Rock Chick 08 Revolution (54 page)

“Zano.” It came out as a soft plea.

“Liam Edward Clark is off-limits, baby.”

I closed my eyes.

Liam Edward.

Lee and Eddie.

Oh my God.

Ren kept talking and I opened my eyes.

“This guy was gonna make his play usin’ this kid. How, I don’t know.
But he also had a point to make, so I could guess. Tucker made sure he didn’t
do that. And he made sure
how
he did
it that no one would get that same idea. And no one has. Not again. Although it
is not known widely what Malia and Liam mean to Tucker, it’s known by those who
do know, no matter if Shirleen and Tucker are no longer in the game, you do not
get near this kid. You do not get near his mother.”

“So, Darius takes care of them,” I guessed.

He nodded. “Yeah. They have his protection. Other than that, he gives
them money and they don’t know where it comes from. The reason they don’t is
because every month, Lee Nightingale and Eddie Chavez take turns bringing her
an envelope, sayin’ that shit is from them. But it isn’t. It’s from Tucker. As
for Tucker, he has nothing to do with them.”

My back went straight. “What? Why?”

“That, I don’t know. What I do know is that for everybody, including
you, they don’t exist.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I snapped.

“It’s what it is. You do not get near them, Ally.”

“But the reason I would—”

He cut me off to ask sharply, “You care about your friend?”

I clamped my mouth shut and nodded.

“Then they do not exist. You do not tell Indy. You do not share with
the Rock Chicks. Fuck, don’t even tell Tex or Duke.”

“I don’t understand this,” I admitted, because I fucking well didn’t.

“Then ask yourself why Dominic Vincetti was entirely okay with being an
asshole who dipped his wick into everything that moved and did whatever Vito
told him to do until he discovered someone had hit his wife. Then he and Sissy
had a kid. Now he’s lookin’ for ways to get out. Being in love does shit to
you, Ally. I know that as a goddamn fact. I’m not one but I can guess, being a
father does shit, too. And it did it to Tucker.”

“I’d understand that if Darius was part of their lives,” I returned.

“The kid’s sixteen,” Ren told me.

“And?” I prompted.

“Count back the years, baby,” he said gently.

I did.

But Ren did the math for me. “She was pregnant at the funeral, Ally.”

“So?”

“What do you know about Malia Clark?” he asked instead of answering.

“I know she was a cheerleader. I know she was gorgeous and still is. I
know she went with Indy and me and a bunch of our friends to a Prince concert
that Indy got front row seats to. And I know that Malia almost passed out with
glee when The Purple One did a twirl, his sweat flew off and it hit Malia. I
also know before Darius’s dad was murdered, he and Malia were tight. And now I
know she was knocked up at his dad’s funeral, which was why she dropped out of
sight her senior year and I haven’t seen her since.”

“And what was Darius doin’ his senior year?”

I didn’t answer that. This was because, instead of being on the
football field as he had been the three years previously, he was under the
bleachers, dealing dope for his uncle.

Ren let my silence be my response and went on.

“Well, I know she was a court reporter who studied at night to become a
paralegal, which is what she now does. I also know that Liam Clark has already
signed a pre-commitment to a college. This has part to do with the way he can
run a ball on a football field. But mostly it has to do with the fact that he’s
hitting his junior year in high school next year, he’s already taking almost a
complete schedule of AP classes and the college he’s committed to is Harvard.”

Whoa.

“No shit?” I breathed.

“Darius Tucker is no fool. He’s also fuckin’ sharp. Malia Clark isn’t
one either, and she’s a hard worker. And the kid they made didn’t fall far from
the tree.”

This was cutting me deep already.

Knowing all this, it was killing me.

I leaned into Ren and said, “Then he’s gotta know his kid. He’s got to
show him where he got some of how awesome he is. He’s got—”

“Do you honestly believe Tucker thinks he gave
anything
good to that boy?” Ren asked.

I sat back and snapped, “Well, he did.”

“You know that, baby, and so do I. But Tucker doesn’t.”

“Zano—”

“How would you feel, you’re set to go to Harvard, your life laid out
beautifully, and your ex-drug dealer dad shows up and fucks with your head?” he
asked.

“I don’t know. Probably about the same way Darius, who had much the
same scholarship to Yale for exactly the same reasons, his life laid out beautifully,
felt when his dad was murdered,” I shot back. “Difference is, his dad was dead
and couldn’t show him the way to get rid of his anger in a healthy way. Darius
is not dead.”

“Do you think he has the tools to give that to his son?”

“What I think is, neither of them will know if they don’t try.”

“Ally—”

But it was safe to say I’d had enough.

“This is fucked up bullshit,” I hissed.

“Baby—”

I jumped off the desk and stated (loudly), “If he’d let us
in,
he’d know we’d have his back. His kid
doesn’t need to know any of that shit. And we’d be there to prove how great
Darius is. Anyone knows the people around you that give their hearts to you
shows to the world the person you are. He’s got tons of friends who love him,
which means he’s not only making Liam live without his father, he’s making all
of us live without Liam. And, Ren, that is not on.”

 
Ren stood and put his hands to
either side of my neck, dipping his face close to mine.

“You need to tread cautiously with this, and by that I mean leave it
alone,” he advised.

“Why? Do you think Darius would whack me?” I snapped sarcastically.

“No. What I think is that you love him and you’ll have difficulty
living without him in your life. And more, you’ll have difficulty explaining to
Shirleen, your brother and Chavez why Darius got shot of the lot of you because
you stuck your nose in.”

Fuck!

He was right.

And I suspected Darius would do that. This was why Lee and Eddie hadn’t
already stepped in. Maybe they’d tried and got their hands burned. So they
learned.

“Goddamn it,” I bit out.

He knew I was stymied and that was why he pulled slightly away and some
of his intensity left him. But, in an effort to make me feel better, he stroked
my throat with his thumb which, even frustrated as all get out, kind of worked.

Then he asked, “How’d you learn this shit?”

“An anonymous source, namely Eddie Chavez. And if you share that with
anybody, I’m telling Smithie to ban you from entry so you can’t watch me strip
again.”

His lips quirked, but his eyes went reflective.

So I asked, “What?”

“Surprised Chavez shared that with you.”

“He’s as stymied as I am. Probably wants to do something about it,
can’t, so he’s heard I’m all over Darius’s ass and, obviously, is willing to
throw me under the bus.”

“Hmm,” Ren mumbled.

“Hmm, what?” I asked.

“Hmm, if I tell you what that means, you’ll get ideas so I’ll keep
the what
of my hmm to myself.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Do you honestly think that’s gonna work?”

He studied me. Then he slid his hands from my neck so he could wrap his
arms around me loosely.

I returned the favor and waited (but not patiently).

When he didn’t say anything, I said a warning, “Zano.”

He pulled me closer and asked bizarrely, “Have you heard the song
Hold on Loosely?
”

Had he temporarily lost his sanity?

I was a Rock Chick.

Of course I’d heard it.

“Hello?” I called unnecessarily. “I’m Ally Nightingale.”

He took my meaning therefore stated, “So you know the words.”

I rolled my eyes, rolled them back and said shortly, “Yes. Now can we
get back—?”

“I heard that song this morning on the way to work and realized that’s
how I gotta deal with you.”

I snapped my mouth shut.

Then I stopped being peeved.

Because he was
so
right.

And that was sweet.

“So I’m gonna tell you what that hmm means. But first, I’m gonna say
that what Tucker’s givin’ you is all he thinks he has to give. I’m sensing that
isn’t enough for you. And before you do shit, you need to ask yourself if what
he has to give is enough, because what you have to lose with him is everything.
You also have to understand that what’s at stake for you is at stake for
everybody in your posse. You have to make that decision for everybody. All or
nothing, or accept him as he comes. And that’s a huge decision to make, baby.”

“I get you,” I said softly.

He studied me a moment, obviously took in that I processed what he
said, then he again spoke.

“My hmm meant that Chavez would not share shit with you if he didn’t
trust you to use it wisely. He has faith in you to handle this situation. He’s
not throwing you under the bus. You’re his partner in a tag team and he just
tagged you in. But he’s expecting you to enter the ring and kick ass. Not let
the team down.
 
Now you gotta decide if
you go through those ropes, honey, or throw in the towel.”

“I’m not a towel throwing type of girl, Ren,” I shared honestly, and
his arms got tighter.

“I know. Still. Think about it.”

I nodded.

“Good,” he murmured. Then louder, “I got to clear some shit, it’ll take
me about half an hour. You good to wait? Then we’ll go out to dinner.”

“I’m good to wait,” I told him.

“That waiting would be in here with me. Not out in reception, givin’
Dawn shit, knowin’ she can’t retaliate.”

Well, there went my plans for the next half hour.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I totally lied.

“You so fuckin’ would.” He knew I was lying.

I rolled my eyes, but it was all for show.

Ren knew this because on the downward roll, he was kissing me.

After kissing me, he got to work.

I inspected his office.

But I did it thinking on how I could get Darius back with his family.

Without the one he already had losing him.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Runs Deep

I stood in a dark corner of Smithie’s, surveying the scene.

I’d had a call that evening from Roam, reporting in. And what he’d reported
was that he saw a waitress do a handoff to Steiner. Alarmingly, Roam then
reported that he’d followed Steiner.

Fortunately, Steiner hadn’t noted the tail. Also fortunately, Roam
followed Steiner directly to another meeting, and this wasn’t another girl. It
was Steiner dropping off the take to a man Roam described as big, bulky, light
brown hair, and “a white dude that’ll fuck you up rather than look at you,”
(Roam’s words).

After I told him to punt this information to Darius, not follow Steiner
again,
definitely
not follow the
other dude and not to use the f-word, I added surveillance onto my night at
Smithie’s.

It was a good move because, in moments, I clocked him.

A man of that description was sitting at a table somewhat back from the
stage. Steiner, who worked the room, gave him a wide berth, saying to anyone
who knew what they were looking for that he was doing all he could so no one
would associate the two.

As I stood there, back to the wall, I watched the man sitting at his
table like he owned the joint, not Smithie. The waitress at his section served
him, but she was jittery. She wasn’t having a bad night. She served her other
tables more comfortably. That meant she knew him or understood his threat.

And Roam’s description was apt. Completely. This guy would fuck someone
up rather than look at them.

I kept my eye on him, and Steiner, with plenty of time to do it. I’d
already danced my first song so I had time until the next one. And this,
essentially surveillance, was one of the few things I could do patiently.

Therefore I also saw him leave his seat once for a private lap dance
with JoJo.

She came out of the room where they did the private dances looking
freaked.

He came out looking the same as normal, strolling back to his table
that the waitress had shooed three customers from and resuming his seat like he
was king of all he surveyed.