Outlaws Matt Rogers (book recommendations .txt) 📖

Especially not from the man she loved.

He said, ‘This is what I do.’

She nodded, biting her lower lip.

He said, ‘You still want to come with me?’

‘Of course,’ she said.

‘Get in the back.’

She threw open the rear doors, and he skirted back to the passenger’s seat. The driver hadn’t budged. He was staring rigidly forward. Out of sight, out of mind.

There was no privacy wall separating the back of the van from the cabin. Slater could pivot and talk directly to Alexis, who’d dropped into a crouch between two pallets of supplies so she could see through the gap between the seats.

He said, ‘Have you got the money?’

She passed over a tightly bound bundle of hundred-dollar bills.

Slater gave it to the driver. ‘That’s two grand. Take us to Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.’

He stared down at the money. Probably more than he’d make this month.

He said, ‘Okay.’

Slater simply nodded.

Compliance was easy if you knew the right pressure points.

The van set off for the other end of the laneway.

Tier-one crews had all the expertise in the world, but nothing could stop calculated momentum. Slater had learned that long ago. He’d barely stopped to breathe ever since he stepped out of his building, and now Alexis’ complex melted into the background along with the rest of the Bowery.

They came out on East Houston Street and vanished into the stream of traffic.

47

King met the crew.

They were all in the kitchen, the atmosphere of which closely resembled a frat house. It was an odd dynamic. Duke had five “boys” — close friends turned illegal business partners. Which made sense, if you gave it a moment’s thought. It was an effective cover story — they’d grown up together, they’d gone to the same high school, they’d hung in the same cliques, they’d started failed businesses together. So if Duke succeeded, why wouldn’t he lift up his entourage as well? There was no reason they wouldn’t live together, especially somewhere as beautiful as Emerald Bay.

King met Cal, Aaron, Quinn, Kurt, and Vince.

He didn’t bother with last names.

Not that he wouldn’t have remembered them. He’d honed his memory that much, at least. It was simply unnecessary information. He didn’t need all their details to know they were all pieces of shit who deserved what they had coming to them.

‘So you’re the new Roman,’ Cal said.

He was in his late twenties, with the same thin athletic frame as Duke, but much shorter. Five-eight, tops. His height didn’t seem to faze him — he still had personality in spades. Cocky tone, passionate eyes, an aura of charm. He might have made something of himself if he hadn’t strayed off the path. King was almost disappointed.

Wasted potential.

King said, ‘That’s me.’

Duke wagged a finger. ‘Not quite. This is a once-off.’

‘What if I impress?’ King said. ‘Sounds like you’ll need to keep bringing in randoms if seven is the magic number and Roman ran off.’

Duke eyed him. ‘Maybe. Who knows? I don’t trust you yet.’

Which put a dampener on the wisecracking, jovial atmosphere in the kitchen.

‘You got a beer?’ King said. ‘That’s the fast-track to trust, ain’t it?’

Most of Duke’s boys beamed.

‘Speaking our fucking language!’ Quinn shouted, then leapt off his stool and went to the fridge.

Quinn was average height, average build, slightly flabby. It seemed like he compensated for his overall plainness with a loud mouth. He jerked the fridge door open, worked a Corona free, and held it by the neck as he offered it over.

King took it, fetched a bottle opener from the marble countertop, cracked it open, and took a swig.

This part didn’t require an act.

Enjoying a beer was well within his skillset.

Kurt said, ‘East Coast, huh?’

He was tall — as tall as Duke — and big. Thick frame, head shaved bald, fat lips, pale skin. It didn’t gel with the California stereotype, but he seemed comfortable in the heat regardless.

King nodded. ‘My whole life.’

‘Maybe staying with us will convince you to embrace the good life. It’s better on this side.’

‘Maybe,’ King said, and toasted the offer with his Corona. Condensation glistened on the glass.

The two who hadn’t spoken — Aaron and Vince — remained silent. King had them as the quiet ones. Aaron was tanned, blonde, blue-eyed. Looked like a surfer. Almost certainly was a surfer. Vince was the Asian equivalent. Just as tanned, with black hair and black eyes, but sported the surfer vibe with the same amount of Laguna cool.

King looked past them, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, tinted a few shades darker than usual for privacy. But the tint didn’t hinder the view — cliffs, turquoise water, Santa Catalina Island in the distance.

He said, ‘I could get used to this.’

‘Don’t get used to it,’ Duke said. ‘There’s no free ride. We worked to earn this.’

‘I don’t doubt it, brother.’

Duke nodded, accepting the compliment.

King said, ‘But what if this goes smoothly? What if the seven of us work like a well-oiled machine? Donati Group will like that. And they’re big. Bigger than anything I’ve dealt with, that’s for sure. And — no offence — bigger than your current clients, without a doubt. Sure, this place is worth a few mil, but Donati is much more than that, boys.’

The perfect amount of passion, optimism, and positivity.

He knew they wouldn’t outwardly react, but they’d start dreaming.

That’s all he needed.

If they believed in the possibility, that’s all it would take. All he needed was for Duke’s paranoia to wear off for a few minutes.

It’d create an opening like nothing else.

As he suspected, no one responded to his rant. But they cracked more beers and went out onto the balcony and shot the shit for a couple of hours, complete with King fabricating tales of adventure and excitement as a small-time crook on the East Coast. Quinn dropped his guard first, opening up with a couple of key details that a newcomer normally wouldn’t be privy to.

‘The key,’ he said when King pressed him, ‘is to be generous with the bribes. You know how much port security