|Home > Chelle Bliss > Men of Inked > Uncover Me (Page 3)|
|Uncover Me(Men of Inked #6) by Chelle Bliss|
When Rebel released her, she turned around and started to walk away, but not before he could land a quick slap to her ass. She squeaked, picking up the pace to get out of arm’s reach before another assault by Rebel.
“She’s a fine specimen, Greaser,” he growled as he wiped his lips.
“Yeah. She didn’t look into your old ass, motherfucker,” I replied as I pulled the cigarette pack from my sleeve. Once I’d grabbed a smoke, I tapped it against the box before placing it between my lips.
“With age comes experience,” Rebel hissed.
“Your shit’s going to fall off soon. It’s overused and needs to be condemned,” I teased before lighting the tip. After taking a drag, I let the smoke sit in my throat, the slow burn soothing my nerves.
I couldn’t remember what it meant to relax. I knew in essence what the word described, but while I was on the job, undercover with the MC, it wasn’t a verb I could identify any longer. I was constantly on edge, looking over my shoulder, and waiting for the shit to hit the proverbial fan at any moment.
I had to have aged at least twenty years since I had found my way inside the Sun Devils MC. I didn’t know if I’d ever be the same.
Could I go back home and be the Thomas Gallo I had been in my youth? The carefree ball buster amongst my family? Or had I been forever altered and perpetually changed by this mission?
At times, I second-guessed my decision to join the DEA. I should’ve stuck it out at the tattoo shop and been happy with a life with my family.
But I craved something more.
I’d wanted the rush, and knowing that I was doing something worthy made me feel good.
Once inside, I’d gotten a reality check. No matter how many men we brought down, how many drug dealers we threw in jail, or how many MCs we were able to rip apart, there would be another one to take their place before the judge could pass sentence.
The sound of the bottle scraping against the wooden table pulled me from my thoughts as Bunny slid the beer in front of me, brushing my fingers with the backs of her knuckles. I looked up at her and smiled.
“Where the fuck did you go there?” Rebel asked as he grabbed my beer.
“Zoned out for a minute.” I wished I was anywhere but here.
“Here’s your shot, baby,” Bunny cooed as she replaced the beer Rebel stole from me.
“Thanks, Bunny,” I said as I plucked a ten-dollar bill from my pocket and placed it on her tray.
“Get lost, Bunny. We have shit to talk about,” Greaser growled when she lingered for a moment, staring at me.
She scurried off into the crowd without a reply.
“Did Rebel fill you in on the details of the deal?” Greaser asked me before taking another sip of his beer.
“Yes.” I brought the shot glass to my mouth and downed the cool amber liquid.
“What are your thoughts?” Greaser asked, turning the beer bottle in his hand.
“The logistics are a concern, but it’s doable. Can the players be trusted?” I asked, still feeling the burn of the tequila in my belly.
Rebel had been tossing around the idea for some time, but when Greaser had said that he was all in, he’d jumped on it and run full steam ahead. Instead of controlling the drugs and guns, Rebel and Greaser had decided that the two clubs would go into money laundering. They felt that the risk was lower and the monetary gain higher. I looked at it as another thing to add to the long list of offenses I was able to track and prove when it was time to bring the club down.
“Yes,” Greaser stated without going into detail.
“I’m sure we can make it successful for everyone. What’s the cut?” Taking another drag of my cigarette, I stared at Greaser, waiting for his reply.
“Ten percent.” He motioned with his fingers, calling over someone across the room.
“Fuckin’ ay,” Rebel bellowed as he slammed his beer down on the table. “We got this shit.”
As he spoke, a beautiful brunette came up next to Greaser. He wrapped his arm around her waist, stroking her exposed stomach with his thumb.
“We’ll head down next week to discuss it further as long as your club is on board,” Greaser said as he climbed to his feet.
“Sounds good, my old friend,” Rebel replied. “I need to find some pussy. My balls are aching.”
Once they’d shaken hands, Greaser wandered off with the brunette. Then Rebel sat back down, taking a gulp of his beer.
“I’m going to get some head.”
“I’m going to get the fuck out of here. I’ve had my fill of pussy tonight,” I said, finishing off my beer and sticking the pack of cigarettes back under my sleeve. Standing, I looked around the room and turned to Rebel. “Have a fun night, brother.” Then I squeezed his shoulder, walked away, and headed for the door.
I stepped outside into the cool air of a March evening and peered up at the sky. I wanted to be home, back in Tampa with my family. Tomorrow would be Sunday dinner and everyone would be gathered around my parents’ table.
I wanted that life back. My life.
As I climbed on my bike and headed back to the motel, I wanted to call James and see how things had gone with Izzy. I needed to know that he had been able to get as far away from here as possible and that there were no problems.
The spring air chilled my skin as I drove the back roads of Daytona toward the fleabag motel and my bed for the night. I was ready to ditch this damn town and head back to HQ.
The life might be fucked up, but I had a new normal, a new rhythm I had grown accustomed to. Any change in the routine made me antsy.