Page 31 of Hash

“That wasn’t my handiwork!” Cyrus yells.

“I remember you praising it.”

“Can you two shut the fuck up?” Prez slams the gavel down. “And you,” he points the gavel at Cyrus, “why am I always having to tell you to stop fucking talking? You know he’s trying to get a rise out of you.”

“He makes it so easy.” Scotch smirks as Cyrus glares.

“How are we playing this?” I ask, ready to get this over with.

I need to text Aisling and see if I can swing by today. Before church, I ordered eighteen black roses to be sent to her salon. One for every month I’ve been out of her life. I’m hoping that will win me some brownie points. Every chick likes flowers, right?

“The last two years, we’ve let him think he has the upper hand. He’s a stupid fuck for thinking this life isn’t about the long game. Some shit you can end quickly, but acting like you own the fucking place when you’re fresh? Fuck no,” Prez says.

We all grunt in agreement.

“I want to lure him out. If we can take him out, I think it will send the message we want — that we’re not to be fucked with.”

“Heard that,” I mutter.

“I’m going to check with Adduci to see if we can use his warehouse. I want to get him out there.”

“You think his brothers will go for that?” I ask, unsure.

Most of them are level-headed, but Gio makes Cyrus look normal.

“We need to find out what Rail’s vice is. Everyone has a fucking vice. At the next drop, invite him to the bonfire Evan wants to throw on Devil’s Night. I don’t want him around our family, but I think this is the only way to make him think he’s taking something from us. A man like him doesn’t do anything unless there’s something in it for him,” Prez continues.

“And if he tries something at the bonfire?” Cyrus asks, trying to hide his excitement and failing miserably.

“He’s a fucking dead man.”

Chapter

Eleven

AISLING

“Holy shit.” Frankie gasps from behind her chair.

“Oh my,” Norma, the older woman who is getting her weekly blowout from Frankie, exclaims.

Turning to see what all the fuss is about, my mouth drops open in shock at the sight of a delivery man walking into the salon with a giant bouquet of black roses in a cherry cola colored vase.

“Are those for you, Frankie, dear?” Norma asks.

“No, ma’am,” Frankie answers, sliding her eyes to me as she smirks. “There’s no man in my life who would be sending me flowers like that.”

“Delivery for Aisling?” the man asks as he looks around.

“Right over there.” Frankie points toward me, her smirk intensifying.

I take the roses from the man, thanking him as I stare at them in a daze.

Who would send me flowers?

“You need to keep that man, dear. And maybe tonight give him a little sugar if you catch my drift.” Norma winks at me.

Oh, my God.