Page 85 of Blackout

Now, here I am sitting in the office of Pipe’s garage, cutting a line of coke, telling myself I just need a little to take the edge off.

One line.

Just a hit.

Lifting my hips, I pull a wad of cash out of my back pocket. Grabbing the first bill, I roll good ol’ George Washington expertly and as I lower one end to the white powder, I freeze. Staring at the coke on the desk, I picture that cocksucker Javier and the smug expression he wore on his face when he realized he had us by the balls.

For all I know, the poison staring back at me is his product. The idea that I possibly put green in his pocket and food on his table sickens me. Dropping the rolled twenty on the desk, I lean back against the chair and push my fingers through my hair.

I play back all the events that led the club to where we’re at and I try to configure how we ended up at the mercy of the cartel. The Feds weren’t gunning for us, they wanted Javier. They were building a fucking case against the Sinaloa Cartel and instead they got Jack. Even if you combine all our crimes, it doesn’t equal a fair trade.

Something is off.

No fucking D.A. in their right mind would settle for Jack and absolve our crimes when he could take down a global criminal enterprise. Someone dropped the ball somewhere. That’s what happens when you leave the task of cleaning the streets to the boys in blue. People want to talk shit about vigilante justice. They call people like us thugs and say we’re no good, but you can bet your ass there is a criminal making moves behind every politician and law enforcement agency and those fucks are reaping the benefits of his crimes. They get the key to the city and we get a fucking jail cell. I bet you if we gave the D.A. the cartel, he’d not only bury the evidence against me but he’d fucking release, Jack, too.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, I cringe and slam my fist against the desk. The coke flies around as I rack my brain for a solution. Cursing, I tug at the ends of my hair in frustration. I can’t bring this to Jack. He’s hellbent on turning himself in and playing the hero and on top of that, there isn’t enough time to make it happen before he surrenders. I’m fucking good but I ain’t God. I can’t produce the fucking cartel in six fucking hours. I can’t offer those cocksuckers on a silver platter before those iron bars close on Jack. The first step would be seeking legal counsel and determining if I can strike a new deal with the D.A., one that exonerates Jack and absolves me of any crimes.

Jack’s lawyer is a pussy and probably wouldn’t fucking answer if I called him now. The motherfucker needs his beauty rest for when he gets in front of the camera tomorrow and delivers a press conference, declaring New York’s ultimate outlaw has turned himself in.

Prick.

That leaves me with a choice. I can either corner him tomorrow when we ride with Jack to the district attorney’s office and he surrenders, or I can go completely rogue and get Bianci in on this with me. He was eager to lend a helping hand when everyone got locked up and I’m sure Victor’s fancy ass lawyer would jump at the chance to save the day. Especially if the fucking price was right.

I’m about to reach into my kutte and grab my phone when someone flicks the lights on. Instead of my phone, I pull out my gun and aim it at the intruder.

Pipe holds up his hands in mock surrender as he narrows his eyes. His gaze switches from my face to the mound of coke on the desk and he drops his hands.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he grinds out.

Lowering my gun, I sigh and divert my attention to the drugs. For a second I forgot I was a washed up junkie looking to snort my life away.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I mutter. “I didn’t do any.”

Flitting my gaze back to him, I watch as he crosses his arms against his chest and laughs sadistically. It shouldn’t bother me and yet, I can’t help but grind my teeth as he takes another step closer. Disdain alive in his eyes.

“I swear on my unborn child’s life I didn’t fucking snort it. I was going to but…” I stop myself from continuing, pocketing my gun.

“But what? What were you going to say, Blackie? What lie were you going to spin this time? You gonna tell me you just wanted to test your strength, huh? You wanted to see if you were stronger than your demons, is that it?”

Standing, I swipe my hand across the line of coke, sending the particles flying into the air.

“Yeah, Pipe, that’s it,” I sneer. “You got me all figured out.”

“You know, Jack did us all a favor by handing his patch to Wolf. God knows if you were the one holding the gavel, you’d drag us all to Hell. It’s just too bad your wife has to go along with you for the ride.”

Nodding, I round the desk and pause when I reach him. Meeting his gaze, I level him with a look. If he can read me as good as he thinks he can, he’ll know I’m fucking a straight as a pin.

“Yeah, it’s a fucking shame.”

His hard gaze softens a fraction as he studies me. Swiping a hand over his face, he mutters a curse as I brush past him.

Choke on that, Pipe.

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