugs, even the fucking Twinkie truck.

“Sort of,” I say. “We talked a bit. I think we might get there though.” For the first time I’m feeling hopeful about the future.

After I kill Griff, of course. The need for retribution and vengeance has only grown with the knowledge of who really killed Morgan. I feel it spreading inside me like a welcome disease.

“You know, you say no connections, no relationships, but you’re one shit-talking motherfucker if I’ve ever met one,” Preppy says, cocking his eyebrow at me. “Cause I saw you almost take out half this fucking MC just to find her when she was standing like ten feet from you earlier.”

“If you stand in between me and her, I’ll take you out, too,” I warn, feeling myself heat and readying myself for a fight.

“Preppy’s right,” King says.

“I am?” Preppy’s eyes widen in shock.

King lights a cigarette and continues. “It’s not just the girl either. You say you ain’t on no one’s side, yet you saved Preppy in the hospital. He wasn’t one of your jobs. He wasn’t your business.”

I think about his words and reply with a half-truth. “No, but I had another job at that hospital. Didn’t need any shit going down while I was trying to move bodies from the morgue.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Smokey,” Preppy says.

I don’t have time to warn him about his upcoming death if he calls me Smokey again because the kid talks without taking a breath between sentences. Rapid fire. A tongue like a Gatling gun.

“You didn’t have to do shit to help me, and you know it. You could have done your job without getting involved in our shit. You did it because you wanted to.”

Fucker was right, I could have, but that didn’t mean I was going to admit it.

“Trust me. This will go so much easier if you just admit it,” King says. “Also, it will get him to shut the fuck up faster.”

“Admit what?” I ask, wondering exactly what this fucker is getting at.

Preppy places his hand on my shoulder, and I glare at it like he’s just stabbed my grandma, but he ignores my unease.

“That you loooove us,” he sings.

“Can’t we just do this the old-fashioned way and stab each other? Or maybe a rousing game of Russian Roulette?” I ask. “That could be fun.” I down the glass of whiskey Bear hands me. “I thought you three were ruthless sons-of-bitches. Can’t we just have a shoot-out like the good old days?”

King chuckles and shakes his head. He’s got a smile on his face that tells me he’s been there before, but there is still no way I’m admitting to anything. He adjusts the thick black studded belts he wears wrapped around his forearms. They aren’t for decoration. They’re weapons and I’ve seen a motherfucker or two meet their end with one of King’s belts wrapped around their fucking necks.

“How about a compromise?” I ask, flicking Preppy’s hand off my shoulder.

“What kind of compromise you thinking, darlin’?” Bear cocks his head, and much to my dismay, he seems amused rather than annoyed.

“I’ll admit that…there are a lot of other people I’d rather kill than you three,” I offer. “It’s the best I’ve got.”

“Sounds like Rage’s club pledge,” Preppy mutters. He straightens his bow tie and claps his hands together. He bows his head then glances back up with a huge smile on his face that seems off for someone whose been through all he has. “You dooooo love us!” he exclaims, bouncing on his heels. “I could just kiss you. Come here, you big, burly bitch.”

Bear and King laugh as Preppy leaps into the air, heading straight for me. I sidestep, and he goes crashing onto the couch. Rebounding without missing a beat, he rolls onto his back. Smile still in place.

“You’re way too happy for someone who’s been tortured the way you have,” I point out, taking a drag of my smoke. Bear pours out another whiskey and hands it to me. I down it in one burning gulp and hold it out for a refill which Bear obliges, this time filling it almost to the brim.

“I know, sickening, isn’t it?” Preppy asks. He winks at me and sits up, lighting a joint. “Sometimes all you need is a smidge of torture to put shit in perspective.”

What was really sickening was what had happened to him. Preppy should be dead. For a long time, everyone, including his friends, thought he was dead, but he survived and rejoined the land of the living. If Preppy is still smiling after all that happened to him, I should be able to smile, too. To let Frankie in. To make this shit with her more…permanent.

“I recognize that look,” King says. I hadn’t realized I’d been staring into my whiskey.

“What look might that be?” I ask, staring out the window into the courtyard below at the closed door of the room Frankie’s in.

“The look that says she’s gotten to you,” Bear says, downing his own whiskey. His grin is of the shit-eating variety.

“Some people say that a good woman can tame a man. Train him. Make him less violent,” King says. He chuckles. “It ain’t true. It makes you more violent. It makes you more everything.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” I say, taking a drag from my smoke. “Something I’ve recently learned.”

“Says the man covered from head to toe in what I assume is someone else’s blood,” Preppy says.

I look down. “Kind of forgot about that.”

“Been there,” Bear says.

“We all have,” King adds.

“Ditto or trippilo, or some shit like that. Me, too, is what I’m trying to say,” Preppy chimes in.

The three of them laugh, and as hard as I try not to, I can’t help the slow tremor growing in my chest and shoulders until I’m laughing right along with Bear, Preppy, and King.

And damnit it feels good.

Motherfuckers.

When the laughter dies down Bear’s expression turns serious. “We’ll get this son of a bitch, Smoke. We’ll plan our attack on the compound. You’ll get your revenge, brother, and we’ll help you,” Bear says.

I nod because I don’t know what else to say. Shit feels overwhelming. I cough into my hand.