Perversion (Page 21)

“No, he was clean. The package had just been taken care of.”

“Thank god,” I say, blowing out a relieved breath.

“Also, we think we got a lead on the casino girls. One of the waitresses thinks she might know who the dark-haired girl is. Someone named Gabby. Don’t know for sure yet. It’s not much, but it’s a start. While the boys are trying to track her down, at least, you’ve got something more to tell the Chief during your meeting tonight.”

“Thanks, brother,” I say. “Send someone to get Sandy. Don’t know how long they’ll have him, but someone should be waiting for him when he gets out.”

“He won’t be in there as long as you were, that’s for sure. Once he starts yammering on about shit that has nothing to do with what they’re asking him, they’ll throw him out,” Haze laughs.

“No doubt,” I agree, remembering words spoken in the alley.

Gabby, is that you?

Then from five years ago.

My best friend Gabby Vega’s teacher says that putting them to sleep doesn’t really mean putting them to sleep.

I’m sure there are a lot of people named Gabby in this world. But do they all have friends with bright blue-green eyes? I picture the girl in my room and replace her long straight brown hair with wild blonde curls.

No. It can’t be…could it? In my room?

I’m not sure, but I’m suddenly in a hurry to find out.

“Find out who at the casino was working with them, and it better not be one of our boys. Anyone who breaks their oath of loyalty needs to be put down just like the last one,” I prattle off. “Loyalty above all else.”

“Loyalty above all else, brother,” he echoes, slapping my hand and pulling me for a one-shoulder bro-hug.

I step back inside my room and shut the door behind me.

The bungee cord is on the floor.

The window is wide open.

Mr. Fuzzy meows from the windowsill.

She’s gone, but the locket isn’t. It’s not on the floor anymore. It’s on my pillow, and it’s open. I snatch it up and drop it just as quickly after glancing at the picture inside.

The picture is of a younger version of me, smiling up at my mother.

There’s a hastily scribbled quote underneath it on top of a gun magazine. My heart is hammering in my chest as I read it silently.

“You can close your eyes to reality, but not to memories.” -Stanislaw Jerzy Leo

“Tricks.”

Thirteen

“We already have a spot figured out. It’s attached to the casino. Chief David would take a cut of course, but they aren’t regulated out there. Task force can’t take a single step on reservation lands. It would be safer. Smarter. It would be—”

“No,” Belly grates before I can finish laying out my plan.

We’re in the middle of an important family sit-down. I’m trying not to let thoughts of Tricks interfere with business, but I’m finding it hard to concentrate when the person I’ve been searching for over the last five years was in my room last night.

And then left.

Or, rather, escaped.

I can escape most knots.

“No,” Belly disagrees. “Absolutely. Fucking. Not. We aren’t pimps. We aren’t going to run a whorehouse just so you fuckers can get your dicks wet when you see fit.”

Marci adjusts the oxygen tubes around Belly’s nose. He waves her away, and she takes the seat next to him.

“Belly,” Sandy says, “With all due respect. As much as I love pussy, as much as we ALL love pussy, that’s not what this is about. We need something to supplement our earnings. We have to be careful about our shipments because, between Los Muertos jacking our shit and the task force keeping an eye on us, we have to be more careful than ever, which means we can’t move as much as we used to. It wouldn’t just be a whorehouse. Front of the house will have more of a sports bar/strip club feel.”

“The answer is still fucking no. My rule has always been no girls. Leave that to the Immortals and Los Muertos. We ain’t pushing girls into shit they don’t want to do because they’re desperate. That ain’t us. Never has been. That’s not why I started this family, and you know it. It’s not how we do things.” Belly’s face reddens. He slams his fist down on the table.

The table grows silent. Sandy looks to me.

Pissing off Belly isn’t a great idea. The man’s got enough health problems without us adding a stroke to the list.

Haze chimes in. “We aren’t going to put girls out on the street like Marco. And we aren’t going to take underage girls and turn them into street whores against their will. This is all consensual. Professional women who just want to earn for their families, just like us. They can dance or choose to do more. Their call.”

Marci reaches out and gives Belly’s hand a reassuring squeeze. She breathes in slowly through her nose, reminding him to be calm. He rolls his eyes at her but repeats the breathing technique until his face has returned to a normal color.

“Pops,” I start calmly, “It’s a good business, and it’s a high profit business. Sandy already ran the numbers. We’re not going into this blind.”

“We’re not going into this at all,” Belly growls, his shoulders shaking with renewed anger. “I can’t believe you agree with this, Grim. Thought you were the voice of reason in this fucking house.”

“I do agree with it. It was my idea.” And it’s a damn good one.

“Bell, it’s alright. Hear him out,” Marci suggests. “Then, do what your gut tells you. Like you always do. They’ve taken a lot on their shoulders since you’ve been out of commission, and they’ve done a great job. They deserve to be heard.”

“You, of all people, can’t really be okay with this shit?” Belly asks, turning to her with a surprised look on his face.

Marci looks to me and then back at Belly. “Grim ran it by me. It’ll be a good place. A profitable one that’s safe. Clean. Respectful.”

“I never thought I’d hear you agree with this. Not after…” Belly doesn’t finish. He shakes his head and looks down at his hands.

Marci leans forward and whispers something in his ear. Whatever she says causes his shoulders to relax. He turns over his hand and wraps it around Marci’s, intertwining their fingers.

Marci clears her throat. “When I met Belly, I was a kid. Fifteen. It was at a party at the clubhouse of another MC. I was a runaway. Some bikers had offered to give me a ride, and they took me right to their clubhouse.”

Now, it’s Belly’s turn to give Marci’s hand a reassuring squeeze. I can already sense where her story is going, and I feel my own face reddening with anger.

“It was a long, long time ago. In another town. In another life. A horrible life, but without being there, I wouldn’t have met Belly. He spotted me on a ride up from his own club. Saw that I was too young and that I didn’t belong there. Not only that, but also that I didn’t want to be there. But I was desperate and had nowhere else to go. So, I did what I was told for a roof over my head and food in my stomach.”

“She was just a fucking kid,” Belly spits out, not as content to brush the entire thing off as destiny. “The club who found her promised her a ride and some shelter. What they did was pump her full of dope and pimp her out, gifting her to other clubs like she was a bottle of fucking whiskey, or to anyone who had a couple of bucks.”