Reprise (21 page)

V pulled her farther from the door, and her heels scrambled on the concrete. Matt yanked Gail back into the building, still wailing and crying.

“Mal, get it under control. Come on. This isn’t helping anything.”

She felt her own vigor fade, and now her body ran cold. Her chest felt tight, she couldn’t get breath. “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, closing her eyes. V’s hold loosened but didn’t let up.

“Come on Mal—”

“No. It’s all fucked. The band is fucked. We’re done.”

Chapter Sixteen

“It’s important that we remember the Sheriff has a real fucking hard on for us. We can’t be as casual about the pot trade as we used to be.” Jayce met Tiny’s eyes across the room, and Tiny had to nod. “Anyone not wanting to take the risk, it’s okay to change your mind. But this is where you do it. If you don’t want to take the job, this is the time to speak up.”

The room was quiet except for shifting asses as the assembled men in the room looked to each other, then settled in their vinyl-coated stacking stools again, facing forward for the rest of Jayce’s pitch.

“I’m going to give you the background, but only some of it. We’ve always sold weed in Markham. Not long ago a group decided that our dealers were a way to attack us. Again, this is your second chance to walk away. Because those guys beat up our dealers. Including a pint-sized woman. The group here, I admit, is a bit uglier and less-vulnerable looking.”

There were low chuckles around the room, and Tiny evaluated the ten men that Jayce had picked to be the new face of marijuana trade in Markham. They had all been hang-arounds at the clubhouse for a few years, but none had designs on going full patch. Still, they were all tough-looking bastards that had hard jobs. They did concrete or drove truck, two were mechanics that had worked at the Grainger garage. They all had criminal records for anything from DUI to assault to robbery. Not necessarily violent crimes, but they’d been inside long enough to look mean and rough.

After the attacks on their dealers the pot trade had dropped off, but the Red Rebels had obligations to the Bastard Banshees to keep the pot moving. It had started effecting the bottom line and they weren’t happy. So to step it up, Jayce had decided that if their dealers had hard hands it might ease up any conflict. Also, it kept the recreational users away. The kind of people whose loved ones might find out about the pot and turn all the info over to the cops.

Also, they wanted the meth and Sunshine kept out of Markham. In a crumbling town like this people needed their vices. Prostitution gave most of the club the itch, and harder drugs were a slippery slope towards turning a town into an entire ghetto. Pot was a happy drug, an easy drug, and even if it was still illegal it wasn’t seen as “that bad.”

They needed to hold up their end of their bargain with the Banshees. They were a huge club with national reach, and they had men held at the same federal penitentiary that Jayce’s father was serving his time in. This drug deal was keeping Mad Dog McClune safe inside Kern Valley State Prison while his life sentence ticked along.

“We’ll vary pick-ups and drop offs. The schedule will change week to week, and there will be weeks when you guys aren’t holding or selling, just to keep things random. The take every week will be split up evenly between everyone so on your off weeks you’re still getting paid.” Jayce motioned Spaz forward. “Spaz here is in charge of tech for the club and he’s the communication hub. We’ll switch out phones and he’s the one keeping track of who has which phone. Don’t get excited, they’re just flip phones so you can’t watch your porn on them.”

More chuckles.

“But it’ll all be done in text. Words to a minimum. Nothing to incriminate. Just times. Addresses. And if your position or information or phone is compromised we’ll come up with a safe word. The safe word goes out to the whole group and everyone gets rid of their phones immediately and meets to get new gear and talk about what got fucked up. Obviously, our goal is to never get to that point. Basically, we need you guys to run this for us. We’ve got the law watching us too closely. You guys can do this while we hold their attention.”

The spiel went on with more details and Spaz handed out the phones then showed how they should be used. Tiny surveyed the group and had to approve. They were into it, attentive, and not goofing around. Jayce had selected well.

“So that’s it everyone. You’re all in this now. The first shipment is coming in today, and we’ll be distributing to you tomorrow. If you get an address and time tomorrow by ten am, you’re on the first shift. If you don’t get that text, you’re on the off week. Again, everyone gets paid no matter what. Now go on, get out of here, and if we need you you’ll hear from us.”

As he finished up his speech they group got to their feet, the legs of their chairs screeching on the floor. The mumble of conversations also rose, cut by the squeal of the main doors opening.

This was the main room, and it was open to anyone to walk in, but people usually didn’t. This group was adept at looking like the gathering was no big deal to be there, but when it was Doctor Tracey Webber walking in mid-afternoon in hip-hugging jeans, a low-cut shirt under a flannel and her dark hair hanging over her shoulder in a braid they tended to forget the standard operating procedure.

Everyone froze, staring. Jayce shared a look with his VP and Tank shrugged, then they looked to Tiny for an answer.

He had a clue what she was doing there. The last four days she’d been texting and calling him relentlessly, wanting him to check in, run tests, know what was up with his lungs.

He knew what was up. When he got out of the shower he’d hack up blood. After he fucked one of the club girls he hacked up blood. He couldn’t even finish a cigarette these days without a coughing fit.

He was even taking afternoon naps now, of all fucking things.

A trip to the doctor couldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know; his time was running out. She wanted him to either try an aggressive chemo course or arrange for end of life care.

None of his brothers knew yet. He’d be bedridden before he’d tell them.

At least, that was the plan. It looked like the Doc was here to fuck his shit up. Her jaw was set and her eyes blazed. And as she stalked towards him her fists were clenched at the ends of her swinging arms.

“Hey, hey, there Doc.” Knuckles got to her first, stepping in her path. She stopped short, eyes still on Tiny as he approached Knuckles from behind. “Anything I can help you with? You want a drink?”

“I don’t want a drink,” she was replying as Tiny reached them, hand on Knuckles’ arm. “I need to see him.”

Knuckles turned to Tiny, a confused frown on his face. “This old fart? What the hell for?”

“It’s private,” Tiny mumbled, taking Webber’s arm tightly in his grip and pulling her with him back to the front doors of the clubhouse. Out in the early December sunshine he squinted, glanced around the lot, then pulled her towards three benches that were arranged under the building’s overhang, not far from the overhead door that opened to The Stall. When he was sure they couldn’t be overheard, he finally turned to her. She was pissed, and that anger stretched her posture up to its full five-foot-eight extension, not counting that upraised chin.

“You have to call me back when I call,” she hissed, poking his chest to emphasize each word. “You are sick. I am a doctor. You have to call me back.”

“I don’t have to do
shit
,” he growled, putting one hand to her neck and backing her up against the building’s aluminum siding. “I don’t give a shit what your medical complex is telling you. I am going to keep doing what I’m doing until I drop. Get it?”

Her hands were on his wrist and pulling, but he knew he wasn’t choking her. His hand just held her in place, he wasn’t squeezing. “But you need treatment. You’ll die—”

“We all do,” he pointed out. “And we should all get to say how it happens. You said it yourself Doc; no surgery. Chemo would just prolong being sick. Not that anxious to go out on my back, leaking out of holes and crying for morphine.”

“But—”

“Not buts, Doc. That’s my call. I don’t want the guys to know. And that’s my call, too.”

Her eyes watered and he had a moment of guilt. What the fuck was he doing? He pulled his hand free, but she kept hers wrapped around his wrist. He looked down at them as she stepped closer. “You’re not scared,” she whispered, seemingly oblivious to how her chest brushed against him.

He was far from oblivious.

“No Doc, I’m not. That’s the direction we’re heading from the moment we’re born.” Now he looked up at her eyes, and they were intent in a different way. One of her elegant hands came up to settle at the centre of his chest. “Doc?”

“Most people beg and plead, bargain.”

“And do they get their way?”

She shook her head, wetting her lips with her pretty little tongue. Shit.

“That’s why I won’t beg. I make my own terms. Waste of time. I like my life. I like what I have. I’ve cleared my bucket list.”

She looked completely stunned by him, and he had no idea why.

“So what do you want?” he growled, stepping back. She came with him.

“Doc—”

“Shut up,” she whispered, coming even closer. She smelled nice and clean. Just had a shower in the last few hours, he’d guess. “You’re dying and you don’t give a shit.”

Tiny frowned. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He barely had the last word out and she was up on her toes, arms around his neck, pressing her little mouth to his with surprising ferocity. His default setting was to wrap his arms around her narrow back reel her in even tighter and return the kiss by forcing his tongue into her mouth. She tasted a bit like mint, maybe leftover from her toothpaste. She whimpered, moving her hips downward to rub against his instant erection.

Jesus.

He ended that kiss but didn’t let her go. Instead, he stared down at her upturned face, eyes at half mast, as she panted as though they’d already been fucking. “You really don’t care about anything.”

That wasn’t true. He cared about the club, and about his blood family. On some level he still cared for Mallory, that was why he was protecting her by being a complete prick. He cared about what mattered.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he muttered, pushing her off of him. “Are you on something?”

She still looked overwhelmed, but as she took more sucking breaths reason seemed to come back to her. “I...I...” she shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

He had to chuckle. “Sorry for what? I have no idea what just happened.”

“I’m likely losing my mind,” she said with a laugh bordering on hysteria. “I think Sam was probably right.”

“Sam?” Tiny frowned. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Boyfriend.
Ex-
boyfriend. He called me a crazy bitch and took off. They all call me that.”

Ah, shit. At one point he thought this little piece of ass might be fun to take for a tumble. But not if she was out of her fucking mind.

“I wish I knew your peace, Tiny,” she whispered, and turned to leave.

He caught her arm. “You need to keep your mouth shut,” he reminded her. “I don’t want them to know until I’m gone. If they have to find out before
I’m
the one that tells them.”

“Why would I do that?” she asked, her eyes totally lucid again as she looked up at him. “Why should I keep your secret?”

She had a point. She had so many secrets on all of them that she’d kept quiet, but if she was really thinking straight she had to know that his illness could be used as a weakness at some point. In the club’s interest she could tattle and face no penalty because he likely
should
be telling the guys about this.

“Why should I keep your secret?” she repeated.

“Patient-doctor confidentiality?”

She scoffed.

“Because...”

“Because you’ll make it up to me. Tonight. Eight o’clock.”

His head titled on its own. “What?”

“Eight o’clock. You’ll be at my door. You know where I live.”

She stalked away, past the clubhouse door where Jayce, Tank and Knuckles were assembled. They nodded farewells that she barely acknowledged, then turned knowing eyes on him.

Great. And now he had to come up with a story.

He strode back to his brothers, watching the retreating figure of Doctor Webber as she worked that round, tight little ass across the tarmac and to the street where she must have parked. Yeah, he knew very well what she wanted of him, and he had no worry that he couldn’t perform. It’d be a complete delight to take that one to bed. But without knowing her complete plan he was nervous for different reasons.

“Tell me I’ve got an overactive imagination,” Knuckles drawled, squinting into the lowering sun and removing the cigarette from his mouth. “Because I’m getting images of this dirty old bastard grunting and sweating over a naked, and very, very sweet Doctor Webber.”

“I ain’t imagining specifics, I’m just wondering how the hell it happens,” Tank answered like Tiny wasn’t right there.

“Gossiping is for women,” Tiny reminded them. “Don’t we have more important things to worry about?”

Jayce outright asked. “Are you seriously fucking Tracey?”

“No. Not yet anyway.”

“What the hell is even going on around here?” Knuckles mused.

“She’s trying. And it’s working. But she’s a civilian.”

“Not entirely. She’s sewn up gunshot wounds that were filed away as simple
lesions
on file. She’s covered for us a lot.” Tank took a while to say it but no one finished his sentences for him.