Crucifixed (Royal Bastards MC: NYC Book 2) by B.B. Blaque (interesting books to read for teens txt) 📗

hillbilly.” I was startin’ to get a little hope just talkin’ to him. FOCUS knows a lot of people and Bish knows even more. “This has to do with Gingersnap . . . my ol’ lady . . . she’s lookin’ for an auction or somethin’. Lots of rich motherfuckers. Capiche?

It was quiet on the other end and then he answered flatly—it sounded like he’d been punched in the gut, mixed with surprise.

“Oh.”

“Yeah . . . oh. Ya got any other letters for me there, Wordsworth?” I refilled what I’d already drank of the JD and took a drag on the smoke. “Can you talk to your guy and see if he can get his ear to the ground or what? He’d know about fancy shit like that, right?”

FOCUS started tappin’ on the phone or somethin’ He musta been thinkin’ and I shot back to him. “Yo, fuckface. Don’t gimme Morse code. Can you have Bish get in touch with me or not? She’s really into this auction thing and it’s freakin’ me out. If ya got anything other than caveman to add to the conversation, lemme have it.”

Somethin’ musta bit him in the ass because he woke the fuck up fast.

“Listen, ya dumb yank, I’m tryin’ to decipher this pile of shit you’re dumpin’ in my ear in the middle of the night. You’ve been gone one day and you’re already makin’ me wish you hadn’t left. At least when you were here, you had slits to occupy your time.”

I couldn’t believe it’d only been a day since I was buried in a piece of California pornstar ass. I didn’t even get to punish Candy’s and hell was already breakin’ loose. God help me get through this.

“Ya know . . . I was thinkin’ and I might’ve heard somethin’ . . . I can call out to Bish tomorrow and see what’s up. He’ll call ya. I can guarantee ya that.” I heard the sound of the cigar lighter hissin’ in the background and then he got serious. “Tell me . . . is this somethin’ about the untouched collection?”

How the fuck does he know?

“Yeah.” I swallowed hard on my drink. “What do ya know about it?”

My hands were runnin’ through my hair and I hung my head down to the desk. If FOCUS knew, it was because of The Bishop. If they knew—it was real. It was big.

“Just sit tight, brother . . . I know it’s easier said than done, but Bish has an in. He can help y’all with that issue. You’ll either see his face or I’ll call ya to help y’all figure out the where and when.”

Sit tight. No shit it’s easier said than done.

“What do you mean an in?” I knew we had to be careful, but I was already countin’ down the hours until The Bishop would call. “Like he’s got tickets or somethin’?”

He started laughin’ on the other end, which seemed like a good sign so I chuckled a little.

“Yeah . . . you could say that. I’ll send him a text to call ya. He’s usually up with the roosters. . . son of a bitch is still on USMC time. Might have to meet up with him though, on account of this bein’ a fancy, private affair.”

“Well, we don’t got no roosters in the City, but all he has to do is tell me when and where and I’ll be there with bells on.” For Fi, I woulda walked through broken glass to get to that motherfucker. If FOCUS wasn’t sayin’ he had to call him 911, it was a sign that whatever was goin’ on wasn’t gonna happen in the next twenty-four hours. It didn’t make me feel any better overall, but in the short run, I could at least take a breath—laced with Jack and smokes.

“On to a completely different topic of conversation, ya know, ‘cause there ain’t nothin’ can be done about the rest until he calls . . . and, by the way, I texted him already . . . but did ya meet with Redhook today?”

It seemed like a month’s worth of bullshit had been rolled up into one twenty-four hour chunk of what the actual fuck? At least the shit with Redhook had some silver linings on its wheels.

“Yeah . . . we went to Brooklyn to talk to him. Good stuff. How much do you already know, ya big hillbilly prick?” FOCUS’ brain was like a bear trap and when shit went in, it didn’t come out until it was supposed to. He’s as true as a brother can get and I was still tryin’ to get a handle on him leavin’ us. “Don’t play dumb fuck with me either.”

“I know.” He paused and I heard him draw on his cigar. Then he started laughin’. “I know my pretty face is part of the deal for Brooklyn . . . dang, I feel so cheap bein’ used for my good looks like this. I kinda like it.”

His country-fried personality made me calm down a couple notches. As mean as he can be, he’s a funny bastard.

“Okay, so ya knew. I can sorta forgive ya for keepin’ that shit from me when I was right in front of your face every day, but that’s just ‘cause you’re such a sexy beast.” He had me laughin’ and I took a big swallow of my whiskey and kept goin’. “A head’s up woulda been nice, though . . . even a hint. It came right the fuck outta left field when the old man dropped the bomb.”

I was so wrapped up, fucked up, by Fiona that it hadn’t hit me as hard as it was right at that moment. FOCUS might have to leave us.

“You know dang well that I woulda told ya if I could. I’m lucky they even