Discovering Me (Breakneck #4) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Crystal Spears
groan as I dig it out. A text from Braxxon. Fucking peachy.
Prez – Church. Now.
I lean back into Piper and kiss her on the forehead. She doesn’t stir, so I know she fell back asleep. I must have drained her mentally if she is that exhausted. It’s Monday night. Nothing’s happened, but the drama with Piper and me, so I wonder what the Prez could want.
I sit up, reach for my boots, and slide my feet in, not bothering to lace them. I walk over to the chair, grab my cut, and slip it back on before digging in my pockets for a smoke and my lighter.
I wait until I am out of her room before I light it. Piper smokes pot, but cigarettes, she hates. She’s subjected to that shit enough around the club, so I’ll respect her private space. I do my best not to smoke around her as much as I can.
When I inhale my first draw, the nicotine glides its way down my pipe and into my lungs. My nerves loosen up as I make my way down the stairs and out of the live-in. I’ll never give up this one vice. Does it control me? I guess in a way it sort of does and I don’t mind. Everyone has shit they won’t give up. The club, my bike, my guns, Piper, and my smokes are mine. You ask me to give up one of those, and I’ll laugh in your face. Each one of those serves a purpose in my life. I like it to stay that way.
When I walk into the clubhouse, it is quiet. No music blares, no rip-roaring laughter fills the air, and it confuses me. Where did the constant party from the other night go? They were set on going back to old ways, and it has disappeared that fast?
Something is up.
The door to Church is open and a few brothers sit around, so I head in, take a seat, and stub out my cigarette in the ashtray on the table.
When Smokey enters, we’re all here and the gavel smacks down. My brother’s face is unreadable. No expression and it is odd. Prez either has a pissed off face or a happy one. He has neither right now.
“We got fuckin’ problems.”
All my brothers and I shift in our seats and give him our full, undivided attention.
“Juan called. Petra was found murdered at the 24 hour pay-at-the-pump gas station near his house.”
Fuck!
“You know what this shit means.”
Every motherfucking wannabe gangster and MC around will try to take control of the snowball and dust business. My brother doesn’t have to say jack shit. We know Petra was murdered over his drugs. What I wonder is how the fuck they got past his bodyguards to ice him. Petra never traveled without at least three people at all times. When you run an operation like Petra, you take every precaution necessary.
“Tomorrow at noon, we’ll head over to Petra’s place to talk with the Mexican cartel. Ain’t no way that they aren’t already here. Petra kept mental notes and his front men informed. They’ll no doubt need the information we have. We’ll offer up our services to help keep things in check.”
This is not what I expected. I figure he would want to take control of the drug trade that runs through Jamaica.
My brother picks up his pack of cigarettes from the wooden table, flips open his Zippo, strikes, and slams the lighter back down. He hotboxes and stubs it out, the entire time he doesn’t speak a word. There is not one single expression on his face; I imagine he is in thought.
“We’re not in the drug trade, brothers. We have our small customers, and that’s the way we’ll keep it. We have enough bullshit. We’re not gonna deal with more than we got to,” he says while he grabs his gavel. “We’ll leave at 11:30.” He slams it down.
No lockdown for the family, but if we don’t do this right, we could put them in danger once again.
I’ll let Piper sleep, and I guess I will have to talk to her tomorrow. Make sure she stays more alert when she leaves the compound.
Guess I’ll go lay in my bed and get so high that I pass the fuck out cold.
***
Chapter Five
Piper
I am in the kitchen about to pour some coffee when Sniper
Prez – Church. Now.
I lean back into Piper and kiss her on the forehead. She doesn’t stir, so I know she fell back asleep. I must have drained her mentally if she is that exhausted. It’s Monday night. Nothing’s happened, but the drama with Piper and me, so I wonder what the Prez could want.
I sit up, reach for my boots, and slide my feet in, not bothering to lace them. I walk over to the chair, grab my cut, and slip it back on before digging in my pockets for a smoke and my lighter.
I wait until I am out of her room before I light it. Piper smokes pot, but cigarettes, she hates. She’s subjected to that shit enough around the club, so I’ll respect her private space. I do my best not to smoke around her as much as I can.
When I inhale my first draw, the nicotine glides its way down my pipe and into my lungs. My nerves loosen up as I make my way down the stairs and out of the live-in. I’ll never give up this one vice. Does it control me? I guess in a way it sort of does and I don’t mind. Everyone has shit they won’t give up. The club, my bike, my guns, Piper, and my smokes are mine. You ask me to give up one of those, and I’ll laugh in your face. Each one of those serves a purpose in my life. I like it to stay that way.
When I walk into the clubhouse, it is quiet. No music blares, no rip-roaring laughter fills the air, and it confuses me. Where did the constant party from the other night go? They were set on going back to old ways, and it has disappeared that fast?
Something is up.
The door to Church is open and a few brothers sit around, so I head in, take a seat, and stub out my cigarette in the ashtray on the table.
When Smokey enters, we’re all here and the gavel smacks down. My brother’s face is unreadable. No expression and it is odd. Prez either has a pissed off face or a happy one. He has neither right now.
“We got fuckin’ problems.”
All my brothers and I shift in our seats and give him our full, undivided attention.
“Juan called. Petra was found murdered at the 24 hour pay-at-the-pump gas station near his house.”
Fuck!
“You know what this shit means.”
Every motherfucking wannabe gangster and MC around will try to take control of the snowball and dust business. My brother doesn’t have to say jack shit. We know Petra was murdered over his drugs. What I wonder is how the fuck they got past his bodyguards to ice him. Petra never traveled without at least three people at all times. When you run an operation like Petra, you take every precaution necessary.
“Tomorrow at noon, we’ll head over to Petra’s place to talk with the Mexican cartel. Ain’t no way that they aren’t already here. Petra kept mental notes and his front men informed. They’ll no doubt need the information we have. We’ll offer up our services to help keep things in check.”
This is not what I expected. I figure he would want to take control of the drug trade that runs through Jamaica.
My brother picks up his pack of cigarettes from the wooden table, flips open his Zippo, strikes, and slams the lighter back down. He hotboxes and stubs it out, the entire time he doesn’t speak a word. There is not one single expression on his face; I imagine he is in thought.
“We’re not in the drug trade, brothers. We have our small customers, and that’s the way we’ll keep it. We have enough bullshit. We’re not gonna deal with more than we got to,” he says while he grabs his gavel. “We’ll leave at 11:30.” He slams it down.
No lockdown for the family, but if we don’t do this right, we could put them in danger once again.
I’ll let Piper sleep, and I guess I will have to talk to her tomorrow. Make sure she stays more alert when she leaves the compound.
Guess I’ll go lay in my bed and get so high that I pass the fuck out cold.
***
Chapter Five
Piper
I am in the kitchen about to pour some coffee when Sniper
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