Chapter 10 #2
Words looks up. It seems like I’m not the only one who’s confused. “I want to clarify something.” Bullseye gives him a nod. “What you’re saying is, she doesn’t inherit just because she’s married, but she needs to have spat out a kid. If she does, the brother loses any chance of getting the money?”
Genie takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Until she’s twenty-five, when Stone no longer has any claim on the money. Before then, any husband gets fuck all until then unless there’s a kid involved.”
I hold up my hands. “Then it’s not fuckin’ worth it. Who’s going to tie themselves to that bitch for five plus years?” I put in glumly.
Genie dips his head and raises it. “Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to get at. It would be a long-term commitment for the club just to keep her breathing, unless she lands herself a husband and kid. That’s as long as our protection would need to last.”
“A long fuckin’ wait for a payday.” Bullseye slides his palms down his face. “And what about the risks? You manage to investigate Stone?”
Genie again bobs his head. “Yeah. He’s obviously already received his money, and he’s made a whole pile more.
He owns a small, relatively successful tech startup, but let’s say I wouldn’t trust him with my dollars.
He’s already blown through most of his money, losing it at gambling tables.
It looks like he’s using her inheritance as collateral, and the Bratva, to whom he owes the money, are helping him track her down so he can make good on what he owes them. ”
Oh fuck. That’s not good. I grimace at his words. From the expressions on my brothers’ faces, my thoughts are echoed around the table.
“The mob provided the expertise to cut the power and alarms?” Saint asks, as I’m still trying to process everything.
Genie shrugs. “Unlike Malachi, I’m not a betting man. But if I were, that’s where my money would lie. Or, with his skills, he might have been able to do it himself.”
Sitting forward, I ask, “What age did Malachi get his money?”
Genie’s brow furrows, then he gets back to reading again. “He came into his inheritance at age twenty-one.”
I shake my head.
“It’s a man’s world,” Paint states.
Winchester places both palms on the table. “Way I see it? Six years is far too fuckin’ long to provide protection. Especially when doing so pits the club against the fuckin’ Russians. I’m sorry to say, let’s cut her loose. Let her make the best of it.”
“And lose the club the chance of five million?” Saint asks. “That’s a hell of a chunk of change that we could do a lot with.”
“There’s another option,” Prez reminds us. “In order to get the money in a reasonable time frame, someone could step up, wife her and give her a child.”
There’s silence for a moment. Then Paint asks, “You obviously spent some time with her, Rat.” He chuckles. “She fuckable?”
I raise and lower my shoulders, and for a second, seriously consider his question. The answer I come up with is only a qualified, “Probably. If she keeps her mouth shut, and you close your eyes.” Perhaps I’m being unfair with the last comment. She had given me a woody in that closet.
Tempest gets to the heart of the matter.
“As I see it, we’ve got a couple of options.
One, we cut her loose and forget about her and the money.
Two, we provide her with protection and try not to cramp her style until she meets a man who wants to breed with her.
The cons? We might have to fight off the Bratva, and there’s no guarantee she’ll live long enough to pay for our services.
Three? One of us steps up and marries her, puts a kid in her belly, and keeps them both alive until the rugrat’s born, when her brother will have no legal claim to her money.
Cut and dried. The club gets half of her fortune, and possibly doable in less than a couple of years. ”
“Whoa,” Words states sharply. “A marriage on paper is one thing. A baby? Fuck, Brothers, that’s for life. The brother would need to step up and take responsibility.”
“Plenty of kids are raised with a single mom and a hands-off dad. And she wouldn’t exactly be hurting for money.” Tempest shrugs.
Prez stares at his sergeant-at-arms, then raises both hands as if in defeat. He casts his eyes around the table. “Hands up for option one. We send her out on her own.”
Winchester’s hand goes up immediately. I start to raise mine, but for some reason I just can’t do it.
Prez nods. “Option two, we keep watch over her until she finds someone to bed her.” He winces and adds, “That means manpower tied up in protecting her, with only a promised payday sometime in the future. And, of course, not being too visible in case we chase any potential suitor off.”
Put that way, I can’t vote for that. I, for one, don’t want to spend a chunk of my life in close proximity to the bitch.
“An alternative is passing her off onto another chapter,” Stalker suggests.
“But that means we’d also pass on the money, except for a minimal finder’s fee.
Can’t expect another chapter to take on such a long-term task without getting the benefit.
” Prez glances around. As he’s made a fair point, all he gets are chin lifts or nods.
“Option three.” He sighs. Then, before continuing, he scrubs his hands over his face.
“Let me add a sweetener. She’s offered five million.
Woody made a good point. There should be a reward for sacrifice.
I propose that four comes to the club. The brother who agrees to wife and impregnate her gets the other million for himself. ”
“I like that option.” Saint grins. “But obviously, I’m already married.”
Short chuckles. “I, too, have no skin in this game.”