“It doesn’t work like that. In a brotherhood, it’s about honesty. I’ve been lying to them for months.”

“Lying to the other them. You told me earlier tonight you have a new name, a new charter.”

Well, damn.

He stared down at her.

“So you didn’t do anything to this club,” she finished.

Shit.

“Do they have to know you were set to inform on them?” she asked. “Or, the old them?”

He hoped not.

“No,” he answered.

“Okay, then, do you want to be out of that club?”

Yes.

No.

Fuck.

“I think they’re goin’ in a good direction,” he shared.

“So, don’t step out.”

“I watched every one of them go at Rosie.”

“Ah,” she murmured.

“Core asked after you,” he said, though he had no fucking clue why.

“Core?”

“A brother. He wants me to bring you around to party.”

Something slid over her face he couldn’t read.

Then she breathed, “Oh my God, my mother would absolutely lose her mind if she knew her daughter was partying with bikers.”

Beck again stared down at her.

“Porn costumes and makeup and partying with bikers,” she said, now something happening to her face he’d never seen. “She’d . . . she’d . . . totally freak.”

That was when Beck found himself grinning because she burst into uncontrollable giggles.

“I think . . . I think I want to try a reconciliation just so I can bring you over and introduce her to you,” she said through her cackling. “That would be, like . . . hilarious.”

And that was when Beck found himself smiling down at her.

“You c-could b-be all big and hot and s-scarred and b-b-badass and stare her down. Share about your record. Wear your knife on your belt. Oh my God,” she bent to the side, still in his arms, “I c-can’t breathe.”

He hated to say what he had to say.

And he gave her some time to laugh, get it out, and that time he gave was selfish, since he got to watch her do it and it was really freaking cute.

But then he had to say what he had to say.

“You do know you’re losin’ it ’cause you’re letting some serious shit go,” he murmured.

She straightened in his arms and looked into his eyes, lifting her hands to rest them on his chest.

“Oh, I know, honey, and isn’t it awesome?” Her attention shifted over his shoulder then back to him. “Call your club. Don’t cut ties until you’ve had time to decide. Lieutenant Marker is coming back. I’ll sign this thing. Then we’ll stop and get ice cream on the way home. My mom was mean, and my dad was pretty much a non-entity. I think he was more scared of her than I was. But he had this great hot fudge recipe he got from his mom. And sometimes when Mom was at choir practice, or prayer circle, or whatever, we’d make it. I’ll make it for you. You’ll love it.”

Her dad sounded like a limp-dick motherfucker.

But Janna being bossy was all kinds of cute.

That said, he was not a chocolate and sweets kind of guy.

He was a beer and nachos kind of guy.

“Sounds great,” he muttered.

She beamed up at him, rolled up on her toes and touched her mouth to his.

Then she pulled out of his arms and turned to Marker. “Is it all ready?”

Beck moved away, pulling out his phone but keeping his eyes on her.

He made his call and put his phone to his ear, eyes still on her.

“Thro . . . sorry, man, Beck. What’s up? It’s late,” Web answered.

“Brother, I got somethin’ you need to know that you won’t believe.”

He was wrong.

Web believed it.

So Beck could look after Janna, Web said he’d spread the word with the club.

Janna and Beck left, got ice cream and went back to her place.

And Beck would find he was not a chocolate and sweets kind of guy.

And he did not want to like something her dickweed dad who did not protect her gave to her.

But she loved it.

So Beck loved it too.

The Future Is Now

Valenzuela

One seventeen, Sunday morning . . .

He could not believe he was reduced to this.

But his driver slid up to the curb in front of her house and there she was, as usual. Sitting on the porch in the dark.

It was whispered she never slept. It was whispered she was God’s dark angel and she wasn’t even mortal.

The whispers were wrong.

That didn’t mean she didn’t hold power.

His driver exited his seat, came to Benito’s door and let him out.

His man got out the other side.

Benito moved up the walk then up the steps to the house.

There was a chill in the air, so she was wearing a webby, black wool shawl around her shoulders. Prim, black silk, expensive blouse, perfectly creased back slacks, black pumps, face made up elegantly, attractive silver hair perfectly styled.

Throwing dancing light, Mexican sanctuary candles were lit on the table beside her wicker rocking chair, seven of them. A tall iced glass that looked like it held tea, but everyone knew that iced tea had two other words in front of it: Long Island.

It was all very incongruous. The rundown, bright yellow house behind her with the turquoise-painted railing around the porch. The rickety slats under that rocking chair, both of which creaked as she rocked slowly, her eyes glued to him. Not a soul in sight, but he knew they had eyes on them everywhere. And the stylish, sophisticated, costly clothing and flawlessly executed appearance.

Mamá Nana.

Mother grandmother.

He made it to the top step and stopped.

Bowing low, his man moved around him and set the briefcase on the wood by her moving chair before he backed away and went down the steps to the car, as he’d been instructed.

Through this, Mamá Nana didn’t take her eyes from Benito.

“I’d appreciate it if we could talk,” he said, the words sticking in his craw.

“The great and omniscient Benito Valenzuela stoops to chat with me,” she replied.

That had been the expected response, but not the one he’d hoped for.

“That’s double your usual fee in that briefcase,” he told her.

She didn’t even glance at it.

She said, “Things have gotten very difficult for you, Benito.”

“I’m fully aware of that, sadly,” he returned.

“This should make me feel many things, you, the child I held in my lap, bounced on my knee. But I must admit, it doesn’t surprise me I feel nothing.”

Benito made no reply.

That had been expected too.

“Your mother was a good woman, a kind woman. When your father left, she worked so hard to give you a home. Unfortunately, as hard as she worked, you had little. But she had so much love to give, it was a thing of beauty, it should have been enough.” She paused as if pondering something. “You always troubled her. And it would seem she had reason to be troubled.”

Benito felt his face tighten. “I took care of her before she died.”

She nodded. “You did. Most gallant. Then again, you were her son. It was your duty. Sadly, you did not take care of her when she lived.”

Regrettably, that was expected too.

Mamá Nana, the matriarch of the neighborhood who traded in information, somehow establishing a balance over the years, nearly clairvoyant with knowing who to share what with, but most importantly when, depending on the changing tides of who controlled Denver.

She’d been instrumental in coups. She’d played her part in the downfall of kings.

All this living in her ramshackle home that looked like a merrily painted crack house on the outside, a Mexican souvenir shop on the inside.

Every man, woman and child in that neighborhood would lay their lives down for her, because if your son needed school supplies and you couldn’t afford them, they’d show up on your doorstep.

From Mamá Nana.

And if your grandfather had been taken in, even if he’d lived in the country for thirty years but he was illegal, a high-priced immigration attorney would arrive.