CHAPTER 17.4
C H A P T E R - S E V E N T E E N
"Do you want to tell me where you've been?" I posed a question that threatened to shatter my daydream.
"I've been paying visits," he said quickly, indicating that this conversation would not spook me out, start a new Attack of weeping, or send me straight to the fridge.
“To?" I inquired.
"To those with big mouths and who'll share that I'm not thrilled about my woman being the target of a drive-by, or being present during one, and if that shit happens again, those responsible will feel pretty fuckin' uncomfortable, and they'll feel it sooner rather than later, while my boys and I are lookin' for the ones who did it in the first place."
"Oh," I said quietly since I didn't know what else to say.
"We still don't know who did it," Falcone said.
"Finn has acquired enemies. It may be them. And Finn has made it obvious that you are something he wants, so it may even be his garbage that has been leaked to you."
This was news, and it wasn't good news. I already had too much crap in my life. I didn't require anything else.
“Really?" I inquired.
"Really," Falcone said, appearing as delighted as I was.
"Finn's appointment as president of the Mayhem MC was an aggressive takeover." Mayhem began as a hellraiser fraternity. They didn't cause trouble, but that didn't stop them from looking for it and embracing it when they found it. They always had the garage and auto supplies, but it was only a little front. Their crimes were largely victimless, such as knife fights with other motorcyclists searching for mischief. They produced and sold marijuana, made a fortune, and constructed the garage and store. Things devolved, and it didn't help that there were two groups in the club that were constantly fighting and butting heads. Both good and bad. Bad triumphed, and because the brotherhood is a brotherhood, even though Bad led the club, the others followed. Stopped growing in the pot and began transferring. I'm not dealing; I'm merely transporting goods from point A to point B. Far more profitable than the pot. The garage and store were expanded. But when you start doing bad stuff, more terrible stuff follows, and it did. Made deals, formed alliances, and developed the business, and not only the lawful ones; broke agreements, formed alliances, fought wars; crazy. This universe, their reality, is set right here in Manila; there are no rules, no laws, but they have instinct on their side."
I was surprised Falcone was explaining this, but even more surprised that he used so many words.
“Instinct? " I questioned when he finished talking, interested and little terrified.
"When you're acting on instinct to survive, you may be fairly clever. These men are far from stupid. These people are masterminds because they've been doing this for so long. And I'm not kidding."
"Oh," I said quietly.
"Andrew has been growing the custom bike and automobile industry for the last twenty years through this garbage." Initially quiet and patient, it turns out. He's had a plan for the past twenty fucking years. Slowly creating a reputation, gradually gaining notice, and now everyone is aware of it. It's difficult to keep doing truly horrible crap when journalists and photographers are writing articles and taking images, and movie and TV stars are dropping around. He persuaded the club to put money into Grind, expanded, and opened locations in Pampanga and Cebu City. It's now nearly as profitable as the illegal stuff, and he created it that way so that when he made his move to take over, the quality of life for his boys wouldn't suffer as much, and they cut links with that other trash. That's exactly what he did."
"Is the Mayhem MC clean?" I inquired.
"I wouldn't say that, babe, but they no longer sell flesh or transit narcotics."
"That's great," I said.
"Yeah, in the sense that Andrew and his lads aren't facing a future in which their sole wardrobe option is an orange jumpsuit." The problem is that they were good at safe transportation, and now that they don't provide it, demand sometimes becomes disconnected from supply. This has displeased some extremely dangerous people. And Andrew is the source of their discontent. He's had youngsters in his ranks that would gladly return to what they were doing. There is dissatisfaction, which he is dealing with, as well as outside pressure, which he is dealing with. He's a wanted man until he discovers who's behind the mutiny in his Club and the outside groups sort out their issues and go on, he’s got problems,”
"How is, hmm..." I paused before asking, "Is Isabelle participating in that? Is it because of the drugs? ”
"No way," Falcone said.
Oh my god.
"Did she allow them to sell her flesh?"
"No, honey," he squeezed my arm, "she was the inside guy on the theft of three custom automobiles and a custom bike, as well as a shitload of gear and the contents of a safe."
"The insider?" I inquired.
Falcone paused to observe me, then ran his fingers through my hair, and I understood he was doing it for the same reason Mic took a breath. He did that to get me ready.
"Her chosen job, Sweet Pea. She has one advantage: no one takes her very seriously. She was wise enough to listen and learn in a variety of settings. She sold information, offered diversion for a fee, and also gave access for a fee. She wasn't smart enough to keep her garbage quiet, to be inconspicuous, and to screw over the wrong people. She wasn't picky; she was open to all possibilities. She screwed everyone, and now she's fucked."
"How many people has she screwed over?" I inquired.
"Too many," Falcone responded.
"How about their danger zone levels?" ”
Falcone said, "Off the charts." "Andrew and Mayhem are the least of her problems, Gia, and just because they cleaned up doesn't mean they follow the rules." They had apprehended her and would deal with her in their own manner. They were not going to hand her over to the authorities. They'd figure out a method to recoup what she owed them, and they'd be inventive about it."
My body shook as my palm gripped on his sweatshirt, and as it did, his hand slipped away from my hair and he brushed his knuckles down my jaw.
"Yeah, baby, things aren't looking good for Isabelle," he murmured.
"Will you locate her for me?" " I blurted out, tensing up. I couldn't do that, I couldn't invite Falcone and his merry band to jump in -
"Already trying, Sweet Pea," he said as I gazed. "Not for her, but for you, your father, and your stepmother."
Uh…wow.
"I... I'm not sure what... you are?" I stuttered.
"I carried you through fire, Gia." That nonsense has to end."
"Right," I said, my gut mushy, my pulse pounding, my throat tingling, my gaze fixed on his.
His eyes twinkled. "You may repay me if you cook dinner."
"Cooking supper as retaliation?"
"No, not all of it, but it'll take a chunk out of what you owe me."
My lips lifted as my head leaned to the side. "Does that imply that I must steam vegetables?" ”
"Does that pose an issue for you?"
"No, but the only items in your refrigerator are fruit, cottage cheese, and veggies. Your mother used up all of the eggs and bacon, and I had lunchmeat for lunch, leaving vegetables for supper. I'm not sure my stomach will tolerate only vegetables for supper. It may respond, and my assumption is that it would be violent."
He smiled at me and said, "There are stores in Manila." Some even deliver food."
"Who's the smartass now?" I murmured.
"OK, sweetie, get your shoes on and get your a$$ to the Camaro. We're going food shopping."
"And yet bossy," I continued to mumble.
"Do you want to eat?" he inquired.
"Yes," I said.
"Would you like veggies for dinner?"
"No way."
"Then get up, put on your shoes, and get in the Camaro."
"B-o-s-s-y," I said, attempting to get out of the recliner, but his arms tightened around me and I found myself plastered to his chest, his hand slipped up to cup my head, tilt it, and draw my lips down to his.
Then he kissed the scumbag out of me.
After that, I got up and performed what was asked of me.