Chapter 27
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
LOOT
The paperwork in front of me is constant. Numbers are always black and white. They always tell the truth. There are no lies, no ways around things. They are always what they are. Yes, you can hide things in them, but even those things that are hidden can be found if you look hard enough.
Today, I have to get all the money ready to distribute to the men for their monthly allotments. The insurance collections are behind. We also have two more contracts that need to be signed and the fires scheduled. We’re all behind.
All the shit with the Russians and the event center fire, where we missed out on what could have been a great fucking payday—it ended up being a goddamn headache. It could really have turned into a war.
Thankfully, that didn’t happen. But as I look at the books, I wonder if a war wouldn’t be more profitable than what we have going on. We’ve never had issues with money before, but the contracts for hire aren't coming in as they used to. We’re going to have to branch out if nothing changes.
Although it’s really hard to read about, look at, and think about contracts, fires, and money when all I can do is think about Juliette and how she felt wrapped around my cock. I want her again. I didn’t want to leave last night, but I had to go and get Cade.
I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. She’s imprinted there in a way that I didn’t know was possible after only one night.
There is a knock on the door, and I turn my head, looking over my shoulder to see Dare walking through the door.
He’s only two years older than me at fifty-two.
He’s in a marriage that was made as a means to protect his wife rather than love, and I can’t help but notice just how fucking miserable he’s been since he said his vows.
I don’t ask him about it. Nobody does. We stay silent about it, knowing that there’s nothing we can do to change things. I just wish they could somehow figure out how to make it work, for their own happiness and sanity.
Not that I have much to say about it. Destinee was never going to make me happy. I didn’t even try. It’s been an uphill battle with her since day one. I just hope that it’s over now, or when I find her, anyway.
“Dare,” I call out when he doesn’t say anything.
He walks toward me, around the conference table, and then pulls the chair out from across me. He sinks into it, his gaze searching mine for a long moment, all of this happening in silence.
“What do those books show?” he asks.
Pressing my lips into a straight line, I lift my hands and press them together in front of my lips. My elbows rest on the table, my gaze never leaving his.
“You know what they show, Dare,” I murmur, my hands dropping to the warm wood of the table as I lean back in my chair.
He shrugs his shoulders, his eyes searching mine for another long moment before he speaks. “We need money,” he announces.
“We do.”
“How do we get more?” he asks.
Wrath handles the contracts, but he doesn’t handle finding them, just the details of them. Dare is more of an overseer of the whole club, so he’s probably got no actual clue of the workings of this part of the business.
“Easy,” I reply with a chuckle. “We need to find more people who need to commit insurance fraud.”
“No shit, but how?”
I almost ask him why he’s so worried but decide against it. He’s got a wife with a baby on the way. He’s got a club, we’ve got a club, and dozens of men to pay. It’s time for expansion. Though I’m not sure how that’s going to happen.
I’m a numbers guy. I work in black and white.
I don’t do what-ifs. And I don’t know if I would be good at business plan ideas, and I definitely don’t have any contacts. So the simple answer would be to get more contracts. I know that’s not logical, though.
Instead of saying that, I tilt my head to the side before I continue. Though I’m sure my words mean diddly-fucking-squat. But we may have to go back to basics, whatever the fuck that looks like.
“How did the originals do it when they got started?” I ask, thinking about the other men in the club, the founders.
Dare snorts. “They found people who were completely fucking upside down in their houses and up to their eyeballs in debt.”
They were smart. I will give them that. The world preys on those who are desperate, and this situation is the same, except not completely. It’s mutually beneficial. At least that’s what we tell them and make them believe.
We get paid, and they will probably be in the same place in five years and begging us to do it all over again.
We won’t. One time and one time only. Otherwise, it appears beyond suspicious.
It’s probably cruel, us giving them hope, not helping them figure out how they got into the mess, and then just walking away.
But that’s life, and it’s the way shit works. They gotta get their shit together. They can’t expect an MC to help them. To counsel them or guide them. Even if we offer them a temporary solution.
“We need to think bigger. We were on the right track with that event center. It just wasn’t vetted properly. This time, we’ll do it right.”
“You’re thinking commercially,” Dare murmurs.
It’s not a question. It’s a statement. And he’s right. I am. Because maybe they don’t come around as often, but the payouts are bigger, greater than one house, greater than ten houses.
It’s my turn to shrug a shoulder. “Why not?” I ask. “Mansions, commercial, we’re the best in Nevada. You can’t tell me with all these businesses, all these giant fucking houses, that none of these people are drowning and need relief? We know they are.”
Dare dips his chin in a single nod. “And how the fuck do we get them to find us?”
My lips twitch into a smirk. “Hound,” I state. “He’s the club secretary. Isn’t that what he does? Research, paperwork, communication? We’ve done a few big jobs in the past year. Do they have friends who need help?”
Dare snorts, then pushes up to stand. “I’ll talk to him, explain the situation, and we’ll go from there. But, Loot?”
I hum, not sure if his question really needs a verbal response and wait for him to finish. When he does, I’m not sure how I feel about it.
“Yeah?” I call out.
“We may need to talk to the Russians.”
Fuck.
He might be right, but that’s the last goddamn thing I want to do, now or ever. My phone rings, and I look down to see that it’s Two-Pump. Reaching for my device, I slide my thumb across the screen but then touch the speaker icon.
“Two,” I call out.
“I found the bitch,” he announces.
Hell.
Yes.