life,
his old friend and former army buddy Greeley had said, because if Ajax had, maybe rolling up here in a cloud of dust, still wearing his cut, wasn’t the brightest idea.
No one “bailed” on the life. You went out the way you came in. With blood.
Priest had to hand out a few prison sentences back in the day to clean up a mess,
Ajax had said. He’d crossed his arms over his chest and he hadn’t looked away.
But Priest is dead. I’m on parole.
Now he tried to concentrate on what they were saying, rather than on the way Sophie’s long hair slipped this way and that over her sweetly rounded, temptingly bare shoulders—an issue he’d never, ever had before in his entire life.
For Christ’s sake.
Ajax didn’t get distracted by pussy. He’d never understood it when other men did. Ajax had never been anything even close to drunk on cunt in his life, and why would he be? Women were in endless supply. Why get tangled up with one in particular?
But Sophie sat there across the big room like a bright light. Like there was no one else here, and he was fucked.
The Devil’s Keepers had moved on from condolences and had started talking shit about mutual enemies, including the Deacons’ old rivals, the Graveyard Ministry. They’d been based out in LaPlace when Ajax had been a prospect with the Deacons but had been making inroads into the city of New Orleans ever since.
“They’ve been in the French Quarter since after the storm,” Greeley, who was the Devil’s Keepers’ enforcer, told Ajax now. “Priest stepped away from the outlaw shit.”
“He was headed that way before I left,” Ajax said. Across the room, Sophie shifted on her stool, and he needed to pay attention to this conversation, not her ass. “Wanted to keep the club focused on the bar and the strip club, where the money was consistent. Didn’t want the hassle of that deeper bullshit any longer. Too many bullets, not enough bitches.” He laughed. “That’s a quote.”
The other men laughed too, and they all drank to Priest, which was as it should be. And Ajax wondered if the old man had been thinking about other things when he’d given the exile order, like a daughter who’d been coming of age back then and the kind of things that happened sometimes to the families of outlaws. But after the president and VP left the table to Ajax and Greeley, the talk came back around to business again. It always did.
“That motherfucker Blade is running the Ministry,” Greeley said.
Ajax shook his head. “Not that sneaky little bitch.”
“For years now.” Greeley rolled his beer bottle between his hands, then jutted his chin at Ajax’s cut. Where his VP patch rode. “What about you? You got aspirations?”
Ajax couldn’t pretend he hadn’t thought about it already. Priest had never replaced his officers after Katrina, and he should have. Instead, he’d let the Deacons…drift. Almost like digging out from under the storm and eighty-sixing his four best men at the same time was more than he could handle. Or something he hadn’t wanted to do at all—but Ajax had decided a long time ago to let the paranoid shit go. There was no other way he’d have survived his ten-year stint in exile, surrounded by lethal motherfuckers who’d have put a bullet in him without blinking.
“I’ve been back for less than a day,” he said after a moment. “Have to put my president in the ground. I figure after that is the time to look around and think about making plans. After respects are paid.”
“Just saying, the top spot is empty, that creates a vacuum. Priest was a legend. He earned a little space and he got that, these last ten years. But with him out of the Quarter and no one stepping up…”
Ajax raked his hair back. “I hear you.”
They sat awhile and had another beer while the clubhouse started to get rowdy. Caught up on all the shit that had happened over the past decade and before, stretching all the way back to when they’d met in
his old friend and former army buddy Greeley had said, because if Ajax had, maybe rolling up here in a cloud of dust, still wearing his cut, wasn’t the brightest idea.
No one “bailed” on the life. You went out the way you came in. With blood.
Priest had to hand out a few prison sentences back in the day to clean up a mess,
Ajax had said. He’d crossed his arms over his chest and he hadn’t looked away.
But Priest is dead. I’m on parole.
Now he tried to concentrate on what they were saying, rather than on the way Sophie’s long hair slipped this way and that over her sweetly rounded, temptingly bare shoulders—an issue he’d never, ever had before in his entire life.
For Christ’s sake.
Ajax didn’t get distracted by pussy. He’d never understood it when other men did. Ajax had never been anything even close to drunk on cunt in his life, and why would he be? Women were in endless supply. Why get tangled up with one in particular?
But Sophie sat there across the big room like a bright light. Like there was no one else here, and he was fucked.
The Devil’s Keepers had moved on from condolences and had started talking shit about mutual enemies, including the Deacons’ old rivals, the Graveyard Ministry. They’d been based out in LaPlace when Ajax had been a prospect with the Deacons but had been making inroads into the city of New Orleans ever since.
“They’ve been in the French Quarter since after the storm,” Greeley, who was the Devil’s Keepers’ enforcer, told Ajax now. “Priest stepped away from the outlaw shit.”
“He was headed that way before I left,” Ajax said. Across the room, Sophie shifted on her stool, and he needed to pay attention to this conversation, not her ass. “Wanted to keep the club focused on the bar and the strip club, where the money was consistent. Didn’t want the hassle of that deeper bullshit any longer. Too many bullets, not enough bitches.” He laughed. “That’s a quote.”
The other men laughed too, and they all drank to Priest, which was as it should be. And Ajax wondered if the old man had been thinking about other things when he’d given the exile order, like a daughter who’d been coming of age back then and the kind of things that happened sometimes to the families of outlaws. But after the president and VP left the table to Ajax and Greeley, the talk came back around to business again. It always did.
“That motherfucker Blade is running the Ministry,” Greeley said.
Ajax shook his head. “Not that sneaky little bitch.”
“For years now.” Greeley rolled his beer bottle between his hands, then jutted his chin at Ajax’s cut. Where his VP patch rode. “What about you? You got aspirations?”
Ajax couldn’t pretend he hadn’t thought about it already. Priest had never replaced his officers after Katrina, and he should have. Instead, he’d let the Deacons…drift. Almost like digging out from under the storm and eighty-sixing his four best men at the same time was more than he could handle. Or something he hadn’t wanted to do at all—but Ajax had decided a long time ago to let the paranoid shit go. There was no other way he’d have survived his ten-year stint in exile, surrounded by lethal motherfuckers who’d have put a bullet in him without blinking.
“I’ve been back for less than a day,” he said after a moment. “Have to put my president in the ground. I figure after that is the time to look around and think about making plans. After respects are paid.”
“Just saying, the top spot is empty, that creates a vacuum. Priest was a legend. He earned a little space and he got that, these last ten years. But with him out of the Quarter and no one stepping up…”
Ajax raked his hair back. “I hear you.”
They sat awhile and had another beer while the clubhouse started to get rowdy. Caught up on all the shit that had happened over the past decade and before, stretching all the way back to when they’d met in
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