Page 37 of Cocky Jerk

Chapter Twelve

Marco

“Pay up, Pirelli,” Judy says, shoving her open palm in my face.

Flashing her a smile, I lean back in my chair.

“Is it Friday already?”

Every two weeks a couple of us pool our money together and buy a bunch of lotto tickets. We’ve hit a couple of numbers here and there, but nothing life-changing. I think at this point we do it just to keep Judy happy. The broad loves to take our money.

Lifting my hips off the seat of the chair, I dig into my pocket and pull out some cash. The smile falls from my face when I notice I only have large bills.

“I only have a fifty,” I tell her.

She plucks it from my fingers.

“I’ll bring you change.”

She walks away before I can object, not that I would. She can keep the fifty bucks if it keeps her off my back.

Turning my attention back to my screen, I crack my fingers and attack the keyboard, typing the Corrupt Hellraisers into the search engine of our database. I told myself I wasn’t going to do it, that whatever Antonia had going on with that guy Hound was no business of mine. But after spending the last three days talking and texting, something just doesn’t add up.

The first clue came when she dodged any attempt I made to pick her up for our date. I shrugged it off and decided it was nothing out of the norm. There are plenty of girls who prefer to drive themselves, especially when things are new. No judgments here, and not because I won that battle. If I really believed she was more comfortable driving herself, I would have relented. But Antonia wasn’t throwing off that vibe. She wanted a man to pick her up and hold doors for her. Hell, I think she craved it more than anything.

The night before last, while we were on the phone, someone came into her bedroom. She muted the call and when she returned, she quickly hung up, using the excuse she had to walk her dog. The night before she told me she didn’t have any pets. She had a fish once, though. Petey was his name, and he died after she tried to feed him a cannoli. So, she definitely wasn’t walking him.

I called her back a little while later and she sent my call straight to voicemail. I woke up the next morning to a text. It was a picture of her tits covered in a red lace bra and like a horny teenager, I forgot all about the fake pet.

But this morning my suspicions were confirmed when I stopped by her office on my way home from work. Something wasn’t kosher, and it wasn’t the bagel and lox I decided to bring her for breakfast. It was the fucking guy with the leather vest tailing her. My first thought was that it was Hound, but once I pulled my car into the garage, I got a better look at the guy. He wasn’t quite as tall as the fuck who punched me in the face and where Hound’s arms were the only visible part of his body with any tattoos, this dude had ink crawling up his neck. He also had two teardrops tattooed beneath his left eye—a calling card that told me he either took two lives in prison or was fronting like he did.

Now, I don’t know much about motorcycle clubs, but I know the basics. A prospect must prove his worth before he receives his patch. I’m guessing two bodies would prove a man worthy or at least put him in the running.

Instead of making my presence known, I left the scene and took my ass home. I had barely known Antonia a week, and I decided I had long crossed the point of no return where she was concerned. I was fully invested, and not just for the sake of fucking her. The more we spoke, the more I found myself wanting to know everything about her and without even realizing it, I was becoming protective over her. Crazy, considering we barely had one date.

Before I get in any deeper with her, I need to uncover whatever it is she’s trying to hide from me. I need to know if Hound is more than just a piece of her past and what her connection is to all these fucking bikers. For fuck’s sake, one of them is a self-proclaimed murderer. What if she’s in some kind of trouble?

That last question weighs heavily on me as I click search.

As a cop, it’s my duty to protect, but Antonia isn’t official police business, she’s just a girl I’m dating. A girl I was supposed to take to bed and forget. Now, I’m doing background checks on gangbangers and looking up recipes for chicken piccata because she mentioned it’s her favorite. How we got here, I’m not sure. All I know for certain is this isn’t the normal behavior for Marco Pirelli.

The computer screen loads with the information, and I lean over my desk to get a better look. There are mugshots, arrest records, and a fucking family tree on the ranking of every member, but only one name stands out.

Antonio DeLuca.

Or more commonly known as Tank Deluca.

I click on his file, and his face immediately fills the screen. Eyes that resemble Antonia’s stare back at me. Only where hers are full of fire, his are cold and menacing. I continue to scroll and discover the man is the president of the Corrupt Hellraiser’s Brooklyn charter. He’s also Antonia’s father, and he has had a shit ton of charges put out on him.

Drug trafficking.

Attempted murder.

Possession of firearms with intent to sell.

Prostitution.

Money laundering.

---