Neither This Nor That Box Set 1 by MariaLisa deMora

Author:MariaLisa deMora
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781946738240
Publisher: MLK Publishing
Published: 2019-11-12T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Po’Boy

He sat on an upturned bucket, boots stretched towards the fire pit in the middle of the back lot behind the Mandeville clubhouse for Incoherent. Eyes turned towards the dancing flames, Po’Boy ignored all movement around him, knowing only members and trusted friends would be here tonight. He didn’t even flinch when a hand landed on his shoulder, the familiar grip pressing heavily as the person maneuvered around the stump to his left. Tipping his head back, he looked up to see Twisted stretch, his shirt hiking up to show belly flesh and an angular hipbone. A month ago just that would have made him insane, and would likely have sent him home to stew about it until he rolled across the causeway looking for relief from the demons in his own head.

Tonight he found himself able to simply note it and then glance away. It wasn’t he didn’t feel for Twisted, but whatever the emotion was that’d been stoking his fires for so many years had banked back to barely a smolder. Sucking in a hard breath of relief, he caught a strong scent of sweet pot smoke that typically hovered over an IMC party and glanced to his other side. Feet firmly apart, Wildman stood just behind the ring of seating around the fire pit, critically eyeing the ember at the end of the twist he was holding. Without speaking, Po’Boy held out his hand and curled his fingers impatiently, and Wildman grinned, leaning over to pass off the hand-rolled smoke.

Po’Boy took a long toke, then a second one, and held his breath as he offered it to Twisted, laughing soundlessly as he shook his head, turning down a hit. Sweet dreams tonight. Lips pursed in a slow, controlled exhale, Po’Boy gave it back to Wildman, the entire exercise conducted silently. With a quiet sigh, Po’Boy faced the fire again, recrossing his ankles so the other boot sole was nearest the flames.

It had been a month since he’d seen Wrench down in New Orleans. A month of wondering. Of expecting things to go sideways any moment. For the first week, not knowing when the accusations would be leveled, waiting for the shoe to drop had been exhausting, constant expectation a sentence would be handed down. The second week had seen him asking around quietly to find Wrench had gone out of town, the CoBos having sent him on a run up East. The third week had been filled with relief as if he’d escaped judgment, thanking his lucky stars Denise and her partner hadn’t been demonstrative in the few minutes Wrench had his eyeballs on them, or things could have been entirely different.

This past week had been a mix of emotions because first, Wrench still wasn’t back, and Po’Boy couldn’t relax and put it behind him until he knew for certain if the man was going to instigate a play to have an IMC officer call him to the floor or not. And second, it’d been a shitty few weeks because Po’Boy was missing New Orleans.

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