I shove my phone in Phil’s face. “See, fuckin’ trees, man. Told ya’ it was true.”
His eyes widen as he looks between my phone and me, then shakes his head in disbelief. “Well fuck me! What do ya’ know. How the hell do you even get scars like that?” He puts my phone on the bar and I cross my arms with a satisfied smirk.
“Yo, Phil, you gonna serve us or what, old man?” a guy yells from the other end of the bar.
“You know Oakley?” a deep voice says from beside me.
I turn my head to see a tall muscular guy with a buzz cut. He’s wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt, and both his arms are covered in black tattoos of dragons and snakes, and a fucking tree… with roots that extend down to his fingertips. Each black jagged line splits between his fingers, and when he reaches out to introduce himself, the same black lines extend across his palm.
“Name’s Ren,” he says.
“Mal,” I reply, giving his hand a shake.
“So, the girl with the scars, you know her?” he asks.
“What’s it to ya’?”
He leans in close to me and I move back in a panic. “The fuck man, I’m not fuckin’ gay, back off.”
He shakes his head and bites the olive off the toothpick that was resting in his Martini. The fuck kind of commando military lookin’ motherfucker dresses like him and drinks a goddamn martini? His eyes narrow and he stands over me. Before I can react, he grabs the front of my shirt in his fist and lifts me from the barstool.
Ah fuck. Not again. I shift my weight, trying to get him to loosen his hold, but it’s no use, and with a glance from the corner of my eye, there’s no one here who’s about to stop this guy. You gotta learn to keep your mouth shut, Malcolm. The words of my asshole dad play over in my mind.
“Fuck you, man, let me go.”
He sneers, his lip curling in disgust. “Listen to me you pathetic piece of shit… concentrate and pay attention to the words coming out of my mouth. I’ve got a deal for you, and there’s only one answer I’ll accept.” Ren, the fuckin’ behemoth, shoves me onto the barstool and calls for Phil to get me another whiskey.
Half the glass of whiskey is gone before my nerves begin to settle. Always in fuckin’ trouble. Yeah, Dad, you were right about one thing, I’m your son through and through, guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all. “What’s the deal,” I ask, refusing to look like a weak as fuck pussy in front of this guy.
He puts his finger on my phone and drags it back toward me. “The girl, Oakley… let’s just say she and I have a mutual acquaintance that would like to meet with her. I need you to get her and bring her to me.” Reaching over the bar, he calls out to Phil asking for a pen. He swipes a napkin from the pile on the bar and writes down his phone number and an address. “I don’t care how you get her to me. Beaten, bruised, bloody, it’s all the same, as long she’s got a pulse and can talk.”
“I’m a fuckin’ bartender, not a kidnapper. How the fuck do you expect me to do that?”
He raises a brow and drinks down the rest of his Martini. “That’s for you to figure it out, tough guy. So, deal?”
Fuck you! He just said there was only one answer he’d accept. “What do I get out of it?” I’m not doin’ this for nothin’ and it better fuckin’ be worth it.
Ren rubs his beefy fingers across his jaw. “Fifty K when she’s delivered alive to that address.”
Well fuck. How can I say no to that? “Deal.” We shake hands and as Ren leaves, he slaps me on the back.
“And remember, Malcolm, I know who you are now.”
I sigh and stand up to go take a piss. My vision swims and my legs shake as I make my way through the club. I can do this. Walk in, gag the bitch, put a bag over her ugly fuckin’ head, and deliver her to Ren.
Fucking simple.
CHAPTER 20
ANGEL
Jax is lying in bed, the sheet pulled up to his hips while he leans against the headboard, twisting his fingers through my hair. He uses his other hand to scroll through his phone, checking his hours for the coming