The Davenport Christmas Chronicles - Piper Davenport Page 0,41
down, or leaving so much potential cash on the table.”
“One thing’s for sure. With the Saints, Dogs, and Los Psychos out of the way, the Spiders would have free reign of Portland, and eventually the entire Northwest, and the only way you’re gonna keep that from happening is by sticking together, no matter what kind of bad blood you may have between your clubs.”
“I’m trying, Duke.”
“I know you are, and I’m proud of you, Minus. How’s your relationship with Los Psychos these days?”
“Surprisingly solid,” I said. “El Cacto is all business and has kept his word so far. I’m pretty confident that he’ll have our back if the shit comes down, but I’ve got a new joint business venture to propose that I think will really cement our new friendship.”
“See, that’s why Cutter put you in charge.” I could hear the smile return to Duke’s face as he spoke.
Duke and I finished catching up, and I hung up before joining Cricket in the kitchen.
“We have a problem,” Cricket whispered, grabbing my cut and pulling me out of the room.
“Yeah, I know. I haven’t had any coffee.”
She shook her head. “Worse.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked with a frown.
She licked her lips and smoothed her palms down my cut. “So, you know the blind spot by the sign?”
“The same blind spot I fucked you thoroughly in?”
She bobbed her head up and down. “Yes.”
“Yes, I know that blind spot, Cricket.”
“It’s no longer a blind spot.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”
“Hatch had cameras put there a couple of months ago.”
I stared at her for a few seconds and then dropped my head back and laughed. “Of course he did.”
“Why are you laughing?” she snapped.
“Because he probably got a good show.”
Cricket blushed beet red and growled. “That’s so unbelievably gross, but, just so you’re aware, he isn’t the one who looks at the footage. Flea is.”
“Well, then, Flea got a good show.”
“Unlike you,” she hissed in a whisper. “I’m not an exhibitionist. You need to fix this.”
“How am I going to fix this?”
“You’re going to get those tapes and destroy them.”
“Or keep them for our own uses.”
She rolled her eyes. “I have no problem with that, but you need to get them back so they are no longer here.”
“Baby, I doubt anyone’s watching them.”
“Jase. If my brother accidentally sees anything relating to you fucking his baby sister, you’re gonna—”
“I get it,” I said, not letting her finish. “I’ll talk to Flea.”
“Thank you.”
“After coffee,” I said.
“Now. You’ll do it now,” she countered.
I slid my hand to her neck. “Cricket, have you seen him?”
“No.”
“No. Exactly. He’s probably balls deep in his woman right now, so I will find him after coffee.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Why do you always have to take it there?”
“Because everything’s better balls deep,” I retorted.
She let out another growl. “Minus.”
“I’ll go find him,” I said with a sigh.
“Thank you.”
* * *
Cricket
I headed back into the kitchen, grabbed the biggest mug in the cabinet, and went about making my man a cup of coffee. Poppy was no longer in the room, but it looked like she’d pulled out bagels and cereal for everyone, so I grabbed a couple of bagels and dropped them in the toaster oven.
Maisie walked in...just before Minus, so I bit my lip and gave him a questioning look. He patted his cut over his heart and I relaxed. He must have the files in his inside pocket. Thank God.
“Morning, Cricket,” Maisie said.
“Hi, Maisie. Poppy made coffee,” I said, handing Minus the mug I’d made for him.
“I love my girl,” Maisie said, and grabbed a cup out of the cabinet.
Minus leaned down and kissed me gently. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Bagels are toasting.”
“Even better.”
We grabbed our breakfast and made our way to the great room where we snuggled on the oversized sofa and ate while our friends and family came down in various stages of wakefulness. It was cold and wet outside, so this was pretty much where we stayed until lunchtime, then I helped the rest of the women prep lunch while the men helped the Bikers for Kids with toy procurement.
* * *
Wolf
“You have a collect call from an inmate at Columbia River Correctional Institution. Do you agree to accept the charges?”
“Yes,” I said.
There was a brief pause followed by a few pops and clicks before the automated voice returned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear your response. Do you agree to accept the charges?”
“Yes, motherfucker,” I shouted into the phone. I was in a Fred Meyer parking lot in Troutdale, using