Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

T he Plaza Diner, a block away from the station, served the best home-cooked food in the area and with the lowest prices. The entire police department frequented the place, and Margie, the owner, was treated by everyone as family.

Yoanni could hardly contain her excitement. She could taste the first bite of a crispy, crunchy, delicious fried chicken morsel melting in her mouth. Pushing the door in, she gestured at Betty to hurry up. It was one fifteen in the afternoon and her stomach had been rumbling since she finished entering data into the station’s computers. As if reading her mind, Betty had shyly suggested going for lunch, and she’d agreed on the spot. It was curious, though, when she’d mentioned the diner, Betty had given her a blank look.

“Are you kidding me?” Yoanni asked, wide-eyed. “You haven’t tried Margie’s fried chicken yet? And you’ve been working here for how long? Get your purse,” she’d ordered without allowing a bewildered Betty to answer. Hooking the strap of her bag on her shoulder, Yoanni pointed at the station’s exit sign and sped out.

Now, as Yoanni and Betty walked past the counter, a tall Black woman with a powerful physique rushed out from somewhere inside the kitchen. Her ebon hair was pulled into a high bun, and she wore an incongruously white apron for someone who owned a diner and was intimately involved in the operation of her business.

“You’re back. I’ve missed you, child.” Margie wrapped Yoanni in a bear hug, and she went with it. “How’re your parents, darlin’? I didn’t think you’d come back to us.”

“Heck, no. I had to come back.” Smiling, Yoanni managed to extricate herself from the affectionate hug. “This is home for me. Miami is too hot.”

“And your Papi? How is the poor dear?”

“They caught the cancer early, and so far, he’s responding to the treatments. Looks like he’s going to beat it.” She nodded. “We’re hopeful and happy with the diagnosis.” Grabbing Betty’s hand, Yoanni pulled her shy new friend forward. “Margie, this is Betty. She started working at the station a few weeks ago. I can’t believe no one told her about your place and your amazing cooking.”

“Well, we gotta fix that, don’t we?” Margie grinned, showing a row of perfect white teeth. “Nice to meet you, Betty. How do you like working at the station?”

“It’s fine, I guess,” Betty replied, glancing at the floor.

“She’s kinda shy,” Yoanni explained under her breath.

Margie nodded. “I see that. Sit wherever you like. I’ll bring menus.”

“Not for me,” Yoanni said. “You know exactly what I want.”

“Gotcha, girl. And you, Betty? Want to look at the menu?”

“Um… I’ll have whatever Yoanni’s having.”

“Smart choice. Two fried chicken lunches with all the fixins coming up.”

As Margie returned to the kitchen, Yoanni slid into the first available booth, which wasn’t far from the door. The main lunch rush had ended by now, and the place was about half full. Before Yoanni and Betty could get involved in conversation, Margie showed up with two large sweet iced teas and walked away again.

“Wow, she’s on top of everything.” Betty peeled her straw and took a sip of her tea.

“You’ve no idea. Margie knows everything that’s going on out here. Some of us suspect she monitors her customers with hidden cameras throughout the room.” Yoanni pointed to the four corners around the room. “If they’re there, you can’t see them.”

“The tea is just right. Not too sweet.” Betty wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like it when it’s overloaded with sugar.”

“Me neither.” Yoanni followed suit with her drink.

“I thought you said the diner is always full,” Betty said, glancing around the room.

“We came in late. The lunch hour begins at eleven thirty and ends about one-ish. It’s packed during that time. You’re lucky to find a spot at the counter.”

“That’s early. Why?”

“Because the morning shift begins before the sun comes up. The first group arrives at five a.m. to assist the graveyard cops with reports and such. The start of every shift overlaps the next. Don’t you know that?”

Betty lowered her gaze. Her cheeks tinted pink, and she lifted a shoulder. “I clock in at nine, and I haven’t shown much interest in schedules other than mine. Doesn’t say much about me, huh?”

“Well… I’ll give you a break. You haven’t been working at the station that long.” Yoanni took another sip. “I gather you’re not from Garden City or Pooler, right? Tell me about you. Where did you come from? What made you apply to the station?”

As Betty opened her mouth to answer, Margie arrived with two huge fried chicken platters. She set them on the table and stood back. “Would you like anything else? How about a side of okra? ”

Yoanni eyed the steaming aromatic fried chicken pieces, collard greens, and a side of potato salad and shook her head. “That’s too much. This is perfect. I wouldn’t be able to finish the okra. As it is, I think I’m going to need a doggie bag.”

“Eat what you can. I’ll check on you later.”

Margie walked back to the kitchen, and Yoanni clasped her hands under her chin, gazing at the items tempting her taste buds. “Living in Miami, I’ve missed this so much.”

“How come?”

“The supermarket where my parents live offers Southern-style fried chicken. I tried it. Pfft,” she scoffed. “?Qué va! Margie has set a very high bar. My mom is an awesome cook, but her talent is limited to Cuban and several Spanish dishes.”

Betty frowned. “I’ve never had Cuban food, but I hear it’s delicious.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s the best. In Miami, I had my fill to last me for a while. But I still missed this. Go ahead, take a bite and tell me what you think. Careful, it’s probably super hot.”

Leaving her newfound friend to do her thing, Yoanni bit into a plump thigh. Scalding heat and the most perfect combination of spices filled her mouth. As she blew out, trying to cool down the morsel, a powerful flashback took her to a happier moment with the handsomest man she’d ever known and still ached for.

“You’re so impatient. Will it kill you to wait a moment?”

Deep in her chest, her heart twisted. Breathing hard, she suppressed the ill-timed memory and the unwanted sensation.

Meanwhile, Betty gingerly picked up a drumstick on both ends, took a small bite, and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she covered her mouth to speak. “You weren’t kidding. This is delicious.”

“Told you.” She grinned and returned to finish her first piece. Yoanni dropped the stripped bone to the plate and returned to the conversation. “You were about to tell me where you came from and what brought you to the station.”

“Mmm, yes.” Betty wiped her mouth. “I’m from Louisiana. Grew up in a small town. Smaller than Garden City.”

“That’s tiny. And?”

“One of my relatives dealt with some difficulties.” Betty shrugged. “Things got weird, and I decided to move away. Get as far as I could and find a new life elsewhere.”

“Weird, how?”

Betty ended eye contact to study her plate. After a moment, she answered, “Bad company. Rough crowd.”

“I see.”

“What about you? I understand you’re Cuban. How did you end up here?”

“I was born on the island. When I was two, my parents managed to escape the system with a temporary work contract to Mexico. My family spent the next year getting the paperwork for residence visas in order. Once everything was approved, we entered the US and moved to Miami. Then the company my Papá worked for moved to Savannah. My parents preferred to live on the outskirts of the big city. I’ve been here ever since.”

“But didn’t you just spend six months on leave with your parents in Miami?”

“Papi retired in 2017.” Yoanni finished stripping one wing bare, then dropped it on top of the small pile of bones. “He and Mami moved south to join the Cuban tribe. South Florida’s where most of my people have relocated to. They like it ’cause it’s ninety miles from the homeland. When he got the cancer diagnosis and went into treatment, I flew down to help Mami. Since he’s better, I’m back. You might have heard me tell Margie.”

“I did hear you. Do you have any relatives here?”

She shook her head. “Not a one. I’m basically alone.”

“What about friends? ”

“Captain Weaver’s a friend.”

Betty grimaced. “Not him. He’s nice and all, but I mean friends your age. Women friends.”

A sense of nostalgia struck her, but she managed to keep it from her face.

“Emily and I were close. We met when she was a rookie cop and I was a new secretary. We hit it off right away. We did everything together. After she was promoted to junior detective, she hooked up with a handsome biker who helped her solve an important case. They fell in love and moved to another state. She’s happily married now.”

“Biker?”

“Uh-huh.” Yoanni nodded, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the topic. “The Devils’ Spawn MC. They’re based in Garden City.”

“I don’t understand.” Dropping her chicken, Betty directed her sharp, dark eyes at her. “If your family is far away and your best friend is gone, why did you come back? Aren’t you lonely?”

Yoanni swallowed. Only her pillow knew her tears and indecision. She feared loneliness most of all. The first time she opened the door of her apartment, she felt as if the walls would cave in on her. Immediately, she’d called Emily. Her friend had walked her through the initial encounter with her living quarters, the space where all her cherished memories resided, all the while asking the same question. Why did you come back, Yoanni?

She’d given Emily and the captain a brave front and a good excuse. But at her core, she was a frightened child. How could she explain the inner compulsion urging her to come back, to try with Barron one more time… She could always walk away.

Yoanni gave Betty a half smile. “I am lonely at times. But I like my place and my privacy. We’ll see. The good thing is, I don’t have a spouse or children depending on me. I can change my mind at any time.”

“I hope you’ll let me be your friend. I’m a little lonely too. ”

Betty’s expression was so hopeful, Yoanni gave her best smile. “Sure I will, and we start today. So you were telling me about your reasons for moving here.”

Betty glanced at her wristwatch. “Oh, my goodness. Look at the time. We have to go. I have a mountain of correspondence on my desk. Can you ask your friend for the check and to give us a doggy bag?”

“Of course.”

As Yoanni waved at Margie, she realized that she’d opened herself up to Betty. Had told her quite a bit about her life, family, and roots, except the real reason for her return. That part she wasn’t willing to divulge to anyone. However, Betty had kept a tight lid on her own story and past. She hadn’t revealed a damned detail. Strange behavior for someone who wanted to be friends.

“Is everyone finished?” Blade’s voice snapped Barron out of the daydream. “Pass me the ballots.”

Fuck! Church had been called to take an important vote. The sergeant-at-arms/enforcer position had been vacant since Cutter moved south. Barron should’ve been listening, but Robert’s rules of order bored him, so he’d tuned out the discussion. His mind had gone in a direction he didn’t want it to. Yoanni’s return had brought emotions he thought he’d buried back to life.

At least he’d checked Little Billy’s name. Turbo’s sidekick was a ferocious Devils’ Spawn. The guy lived and breathed the club’s brotherhood and the motorcycle culture more than anyone Barron knew. He’d be a formidable enforcer.

Blade counted the ballots in silence, and an air of expectation filled the room. He finished tallying the votes and glanced around the table. “My vote isn’t necessary. It’s unanimous.” Blade held out the red and black SGT AT ARMS patch. “Let’s congratulate our brother, Little Billy, Devils’ Spawn’s new sergeant-at-arms.”

A round of cheers, piercing whistles, and table slapping filled the room. Blade stood as Little Billy stepped from his chair to pick up his patch. The brothers embraced, Blade murmured a few private words, and, holding his new patch to his chest, Little Billy faced his brothers with a rare shit-eating grin. Little Billy could scare the real devil if he wanted. About six feet tall and heavily muscled, he walked around with a permanent frown and a Glock shoved in the waist of his jeans. A necessary habit from the days when the Spawn were a troublemaking outlaw club. The only softening detail on the man was the pair of small gold hoops on each earlobe. If anyone got out of hand, Barron had no doubt Little Billy would set them straight in an instant.

The group spilled out to the main room to celebrate. Barron pushed back his chair to join his brothers, but Blade stopped him. “Can you stay a minute?”

“What’s up?”

“I watched you during the meeting. You were somewhere else. What’s on your mind?”

Barron glared at his president. Blade had some balls to ask that question. He’d brought up the damned topic about Yoanni’s return in the first place.

“Nothing,” Barron grumbled.

“The bullshit is dripping off you, man. Is it the deal with the Wolves and the new cartel?” He chuckled. “No, wait. I know what’s eating you. Guess what, asshole, you did it to yourself.”

Barron tightened his hands into fists, controlling the impulse to smack his friend and club president, a good one, and put an end to the teasing comments.

“Fuck you, Blade.”

“There’s an intelligent response. What’re you gonna do?” Blade settled against the back of his chair with a mild expression. “ Let her slip from your fingers again? She’s here now, but for how long? As far as I know, she had one friend, Emily, and without her…”

“Yes. It’s Yoanni, and I don’t know what I’m going to do about her. Happy?”

“No skin off my nose if you don’t claim her. You’re one miserable-looking pup. Take care of business. Go find her. Ask her to take you back.”

“Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t. Just lay the fuck off. Give me room to breathe.”

“You’re right.” Blade held up a hand. “I’ll stop messing with your head. Weaver and I spoke again.”

“What?”

“He knows about Los Emes. The DEA has sent him several troubling reports. Those guys are ruthless, committed, and apparently well-funded. The Gulf Clan, a revolutionary guerrilla group operating in the Colombian mountains, is in complete control of the cocaine refining production and has a ton of money thanks to undercover support from the Venezuelan and Cuban governments. After the fall of Escobar, The Gulf Clan was searching for a new organization to operate in the city. They found it in the up-and-coming Los Emes. The idea of an improved Medellin-style cartel was attractive.”

“Don’t tell me. Weaver is sending me out again.”

“No. He wants you to stay put. You were seen in LaFayette. Returning to the Wolves’ territory is too much exposure for you.”

“That’s a fucking relief for me. So…”

“I passed the photographs you took to the brothers. Everyone is familiar with the faces. Meanwhile, we wait and watch. At the first sign of their presence on our turf, we sound the alarm to Weaver. He’ll have to bring the big guns into the situation.”

Barron nodded. Getting the feds involved and him out of the line of fire sounded just perfect because going back to the Steel Wolves’ clubhouse made his hair stand on end. Once he’d joined the biker life, he’d seen his share of MC clubhouses. Some were unkempt and dirty, others were neat and almost clean, but not a one felt as sinister and evil as the Wolves’. If he never returned to LaFayette, it would be too soon.

“Then we wait. Anything else?”

Blade exhaled. “We didn’t talk about the auto and bike repair garage. Any updates on that project?”

“I stopped by on the way here. The warehouse conversion is almost complete, thanks to Cabo. He and Lobo are supervising the conversion plans and making sure we get everything we want and need. I’d say in another week, we can start taking clients.”

“Outstanding.” He rocked back and forth. “Thanks, man. When you go out, tell the brothers I’ll join them in a minute. I have a couple of calls to make.”

That was a clear dismissal. Pushing off the chair, he walked to the door. “I’ll see you.”

“Yeah.” Blade waved absently. His attention was on two side-by-side documents on top of the table. Evidently, he preferred to remain in the church room.

None of my fucking business, Barron thought as he stepped into the hallway and quietly closed the door. He followed the sound of laughter and voices out to the main room.

His Spawn brethren had gathered around the bar, and everyone was talking at the same time. A great deal of congratulatory back-slapping, beer-drinking, and toasting to the new sergeant-at-arms/enforcer was going on.

Johnny Gun saw him and waved a full bottle of beer. “Beer’s getting warm, man. Join us.”

Barron made his way through the group and grabbed his bottle from Johnny G. “You’re always looking out for me. Thanks, dude. ”

Johnny G chuckled. “It’s what brothers do.” He downed a long gulp, and Barron joined him with his. He wanted to go over and congratulate Little Billy, but the guy was surrounded at the moment.

Barron put his bottle down. “Guess I’ll have to wait to congratulate him.” He jutted his chin toward the group. “I’m just glad Blade didn’t put me in a tough position.”

“Meaning?” Johnny Gun asked.

“For a while there, I thought he was going to nominate me to Cutter’s old job.” He shook his head. “Keeping the MC’s rules and the brothers in line ain’t my jam. Too much responsibility. I can’t even keep my own life straight, let alone anyone else’s.”

“You didn’t mind going on Weaver’s assignments,” Johnny Gun said. “That was some heavy shit.”

“Yeah, but once I come back, I dump whatever I learn either on Blade or Weaver, and I’m done, finito, no more.” Finishing the last gulp of the beer, Barron tossed the empty bottle into the open recycling bin.

Wonders never ceased: these days, the Devil’s Spawn recycled. Ever since Blade went legit, the club’s internal attitude and culture had changed dramatically. Too fucking much for him. Barron was neat and clean on the outside. But inside, an obscene, down-and-dirty Daddy Dominant raged. And he loved every bit of who he was. On that note…

“I’m not going to wait for an opening to congratulate Little Billy. I’ll catch him tomorrow and buy him a drink.”

Johnny Gun tilted his head. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yep. I need to release the beast, and Nightshade is calling my name.”

“Fuck, I can get into that. I’ll go with you.”

“Not the way you’re dressed, you’re not,” Barron argued.

“I’ve got clothes here. Give me ten minutes.”

Barron gave his friend a full up-and-down inspection and shook his head. “Really? I don’t see how. You got five minutes, and then I’m gone.”

“Hold that thought.” Johnny Gun tossed his bottle in the bin and walked away without glancing back.

Barron dropped his elbows on the counter, checking the poorly stocked liquor shelves above the double refrigerated section. The current prospect—he didn’t know the guy’s name—worked nonstop filling orders. Spawn brothers were huge beer drinkers, but on occasion, a gin and tonic, vodka on the rocks, or a scotch neat would be a nice change.

A hard hand fell on his shoulder. “I’m ready.” Johnny Gun spoke from behind him.

He turned and gave a low whistle. Leather pants and a T-shirt, both in perfect black, had replaced his friend’s regular torn jeans and greasy T-shirt. His long hair was combed and pulled into a low ponytail. The steel-toed boots remained, but those had been polished, and they worked with the outfit and the club’s kinky atmosphere.

“Well, I’ve never.” Barron arched an eyebrow. “Son of a bitch, you do clean up well.”

Johnny G grinned. “When I’m in the mood, yes.”

“Let’s go,” Barron said. “Tonight, I need to find me an experienced submissive.”

“I hear you, brother. I’m right there with you.”

Barron turned for the door without saying goodbye to his brothers. Johnny Gun followed close behind.