Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
DARE
I’m sitting at a table, an untouched burger on my plate, my gaze focused on Cake’s. He leans back, watching and waiting for my response. “You want to meet with him?” I ask, clarifying the demand.
I don’t know if he just thought about this or if he’s been thinking about it and brought it up to me only, rather than in a public forum. And I’m not sure why he didn’t bring it up in church. I should probably ask him, but I don’t, mainly because I don’t give a shit.
“I do, off the books from the club.”
“Why?” I ask. “What are you hoping to discover that you don’t want the rest of the club to know?”
Cake shakes his head once, his gaze shifting from mine to around the room, taking everyone else in before it returns to me. He leans forward slightly, sliding his plate to the side.
“It’s not that I want to discover something. It’s not that I’m trying to pull anything over on anyone. I want three leaders to sit down and have a discussion, and I want to read this guy. I want to look into his eyes. I need to know what kind of power he truly has.”
As much as I want to tell Cake that Rustik can and will control his man, I don’t really know where Samuil falls on their organizational chart. Is he someone? Is he nobody? I have no clue. I didn’t even know the fuck’s name until recently.
“I’ll send this text to Rustik. We’ll meet in person. You can’t fuck up this relationship we have with him. We got a good deal here, and it’s not only keeping us afloat, but it’s also going to propel us. The contacts he’s giving us are out of this fucking world.”
Cake frowns. He lifts his hand and pats the table. I know it’s not because he’s happy by any means. “Contact him. I don’t like the fact that he’s got this club by the balls.”
I can’t help but bristle at his expression.
I don’t feel like he has us by the balls.
Even if that’s what he’s decided, I don’t see it that way at all.
Our leads had dried up. We weren’t getting enough jobs to pay out to the members.
No way in fuck could we keep going that way.
Then that fucking event center bullshit really screwed us over.
The Perov Bratva deal in women, drugs, and loans—nothing we’ve ever wanted to be associated with. But they also give us a flat fee on all loans we’ve collected for them and don’t ask for much in return when we make a new contract on an insurance payout.
Five percent.
Which can be a lot, and they’ve made plenty of money, but I don’t feel beholden to them like that. If we walked away from our deal, we’d figure something else out. But this is good, and I don’t want to fuck up good.
“He doesn’t have us by the balls. There’s no penalty for walking away. The contract is job to job. No start, no finish. They can cancel at any time, and so can we.”
“Well, at least there’s that. If it’s working, I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize that, but I want to see him in person.
I want to have a conversation. This is about my daughter and my future grandson.
There will be zero room for leniency. I want to know what is going to happen to this fuck. ”
As much as I want to be on board for that little plan, I’m not sure demanding they do anything to Samuil right now is the right choice. I have a feeling Cake is just airing his frustration and won’t be as vocal when we meet with Rustik. If he is, I don’t think that will bode well for either of us.
Reaching into the chest pocket of my cut, I pull out my phone. It doesn’t take me long to find the contact I’m searching for. I ask him via text if we can meet tomorrow. I know Rustik will say yes. He enjoys meeting in person. He also will be far too curious to say no.
RUSSIAN BOSS: COME AT ONE. WE WILL EAT.
I smirk at his response before I answer.
IT WILL ONLY BE ME AND THE PRESIDENT OF ANOTHER IRON FLAME CLUB.
A moment passes. He doesn’t respond immediately. Jerking my chin toward Cake, I start to tell him that we’re on for the meet when my phone buzzes in my hand. Flicking my gaze down, I smirk at the sight of the message.
RUSSIAN BOSS: HOW INTRIGUING.
Intriguing, indeed. “He’s in. Lunch tomorrow.”
“Okay. Enough talking. All this shit will be handled.”
It will. At least it will be in the open and laid out. I think at this point that’s about all we can hope for. That Russian fuck is not going to have my wife. And he is never going to see this baby.
Not fucking ever.
Cake stands, taps his index finger on the table a couple of times, then walks away. I don’t watch where he goes, not interested in the whore or the booze he goes in search of. Reaching for my burger, I grab it and lift it to my lips as my gaze scans the room until it lands on its desired location.
Chassis.