Chapter 59
CHAPTER
FIFTY-NINE
WRATH
Leaning back in my chair, I look at the ceiling and wonder what the fuck we’re going to do here now. It was all fine when we thought all we had to do was get rid of the original contact, but now we’ve got a fucking disaster in front of us.
“She’s got to die,” Hound grinds out.
He’s one of our most levelheaded brothers. He’s the secretary of the club. He got his name by being like a dog with a bone when he gets something in his head, but it doesn’t happen often, and when it does, he’s usually one hundred percent on point.
I agree with him, even if I don’t voice my opinion immediately.
I’m trying not to be the one who is in the middle of this any more than I already am.
I already fucked up enough with this entire fucking situation.
I don’t want to add fuel to this fucked-up fire.
Hound slams his palm on the table, clearly firm in his feelings on this.
The bitch must die. But it’s Fantasy who speaks next.
“She does, but we need to make sure it doesn’t cause retaliation.”
“So what happens when the Perov Bratva figures out we killed the wife of one of their head members?” Dare asks.
“What happens when he finds out just who that wife is?” I ask.
“What do you mean by that?” Dare asks.
It’s Loot who speaks next, even if I am ready to answer the question. I guess he’s got more important things to say right now.
“You know what that means,” Loot begins. “It means that we have a sit-down with them and tell them exactly who the bitch is. She’s a fucking scammer, and she’s scamming them. They might just take care of her on their own without us needing to lift a fucking finger.”
“I like the sound of that,” I murmur. “Letting them do the dirty work for a change would be nice, but it entangles us with them, and that scares the fucking piss out of me. Because I know they’re not going to just say thanks and shake our hands. They are crazy motherfuckers.”
“Agreed,” Dare mutters.
“But we don’t have much of a choice,” Two-Pump states.
“No, we really fucking don’t,” I agree with his words.
He’s right.
We don’t have a choice. We have to do what we have to do, and that might mean working with the Perov Bratva, even though I absolutely do not want to do that shit. Tipping my head backward, I look up at the ceiling.
What the actual fuck are we going to be doing here? The Perov Bratva are not a group that you want to fuck with. I don’t even want to breathe the same air as them, let alone be in the same room and work with them.
Where we run a somewhat victimless crime, they are not quite the same. We burn down buildings with the owner’s permission… usually. But they run drugs, guns, and women. I’m pretty sure they dabble in high-interest loans as well.
Not the same atmosphere at all.
But it looks like I’m going to have to meet with them, because the last thing I want is to be their enemy. And if we kill that bitch with zero explanation, then that’s what me and the entire club will be, and then there will be war.
“What about my woman?” Dare grinds out.
I hadn’t forgotten about her. I was just kind of hoping she’d be locked away in a castle somewhere, never to be seen again.
Because while she’s sexy as shit, and pregnant, she is also fucking dangerous to have around, especially if we’re dealing with the Bratva.
With Dare or not, the baby inside her is a Bratva baby.
Sucking in a breath, I press my lips together as I try to think of a way to do this shit without dealing with those assholes, but there truly is no way around it, even if I wanted there to be. We’re going to have to just do it at this point to keep ourselves protected.
“We have to feign innocence. We don’t know shit, and there won’t be shit,” I say.
Dare chuckles, leaning back slightly. “How about I put you in charge of all this?” he asks.
I watch as his lips are curved up and smiling as he watches me, waiting for my response. When I don’t say anything immediately, he continues speaking.
“Actually, I don’t think I want to be involved at all. You can deal with the Perovs. I don’t need to even look into any of their eyes. Knowing that the conversation could possibly involve Chassis means that I can’t ever let it fucking happen.”
“You shouldn’t be around them at all,” I state.
And as much as I want to flip him off and tell him to kick rocks, because he is very much the president of our club, that would be fucking stupid. I know he’s doing this to protect Chassis. And he’s not in the wrong there.
“This is me, Hippie, Blast, and Tow-Pump’s thing. You don’t need to be there, and as far as we’re concerned, Chassis doesn’t exist. This is about the husband and wife, about the con, insurance, and about the event center burning to the ground, nothing else.”
Dare jerks his chin forward once. “You’re gonna contact them?” he asks.
As much as I don’t want to admit that I even know how to contact them, I do. “Yeah,” I grumble.
He laughs, clearing his throat before he looks around the room. “We all good?”
You can’t hear the marbles rolling around in everyone’s heads, but they all nod a few times, and Dare jerks his chin upward before he lifts his gavel and slams it down. “Meeting adjourned.”
“Two-Pump, Hippie, and Blast, can you hang back so we can work on this shit?” I ask.
They all grumble, no doubt understanding that’s exactly what needs to be done. Dare grins, standing and slipping out of the room without another word, effectively leaving us to our own devices.
I wonder what it must be like to not have to actually handle this kind of shit. Sure, he’s shoveled other shit that I don’t have to deal with, but fuck, it might be nice to not have this fucking shit on my plate day in and day out… especially today.
“So we’re going to Vegas?” Two-Pump asks as he lifts his hands and rubs them together.
My lips twitch into a smirk. “Not only are we going to Vegas, but I know those assholes are going to have us meet at their strip club.”
“Not mad about that at fucking all,” Hippie grumbles.
I bet he’s not. Normally, I wouldn’t be either, but I’ve got Elodie here, and I’d rather be in her bed than watching a bunch of women shake their asses on stage.
Only one woman I want to see shake her ass, and that’s my woman.
A sentence I never thought I would ever think in my entire forty-six years of life. But it’s true.
Taking my cell out of my pocket, I find my contact’s name. I hate that I have his name and number. It’s just part of the job, having assholes’ numbers in my phone. I touch the call button, and the phone rings twice before a heavy Russian-accented voice picks up.
Here we fucking go.