“The fuck does that mean?” Leon grumbles to Lobo.
“Basically, it means that there are many, many components to our business,” Jim says, looking down his nose at our grizzled Road Captain.
“We’re looking to contract a group like yours for some distribution work,” Mike goes on. “Your organization has a reputation for success and, more importantly, unorthodox business practices. Leviathan is specifically interested in your club as a potential partner.”
I shove a hand through my jet black hair, taking a moment to consider. I’m not about to turn away what sounds like an insanely lucrative gig, even if these two jackasses make me want to punch them both in the face, just on principle. I’ve got to look out for my club, even if that means associating with rich scum bags once in a while.
“What kind of goods are you distributing, exactly?” I ask, leaning back against the bar.
“We can get into those specifics later,” Jim says lightly, brushing my question aside. “We’d rather talk about what Leviathan could do for your—”
“And I’d rather talk about what the fuck you’d be expecting us to haul around the country for you,” I spit.
Mike and Jim exchange a quick glance before going on. Oh, this oughta be good.
“You’re right,” Jim says. “We’re looking to have some rather delicate goods distributed from our main site in Miami to our clientele all along the East Coast, and up across the Canadian border. We truly believe that you’re the perfect organization for this work. The only—”
“The goods, Jimmy,” I spit. “What are these delicate goods?”
“Narcotics, mostly,” Mike says lightly.
“And what else?” I press. No way they’d be so cagey if it was just drugs they were looking to move.
“We also provide some of our clients with...companionship,” Jim allows.
The edges of my vision go white as a searing surge of anger runs through my body, bringing me to my feet once more. I pull all six feet and change of myself up, feeling my entire core swell with vicious, dangerous outrage. “You’re talking about human trafficking,” I say, my voice a deadly growl.
“To put it bluntly,” Jim says, his megawatt smile wavering just slightly. “There’s quite a market, these days.”
“A market for a bunch of kidnapped under aged girls forced to fuck whatever man pays for them, you mean?” I snarl, advancing toward the men.
The two slickers glance around as the Circle of Death closes ranks around them. Finally, their confidence starts to crack. They’re starting to realize what a dangerous spot their corporate scumbag bosses have put them in.
“You come into my house,” I go on, glaring down at them with rage boiling in my heart, “And ask me to drag my club through the dirt for your fucking bottom line? We may be outlaws, but we’d never stoop to your level, you pathetic pieces of shit.”
“At least take some time and consider—” Jim starts to say.
“Get the fuck out of my sight,” I roar. I shove Jim roughly into Mike, sending them both sprawling across the dusty floor. “Get out on your own two feet, or we’ll drag you out in body bags. Your choice, fuckers.”
That does it. In a heartbeat, the two men have scrambled to their feet and start to scamper away. Not to be robbed of his due, Brutus grabs each by the scruff of the neck and tosses them unceremoniously through the front door. My brothers cheer, taunting the men as they beat a hasty retreat. But as satisfied as I am to see the fear in their eyes, I’m still too disgusted by their proposal to laugh. The day I let my MC get mixed up in running drugs and young girls for asshole millionaires is the day I hand over my President’s patch.
“Come on, Dev,” Packer says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Forget those assholes.”
“Yeah,” I grumble, running a hand along my scruffy jaw. “Might need to switch to whiskey if I’m gonna wash the taste of that conversation out of my mouth.”
“I’ve got you, Dev,” Xan says from down the bar, brushing his ponytail over his shoulder. He hops up on the length of rough wood and swings his legs over, snatching up a whiskey bottle and lining up a dozen shot glasses. “We could all use a shot, I think.”
“Make mine a double,” Otis says, banging the bar with his fists. “Don’t know what the world is coming to, with men like that showing their faces here.”
My brothers gather around the bar as the handful of sweet butts reappear. They’ve been hiding in the bedrooms we keep in the back of the clubhouse for...recreational purposes. Xan tucks a lock of loose ash blonde hair behind his ear, his pretty boy lips pursed in concentration as he pours out a dozen perfect shots.
“To the Circle of Death,” he says, as we all snatch up a glass, “The most honorable criminals on the East Coast!”
A roar of agreement goes up around the group as we drain our shots as one. Despite my simmering anger, it does my heart good to share a drink with my men. I’ve worked hard to make us bulletproof against the law, and each one of them is as committed to this life as I am. However shitty the world gets, I’m never without backup.
Across the bar, someone brings the jukebox back to life with a swift kick. I turn to see a slender, gorgeous woman leaning over the dusty machine, a brand new case of beer at her feet. She sweeps her curtain of silky black hair over her shoulder, revealing the words stitched across the back of her black leather cut: Property of Packer.
“Who killed the tunes?” she calls out across the bar, turning her strikingly beautiful face toward the group.
“Hey babe,” Packer calls, crossing the room to his old lady. “We’ve just been dealing with a rat problem, here. Glad you missed it.”
“I nearly ran over a couple of vermin-looking motherfuckers on my way in,” the woman remarks, planting a hand on her hip. “Should I have finished the job for you boys?”
“Always a team player,” Packer laughs, “That’s why I love you, babe.”
He scoops her up into a firm embrace, planting a searing kiss on her mouth. I shake my head, smiling at the pair. Ever since Jules started hanging around with us in Boston a few years ago, she and Packer have been inseparable. She first came around as a sweet butt, seventeen and looking to rebel a little against her uptight folks. But Packer fell head over heels for her in no time, and made her his old lady the second she turned eighteen—every sweet butt’s dream. She skipped town with us when we returned to our headquarters here in Maine and hasn’t looked back since.