Page 42 of Cocky
That wasn’t going to be good for anyone.
The good news was that Contreras had left the door open for talks with the Spartans, which had Quick hopeful that it meant he was willing to negotiate. If he was, then they could avoid another bloody showdown like the one they’d had with the previous leader, Luciana, whom Contreras had answered to, like a little whipping boy on puppet strings.
Turned out homeboy had a nose for business, though, and had ruthlessly taken over as the head of operations. But he hadn’t made waves like they all thought he would, and this recent development gave them all hope that something could be resolved.
Maybe they could make him see reason and he’d either leave town or move his business elsewhere. Moose had a few ideas on how to make that happen. He clenched his fists open and closed as he and his brothers filed into the local bar, feeling the familiar ache to put his hands to good use. Personally, he would love to put a few marks on that smug bastard, Contreras. Purple and blue would go great with his olive skin tone.
Quick led the way to a table in the back big enough to accommodate everyone. As soon as they sat down, a pretty young waitress came by to take their order of two pitchers of beer and to keep ‘em coming. After the talk they’d had, taking the edge off was in order. Sometimes, the stress around the table got to a person, and the only way they had to calm the nerves was with a little alcoholic beverage.
“Tonight, I’m going to put in a call with Cruiz,” Quick said, his words like a bomb being dropped in the middle of the table.
Everyone stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. The man was shouldering some serious baggage, and like the rest of them, he was eager to unload.
“You think that’s wise?” Moose asked while visually assessing his friend for any sign of sudden onset psychosis. Was that a thing? He thought it might be a thing…
“I think he gave us an offer we can’t refuse.”
“You sound like the Godfather.”
Blake smirked. “Gotta think like one to deal with one, right?”
“I don’t think we wanna be goin’ down that road,” Repo said wisely, and they all agreed with a nod.
“Me either. But I’ve been turning it over in my mind all day, and I think Cruiz was saying somethin’ when he made that offer; otherwise, why make it at all? In fact, why not have us thrown out on our asses the moment we walked in?”
“Or shoot us on sight,” Taco added.
“Exactly. So I think making a call is our best bet. See where his head is at.”
“You think he’s in over his head with that Mafioso looking dude and is looking for a solution?” Taco asked.
“Or he’s setting up an ambush,” Wayne suggested.
“That was just what I was thinking, Scarlet,” Moose said with a smirk. With a nickname like that, he couldn’t not use it whenever the opportunity presented itself. Wayne gave him the side eye, suggesting he didn’t agree. Whatever. The kid would ease into it eventually.
“So we’re in agreement,” Quick stated, glancing at each of them.
“As long as I’m not left behind with my thumb up my ass again,” Moose groused.
“You had your thumb up your asshole? Dude.” Country scrunched his features. Moose shook his head and poured himself a drink. The man was forever cracking jokes.
“What about the women and kids?” Taco asked, clearly thinking of his own little family who he’d been working diligently at expanding. He and Bambi were like a couple of rabbits, giving Blake and Gabby a run for their baby-making money. “We can’t all run off and leave them without protection. And I know we have prospects on hand, but who here really trusts a handful of rookies with the safety of their family, especially if something like what happened last time repeated itself.”
“You have a point,” Blake agreed, scratching his grizzled cheek thoughtfully. “We’ll have a sit-down and draw straws. This is all assuming Contreras agrees to a meet ’n greet. Either way, we do this smart or not at all.”
“Or we let Country go Rambo with his military contacts and turn Contreras’s mansion into a burned-out crater,” Repo suggested.
“I’m game for that,” Country piped in eagerly, always the first to be ready to blow shit up. The man was a military hero, knew all about covert missions and weaponry the likes of which most of them had never seen beyond aGun Digestmagazine.
“Hold off till we know what we’re looking at,” Quick told him, then swigged some of his beer. The man was wound tighter than a kid’s music box, tension evident in how tight he held his mug all the way to the set of his lips as he slapped it back onto the table.
Times like this, Moose was glad he hadn’t gone and gotten a girl knocked up. Most days, it was an okay life to raise a kid up in, but those off days were the kind of nightmares that made a man say no fuckin’ way, and there was no telling what corner those days were lurking behind.
After the seriousness of the day passed, the guys got into lighter talks, making wisecracks and ribbing each other over bullshit that didn’t even make sense half the time. None of them got wasted, but they all had a good buzz going by the time trouble walked through the door.
They hadn’t been expecting it—couldn’t have predicted it if they’d tired. And the most surprised person at the table was Moose, who was wondering how in the fuck he was going to explain this one to Mouse.
Sauntering toward a booth as if they’d done it a thousand times was Rena…with Manuel Contreras’s grubby hand resting on the small of her back, guiding the way, while two of his henchmen flanked him, keeping an eye out for problems.