Page 26 of Thick

“Was planning on having it tonight,” he said. “I was going to call that shitty little flip phone of yours and let you know.”

“I hate thinking you were going to do this deal without me.”

“I wasn’t,” he said. “I was going to give you a ring. No shit. You and about sixteen other motherfuckers.”

“Like I said. I’m in.”

“I’ll count on it, then. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of volunteers. We always do.”

I didn’t care who else was coming in on the raid of the dope house. All that mattered was that I was there, and that I was one of the first men through the door. “You know damned good and well that this is the only family I’ve got. Can’t have people threatening my family, Crip.”

“I’m well aware, Brother.” He slapped his hand against my shoulder. “Appreciate ya.”

There was no doubt we’d be met with force in the raid. MS 13’s men would be up all night, high on dope. Catching them sleeping wouldn’t be an option, regardless of what time of day we chose to go.

There was one thing I needed to get resolved before we went. I tossed my empty beer bottle in the trash and turned to face Crip. “Let me know what time the meeting is. I’ve got to get something done before we go. If I don’t answer, just tell me what time I need to be here.”

“Everything okay?”

“Just have to finish a job I started. Just in case I don’t make it back.”

He folded his arms over his chest and clenched his jaw tight. “We’ll make it back.”

I’d researched MS-13’s activities for some of the books I’d written. I knew any encounter with them would be a blood bath. Keeping that bloodbath one-sided would be near impossible.

“Appreciate the nod of reassurance. I know who the MS-13 is, brother. This isn’t going to be a fucking picnic. Let me get this thing knocked out, and a few things in order, and then I’m in.”

“Do what you need to do.” He said with a nod. “When we go to take care of these motherfuckers, I’ll do what I need to do to make sure we all make it home.”

If there was a man in our midst that could make that promise, Crip would be that man. A former Navy SEAL who wouldn’t hesiTate to put his life on the line to save the lives of the men he loved, Crip was a much more to me than a president.

He was not only one of my best friends, he was my older brother, and my mentor.

I slapped my hand against his back as we embraced in a hug. “Appreciate it.”

As we broke the embrace, he looked me over. “Glad your back, Brother.”

My focus had been elsewhere for the few weeks that I’d been out of prison. I worked best under pressure, and now that I had no alternative but to finish writing the book, I’d certainly do just that.

Being done with it would leave me with no further obligation other than taking care of the family I’d sworn an oath to be loyal to.

As my mind raced with the thoughts and activities of the characters in the book, I sauntered to my bike. After I lifted my leg over the seat and sat down, I reached for my helmet, and then met Crip’s gaze.

“Filthy Fucker Forever.”

He lifted his chin slightly. “Forever Filthy Fuckers.”

Chapter Eleven

Bobbi

There weren’t many patterns that Tate followed in the stories he wrote, but there were a few he seemed to follow in structure. His male characters were very family oriented. If there wasn’t blood family in the hero’s life, he always had a close bond with someone else that he considered family.

The heroines, however, all seemed to have suffered some type of loss and were left to live with that loss. Be it a parent, a friend, or even a sibling, they all suffered significant loss. In the end, the heroines had the hero to act as their foundation for a solid future. I wondered if the heroines expressed loss was indicative of Tate’s belief that women made sacrifices in life that men didn’t.

In real life, a woman’s sacrifice in a relationship was lifelong. In the absence of a man cheating or becoming an entirely different person, a woman rarely – if ever – divorced her spouse.

A man, however, seemed to be willing to leave his respective other at the mere thought of something existing that might better serve his needs or desires. The woman always got the short end of the stick in real life.