Diablo (Black Diamond Rattlers MC Book 1) by Noah Maddix

Author:Noah Maddix [Maddix, Noah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-10-06T16:00:00+00:00

19

Regrets, I’ve Had a Few

Livia

The amber liquid swirled around the ice cubes as I rolled my glass back and forth across the bar on its edge. I rarely drank. I didn’t have the time, really. Not even back in school—that was before I’d taken on my family responsibilities—when my friends wanted to party almost every weekend and half the weekdays. There was always too much to do, and I needed my mind sharp for everything.

When I gained my seat at my father’s table, I realized just how much business happened over drinks. Every month, the underbosses of each region made their pilgrimage to my father’s table. They discussed their performance over drinks. The looks those men gave me when I declined told me all I needed to know. The old boys club accepted the daughter of the boss into their midst begrudgingly but wouldn’t welcome a teetotaler.

Following in my father’s footsteps, I chose single malt scotch as my drink. I even learned to enjoy its complex taste, though I preferred it on the rocks instead of neat like my father. The drink’s other effects, how it helped soothe my worries and stress if only for an hour or two, I craved more than I would have liked.

In a life like mine, you couldn’t afford any loss of control. Most people lived low risk-lives. They had a job, they did their job, they got paid, and hopefully, they earned enough money to handle all their needs and some of their wants. The worst possible consequence they faced in their jobs was losing it.

Those of us living on the other side of the law shared a lot of the same qualities. Sure, we were pretty much always on call, but that’s not unheard of in the legit world. The differences became stark with the potential consequences for failure. If I screwed up at work, I could die or get locked up for the rest of my life.

A sharp mind, one unencumbered by drunkenness, offered me the best chance of not screwing up. At the same time, those risks upped the stress and occasionally sent me craving a drink or two. For the first time in months, other than a glass of scotch in those meetings, I gave into that desire.

My phone buzzed, and I snatched it from the bar. The screen displayed a text from Baz: It’s burning up in Oakland today, 82°! A Sun emoji followed, and I giggled. Such a happy code for a firebombing. With luck, it would be enough to send the bikers into a revolt against Diablo.

I tried to stay mad at him, to keep the guilt from bubbling up. I didn’t want him hurt, not really, but I was my father’s daughter. It had to be done. I needed him out of the way.

My next sip would have been classified as a gulp, to be honest. I savored the lovely burn—eyes closed—as it coated my mouth, lips, and throat.

“I love to see a lady drinking scotch,” came a voice to my side.

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