2: END GAME

NOVA: Hey, are you busy this evening?

ME: Got some things to take care of. What’s up?

NOVA: Nothing. Thought maybe you might want to swing by for dinner.

ME: Sorry, I can’t make it.

NOVA: No problem. Maybe some other time?

I feel like such an asshole. I can hear all the hope in her questions and wish that I hadn’t been so dismissive. I mull it over for a minute, thinking about the run tonight before I reply again.

ME: Doubt if I can get away early, but maybe late-night coffee?

NOVA: Sounds great!

ME: I mean, it might be around midnight.

NOVA: Um, okay. That’s fine.

ME: Send me your address, and I’ll swing by as soon as I get free.

“You find out anything on that new bookstore?”

“I ain’t been by there yet,” I lie.

I’m not sure why I do, but I’m not ready to disclose the fact that someone that I once cared very much for owns that bookstore. I know what Anarchy wants, and the last thing that I want or plan to do is get the MC involved in Nova’s business in any way. There’s no way in hell I’ll allow her to be impacted by club business or have her business tainted.

She’s been through enough shit in life as it is. She deserves something to go right in her life for once, and no matter what I have to do to ensure it, I’m doing it. I’ve left her once before and failed to protect her. I’m never making the same mistake twice.

“I need facts, End Game. Need to know if it’s gonna bring trouble our way, what traffic the store’s generating, if we need to get involved and how we can get involved if we need to,” Anarchy sniffs, kicking his boots up on his desk and leaning back in his chair.

I stare at the metal balls in his fingers that he’s juggling and switch the toothpick in my mouth to the other side. The phone buzzes in my hand again.

NOVA: 7369 Oceanfront Cove Rd.

ME: See ya later.

“End Game? You paying attention?” Anarchy snipes.

“Yeah, Prez,” I say, tucking my phone away.

“How are sales at the dispensary?” he asks.

I glance at Phantom, who’s sitting to my right, and he rattles off a report on numbers for last month versus numbers for this month so far, and then he compares them to the numbers for last year this time. Anarchy moves on from the dispensary and does the same thing for the remainder of the businesses in the MC.

I’m not usually in council meetings, but every now and then, when Anarchy wants to discuss business, he’ll pull me in along with Tantrum, Rage, Falcon, Snake, Chainz, and now Mayhem. None of us are council members, but we all co-own businesses with the MC.

“What’s on your mind, End Game?” Anarchy asks when we finish with the financials.

Shaking my head, I reply, “Just wondering if tonight’s meeting at the club is a good idea.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Shrugging, I reply, “Cappellacci’s been moving strangely lately. Not trusting shit from him.”

“In what way?” Anarchy asks.

“Just the usual order has changed. It started off with small changes, but lately, his orders have doubled, and he’s not even haggling over price the way he normally does. He ain’t even picky about the product selection. Shit don’t make sense to me.”

“Could be he knows he’s about to get business from us with these girls,” Cannon, our enforcer, says.

We’ve been trying to infiltrate a sex trafficking ring that Cappellacci is rumored to be tied to. Cannon’s Ol’ Lady, Roxie, was once married to an asshole politician who was a part of that ring. He cheated with Roxie’s cousin, Courtney. Not long after Roxie confronted them, Courtney came up missing, and everyone suspects it has something to do with the human trafficking ring.

Our MC has taken on the challenge of finding out more information so that we can save her, if possible. Hence, our infiltration efforts and tonight’s meeting at Cappellacci’s club.

“You suspecting a setup?” Raider, our VP, asks.

“Yeah.”

“Cops or robbery?” Rage asks.

Shrugging, I say, “Don’t really know. All I know is something feels off.”

“Aight, keep an eye on that. Whiz, switch up tonight’s route a little bit,” Anarchy orders.

Whiz bobs his thick, white hair, which looks as if it belongs on a man in his seventies, but he’s half that.

“Got it, Prez,” Whiz says.

“His last order, he sent some dude in to pick it up. Not even sure who the fucker was, and when I refused, Cappellacci was pissed. Told him to never send someone to me blind again.”

Anarchy shakes his head. “I don’t like this shit. Why the fuck is he changing his normal guy?”

Shrugging, I reply, “That’s what I’m saying. None of this shit’s making sense.”

“You think Cappellacci’s trying to weaken us?” Rage asks.

Anarchy shakes his head. “Not thinking that, but I don’t know what the fuck he’s thinking. Just be ready to roll tonight, boys.”

They give him updates on that while my mind turns back to Nova. I try to stay away so that I don’t draw attention to myself or to her. If anyone sees me hanging around too much, they might draw a parallel between her and the MC.

It’s only been a week since we reconnected, but I’m careful to only go to the store right at closing time or after. I circle around back to make sure that her car is out there and no one else’s before I go to the front door and tap on it with my keys.

She lets me in, and we share coffee and conversation. It’s a side of me that my brothers will never see. She and I have a past. She’s the only one who knows the depth of my pain, the confused, hurt, and angry soul that I used to be. The one who simply wanted someone to love me, the boy who wanted and missed his mother and didn’t understand why she didn’t love him enough to keep him around.

I can’t help but marvel at how Nova and I came to be in the same space and time again. So, all I want is to be around her. I mean, come on. What are the odds that two foster kids from Atlanta, GA, could both end up in Northern California in the seaside town of Smokey Ridge? Whereas I landed straight here, she’s come by way of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

“Alright, fellas. We’ll be ready to roll out in a couple of hours. Everyone knows what to do?” Anarchy asks, glancing around and checking each of us.

We all nod or mutter our agreement.

I’m just ready for the night to end so I can see Nova again.

***

Shit is tenser than a muh’fucka. Although Raider got us an invite to Cappellacci’s party, the security team is acting shady as hell.

We’ve all been patted down, but these dumb fucks are asking us to get rid of our guns.

“Not doing that. Cappellacci didn’t say we had to come unarmed,” Anarchy says.

“No one’s allowed in the club with guns. That’s just it,” says one of the guards.

“Maybe you might wanna bring him out,” Cannon says, stepping beside Anarchy with an intimidating demeanor.

I mean, these are some big guys, and I’m not so small myself, but I don’t think any of them want to take on Cannon.

He looks like the incredible fucking Hulk minus the green and bad haircut.

“We’re not disturbing Mr. Aiello,” the other security guy grunts.

“Hey, I received a personal invitation from him. I don’t think he’ll take too kindly to you turning guests away,” Raider says.

“What he won’t take kindly is me not enforcing his rules,” the blonde says.

There’s a little more arguing before Phantom steps up. While I don’t quite see what happens, I see Phantom make a quick move that stuns the first guard. As soon as the other guard pulls his gun, my brothers and I are ready with ours.

I aim my gun at his head, Raider aims his gun at the other side, and Anarchy has his gun aimed under the man’s chin.

“Enjoy yourself, gentlemen,” he grinds out.

Phantom releases the other guard and steps inside, and we all follow him. The club is crowded, the music is loud, and sexy bodies are everywhere. Most of the women are scantily clad, and if they’re not grinding on the dance floor, they’re grinding on someone’s lap in a corner.

They’re not much different than the Roses, who are currently on the road with the Ol’ Ladies and most of the other brothers. As we walk by, a table of six women eyes us closely, licking their lips, smiling, twirling their hair, and everything else they can do to get our attention.

If the banner one woman is wearing around her body is to be believed, they’re having a bachelorette party. But all of them, including the potential bride, look like they’re ready to ride us as soon as we sit down.

“Gotta think that shit was too fucking easy,” Cannon mumbles just ahead of me.

“Yeah, it was,” Raider agrees.

“Think you might be needing this, bro,” Cannon says, reaching back to hand Phantom’s gun to him.

“You think?” Phantom sneers.

He’s pissed, and I can’t say I blame him. He wants to be anywhere but here tonight, and we all know how he feels about human trafficking. Attending this party and pretending to be a part of it goes against everything we believe.

“Phantom, keep a grip no matter what the fuck you see. Got me?” Anarchy is tense and shooting daggers at Phantom, but it doesn’t seem to faze him.

“I said I was cool,” Phantom gripes.

A mid-sixties Italian guy with salt and pepper hair, Martin Cappellacci considers himself a ladies’ man. It’s not because of his looks but more related to his connections.

“Gentlemen, glad you could make it,” he says.

I find myself wanting to wipe that smug grin from his face. I’m sure I’m not the only one.

“Had a bit of trouble at the door,” Anarchy says. “Our guys took care of it.”

Those words cause that smile to slip for a moment. “Yes, saw that on the camera,” he says, glaring at Phantom.

“Would you gentlemen like drinks?” one of two brunettes asks.

They’re wearing nothing at all but holding a tray of drinks in front of them. Before any of us can answer, Martin Cappellacci is quick to answer.

“No, these men will be joining me in the VIP room. They’ll get drinks there. Gentlemen,” Martin says.

We look out of place among the men in dress suits or business casual attire with our jeans, hoodies, Henleys, lumberjack shirts, or tees and our cuts and biker boots.

Martin unlocks a frosted glass door. The atmosphere is a lot more relaxed and chill on the other side of the door, with softer music.

Small groups of people congregate on black and blue leather couches, armchairs, and chaise lounges.

“What would you gentlemen like to drink?” Martin asks after we’re seated.

“Whatcha got?” Mayhem asks.

“Whatever your pleasure is. Pills. Powder. Leaves.”

“Alcohol,” Cannon sneers.

“Whatever pleases you,” Martin answers.

“We’ll defer to your selection,” Anarchy says.

I can’t help but snicker at Anarchy’s word choice, and he glares at me.

“Bring a couple of bottles of Paradis Imperial,” Martin says to a woman who appeared seemingly from nowhere. “I didn’t think the Disciples were into anything more than arms and pharmaceuticals.”

“We’ve got a few side hustles. Those are just our primary sources,” Anarchy answers. “Besides, Phantom, our treasurer, is always looking for opportunities to expand our business. Says this is the hottest market going now.”

Martin seems fixated on Phantom when he responds, and though he’s seen Phantom at the dispensary on a few occasions, they’ve never interacted. It’s me he trusts, not Phantom, because he doesn’t know him. And like most people, he assumes Phantom’s out of place in our MC because he’s of mixed Asian and Caucasian descent.

Business talks commence while drinks are poured, and I do my best to look relaxed, taking in the scenery. My mind briefly turns to Nova, and I can’t help but think the women who will be sold here tonight are much like her. Someone’s sister, daughter, friend, girlfriend and so on. It sickens me to know that these men and women, too, can so callously participate in the skin trade.

It’s not long before the show starts, and we see the first in a string of drugged girls stepping out to parade in nothing more than thongs and high heels.

None of them are able to focus on what’s happening around them from the dazed, distant look in their eyes. The men treat them as nothing more than cattle, if even that decent, as they smack their asses. The degradation cranks up a few notches, and Anarchy has to warn Phantom to calm down.

He’s gonna blow it if he’s not careful.

I make my way around the room as more girls are brought out and begin to converse with them to see just how high they are.

“End Game.”

I turn away, assessing Martin Cappellacci as he assesses Phantom. Although he’s called my name, it’s not me that he’s watching.

“What’s with your friend?”

“Which one?” I ask nonchalantly.

“The one that you do business with. I don’t trust him. Why does he seem so on edge?” Martin asks, stroking his beard.

“Maybe because he is.”

“Why?”

Shrugging, I say, “Look, Martin. If this thing goes smoothly, the MC stands to become very profitable from this business.”

“As will my organization.”

“Correct. On the other hand, if shit doesn’t turn out the way that it should, then it’s gonna come back and bite him in the ass. After all, he’s our Treasurer and the one responsible for overseeing the management of our businesses and funds. He suggested we take on this new venture. So, if shit goes down, if the MC gets into trouble, loses money behind this, or fuck up our connections with you guys, it’s his ass that’s on the line. He treads carefully whenever it comes to doing business.”

“As he should.”

“Right. So, that’s why he’s moving carefully and analyzing everything because it’s his ass that Anarchy and Raider will hold over the fire.”

“Why my organization, though? If he doesn’t know or trust me, why would he lead them in this direction?”

I can hear the suspicion in his voice.

“He didn’t. He only suggested that we get into the skin trade.”

“Who suggested me?”

“I did.”

Turning his gaze in my direction, he asks, “And how did you come to know about it?”

“Come on, let’s be honest, Martin. I’m no fool. We’ve been doing business for a long time. I know what you’re into. Andres Garcia, your old friend, had loose lips. He quite often talked about it. So, when I heard Phantom suggest us going this route, I figured there was no better person to get in bed with on this than you. We work with the Aiello family already, and you and I do business on a smaller scale. Why not keep it in-house?”

Slowly, Martin nods and says, “Makes sense.”

When he walks away and heads back to Anarchy, I blow out a sigh of relief. Perhaps he bought my story after all.

Time ticks by slowly as Anarchy and Raider make negotiations to purchase one of the girls from Martin. I don’t know how long they plan to play this game because there’s no way that the MC can save all these girls by buying them from Martin. Surely, they’ve got something else planned.

And though the night is long, when we finally get away, I don’t want to head back to the bunkhouse with my brothers. I need time and space to clear my mind of the bullshit I saw tonight.

Yet, as we come up on the cut to the compound, I glance at the time on my cockpit and make the turn with my brothers.

It’s just after two in the morning. At some point, I’d completely lost track of time and never bothered to text, letting her know that I couldn’t make it.