Chapter 3
Chapter Three
SAS
Adelina Parisi was ... pretty. But her looks weren’t enough to let a mouth like hers go unpunished. Only people who worked for their spots at the top could get away with that shit, so knocking her off her high horse and into the real world would be my absolute pleasure.
She made the cartel showing up in Park Ridge the least of my problems. At five-foot nothing, the fucking bitch I had to marry turned into a festering thorn in my side. Once we were wed, I would have all the time in the world to punish her.
Adelina wasn’t a princess anymore, and she wouldn’t be one when we were husband and wife either. MCs didn’t have princesses, and her father had come all this way from Vegas to hand her over to the beast.
“Good job,” Graff mumbled to me, casting his eyes elsewhere, as I stood back.
Wilde and Massimo could talk all they wanted. Massimo was a slithering snake like the rest of the sick fucks in the Mafia. They all wanted more than they could handle, something I proved when I capped that cunt of a human-trafficking whore up at Barton Mill.
Don Massimo Parisi might’ve thought he could control the world, but not mine. And not the MC’s. I left the Prez to deal with his shit for now. I would have the rest of my life to endure my father-in-law.
“Yeah, whatever,” I mumbled back to Graff, kicking a rock out of my way. “We just need the boys to get back so we can find out which cartel followed us.”
“What do you think they wanted with Adelina?” Graff moved to stand at my shoulder.
I gave a half-assed grunt—not knowing or really concerned with what they wanted. Though I doubted she was the reason they came.
“You have an idea who they were?” Graff asked.
“Maybe.” I flicked my gaze toward Adelina. “I’ll leave sniffing it out to the Prez.”
My fia—Hell, I couldn’t even think the word.
Adelina was already looking at me, dragging her eyes up me with her nose wrinkled in disgust. Our eyes met for a brief second, and then she rolled hers, returning to face her uncle. No matter. I didn’t want her here any more than she wanted to be here with me, but this deal ensured peace between the Mafia and us.
Signing a piece of paper if it saved my brothers’ asses and the club? That was the least I could do.
But any peace between the Mafia princess and me would be fragile. Breakable. Shattering it would be fun once we got back to LA.
My turf.
Wilde had brought us out to the Ridge after being shot because of Bou and falling in love or some shit, but I hated it here. It was desolate and vast, missing people and other good shit that came with city life. I needed to be back in LA with a bitch on my cock and the concrete jungle spreading out beneath my boots.
And then I needed to hunt down the cartel motherfuckers who seemed intent on crashing my wedding. Or whatever I was supposed to call this meeting.
Everything had gone to shit, yet I was still engaged. Fuck that noise. I wasn’t about to be stuck with one pussy for the rest of my life, even if Adelina had a smokin’ hot body under those fancy clothes. She was only hot in the high-maintenance kind of way, and someone like that would probably nag me until I finally blew my brains out.
Not happening. We’d sleep on opposite sides of the clubhouse. She could bunk with the bunnies, and I would keep my room on the side where the patched members slept.
This was a political marriage.
A business deal.
That’s it.
Wilde would /≥have his boys in the Ridge take a cut of the Mafia’s profits for turning a blind eye to the arms trafficking. And as for me and my “wife,” we could coexist on opposite sides of the clubhouse. And I could go on fucking as many sweetbutts as I liked.
She might have still been pissed when she found out, but there was no way I could live without variety. And I’m not sure she would never be happy living the MC life anyway, so there was no point in pretending.
I’d sign on the dotted line in front of a judge.
Hell, I could even pop her cherry, assuming she still had one.
I looked her up and down. Yeah, the cherry was doubtful with those curves. If they needed blood like some medieval bastards, I could just cut her for that.
A marriage made in hell. Hope she’s ready.
The roar of motorcycles cut through the now eerie silence. When had everyone stopped talking?
But when I looked, there was only one motorcycle tearing down the road toward Bou’s shop, and it came from the wrong direction. I blew out a deep breath, bracing myself for the Ridge enforcer to be up my ass.
Cook parked his bike and before he even cut the engine, he was off the bike, barking, “What the fuck is going on?”
The enforcer’s eyes dropped to the dead body and the blood soaking into the sand, then over to my bride with blood soaked into her skirt. Under my breath, I let out a low chuckle.
Adelina stared at the newcomer, her back turned to me, so I let my eyes roam over her ass. I wondered for a moment if those curves were thanks to some kind of shapewear like those rich-bitch, reality-TV-show girls were always stuffing their bodies into. I imagined peeling that skirt off her, parting her ass cheeks, and seeing how kicking those curves really were.
I let out a low whistle and commented to Graff, “What a fine ass that is.”
Like she could feel me watching, she glanced over her shoulder, and Graff looked away a bit too dramatically.
He whispered, “You can’t draw my attention to your fiancé’s ass.”
“Don’t see why not.” I spat on the sand, never breaking eye contact with Adelina. In fact, I smirked when I added, “Look all you want, brother.”
Her eyes were intense, burning with anger, and fuck, that sight could turn a guy hard in no time. Angry fucks were off-the-charts hot.
I cocked a smile, and that was when her uncle—our new MC “brother”—stepped between us. His hand hovered over the butt of his gun.
Scoffing, I said, “Thanks’ll do.”
Her uncle’s eyes narrowed on me, but they shifted a little too. Something wasn’t quite right about the way the fucker looked at me. Yet he didn’t respond.
“Got a voice, asshole?” I asked.
Graff pushed against my chest with his shoulder. “Let it be, Sas.”
“Uncle Rafe can’t protect her when she’s warming my bed,” I said to Graff, throwing in for good measure, “now can he?”
“Where’s Bou?” asked Cook, coming to a stop at the Prez’s side.
“Inside,” said Wilde. Cook moved toward the door, but Wilde snagged him by the cut. “She’s fine.”
“A pregnant woman in the middle of a shootout?” Cook ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “That’s not fine. She or the baby coulda caught a stray bullet.”
I nearly laughed. Bou took down the first gunman from the cartel with the piece she had hidden under the counter in the shop. That girl was anything but a victim, so I couldn’t place where Cook’s irritation came from. The guys in the Ridge had been small-time drug runners before joining us.
They were . . . cute.
Of course that was before Wilde got shot and stumbled into a pussy.
“She’s fine,” repeated Wilde through clenched teeth. “She handled herself just like always.”
I popped in, “She was the first to fire on our side.”
“Of course she was,” drawled Cook as he kept staring Wilde down. “The fuck you think Celt’s gonna say?”
Wilde shrugged as though the mention of Bou’s brother didn’t bother him in the slightest. “If he was worried about her safety, he could’ve been here. He knew what was going down today.”
“I’m pretty sure a gunfight wasn’t on the agenda.” Cook planted his hands on his hips, spreading his cut so I could read his shirt.
I snorted and covered my nose and mouth with the back of my hand. Graff looked over with a questioning gaze.
“Read his shirt,” I murmured.
Graff rolled his eyes at the saying: I know how many licks it takes.
I might not know the man, but he sure as hell had an enviable wardrobe.
“Prez!” called out Jackyl, rushing over to Wilde. “Found this in one of the dead guys’ pockets.” He held out a cell phone.
Both Wilde and Cook looked over the device, each trying several codes to unlock it. Graff moved away from my side and toward the body, where he crouched and studied what was left of the bastard’s face.
“Get it to the Warden.” Wilde tossed the phone back to Jackyl. “Any clue what these fuckers want?”
Frowning, Cook slowly shook his head as Jackyl answered, “Nothing on the bodies to say why they’re here.”
“Probably has to do with that load of guns we intercepted,” said Cook.
“It’s the cartel for sure,” murmured Graff, standing over the body.
“How can you tell?” asked Cook.
“The tats.” Graff pulled out a knife and sliced the man’s shirt down the center. He trailed his finger over the tattoos without touching the skin as though he admired the work.
“And here I thought I had ruined them with a bullet,” I muttered, and Graff let out a small huff of laughter.
“What if...” started Cook, and all the heads in hearing distance pivoted to face the man who scratched his beard as he thought.
“Out with it,” barked Wilde.
Cook held up a hand. “Hear me out. The Mafia took credit for blowing up the warehouse and all our product, yeah?”
“We all got that message from Enzo’s video,” I said through gritted teeth. “Someone still owes me for taking my kill.”
“Pipe down, Sas,” said Wilde.
“We were ambushed,” added Cook, his hand drifting up to his chest—the place he’d been shot in that shootout in Vegas.
Massimo strolled over, his silky pants brushing luxuriously about his legs. Only the new Don of la Famiglia—now the Parisi Family, I presumed—would come to this sandpit in a silky suit.
I shook my head. “Doesn’t make sense. I made a deal with them. Why would they have been in on blowing it up? They’d have to know they’d never get paid that way.”
Adelina was back to staring openly at me, this time scrutinizing me like I was an ant under her high heel. I lowered my chin and ran my tongue over my lower lip. If she kept that up, I’d rip off the heel and use it to cut off the rest of those rich-bitch clothes. I needed my women in leather or nothing at all.
“Nah,” said Wilde, “Sas’s probably right. It’s likely the cargo we intercepted before this deal with the Don.”
“Either way,” said Massimo loudly, sucking everyone’s attention toward him like a vacuum, “the deal stands. Once the cartel gets their claws into this land, they won’t let it go. There are always more vermin south of the border, and they come in swells.”
I rolled my eyes at him. I didn’t need this political bullshit.
The door to the auto shop swung open, and the pregnant patched member stumbled out. Sure, I could be happy that Wilde had an old lady and was gonna to be a dad, but it was also fucking weird that we had a woman in our business.
“Jesus fuck,” Bou muttered, glaring at the body that Graff hovered over. “We gotta get those out of here.”
“Why?” I asked. “We own the police here.”
Celt, Bou’s brother, was the police in Park Ridge.
“The locals are gonna ask questions,” said Bou. “Sound travels in the open like this. All of Park Ridge probably heard the gunshots.”
“They know what the MC does,” I mumbled.
“I have other clients than those in the MC. Someone will be curious.”
“They might turn a blind eye, but that’s only when they don’t actually see the bodies.” She rested both her hands on top of her belly.
I snorted. Did she think they were really that innocent? The town couldn’t have been more than eight hundred people, nine tops. No one was innocent here, even if they wanted to pretend they didn’t know what kept this town alive.
“We’ll move the bodies,” said Wilde. “Cook, you got a place?”
“Coyotes will be feasting tonight.” Cook grinned, rubbing his hands together as though he relished serving up their supper on a silver platter.
I was almost impressed with the satisfaction.
“We’ll let you all handle the situation.” Massimo wiped his hands on his pants, looking down with disgust at whatever had been there. “I’ve got cleaners for this level of mess.”
He walked away.
The capos trailed behind him, looking as pristine in their suits as when they arrived, until they all disappeared around the building. The fuck? I had to think hard, but I couldn’t recall any one of them engaging in the crossfire.
I pulled my can of Skoal from my pocket and tucked a pinch between my cheek and lower teeth while staring at Adelina, who waited beside Rafe. She wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. Princess wasn’t going to home to her castle, and she didn’t even seem to have a suitcase.
Graff came back to my side, and I tipped my head toward her as he approached. “How you think she’ll do on my bike in that tight skirt?”
“She’s gotta have clothes to change into,” said Graff.
An engine fired up, too smooth to be a bike. “Sounds like her daddy’s leaving without a goodbye. I’m not so sure.”
The gravel crunching under the limo’s tires sounded louder than it should from the other side of the building, and I watched Adelina until she looked past me. Her lips tightened into an angry pucker and her eyes narrowed at the departing caravan.
“Sure seems like her carriage just rode away and she’s less than happy about it. This ought to be fun.” I chuckled.
Adelina was kinda cute when she was angry. I’d have to work on keeping her like that. If I had to be strapped to her, the least I could do was have some fun.
Cook pulled his cell phone away from his ear. “I’ve got the prospects coming to help with the bodies.”
“Back to the basin?” asked Wilde.
“Yup. Their bones can keep Rex and Luke company,” said Cook.
“Sorry to miss all the fun,” I said, heading toward my bike, “but I’ve got a bonfire waiting back at the warehouse.”
Wilde gave a curt nod. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“Come on, princess,” I ordered, and walked around the building to the row of bikes. Finding mine, I kicked up the stand and straddled the beast.
Graff stood his bike up beside me, and the others present meandered to the front of the building. I looked north, up the road. We would clearly have to catch Merry, Pip, and Ghost on the way home.
“Jackyl,” I yelled over the roar of Graff’s engine. “You ridin’ with us?”
“Not today, man. Got someone to see.”
Adelina held onto Rafe’s forearm as she tiptoed toward the pavement with her high heels in one hand. We’d have to throw those things in the fire when we made it back to the warehouse. I turned and patted the bitch seat, but she curled her lip as though it was the most disgusting thing I could’ve offered. If only she knew.
Rafe leaned down, whispering something in her ear, and she shook her head. Her bottom lip quivered. Was she on the verge of... crying? How many more tantrums could she have in one day?
I wanted to laugh, but she could’ve been in shock. That was common for people who hadn’t lived through wars or grown up on the streets, or so I had heard. Living with us, she’d have to toughen up quick.
Rafe pulled her closer by the arm, whispering something in her ear.
“Time to ride, princess,” I barked and patted my seat again.
“No.” Adelina pushed away from Rafe and marched directly for his bike. If her eyes could fire a gun, I might be bleeding out right now. Lifting her chin, she defiantly said, “I don’t have to listen to you.”
“For now,” I conceded with a half-smile.
She raised her brows doubtfully.
“Oh, honey, you just wait. Once I put a ring on you, bossing you around will seem mild compared to what I have in mind.” I waited to see if any real tears would fall.
She surprised me, though, by hardening her expression and marching over to the back of Rafe’s bike. There, she threw open the trunk and grabbed a pair of jeans and riding boots. Seemingly without a second thought, she kicked off her heels and dragged the jeans up under her skirt. Sliding the skirt with drying blood over the skinny jeans, she tossed it to the side and then put on her boots.
Guess she did come prepared. I held out my hand to my bitch seat again, seeing if she would take the bait. I had some plans for the pampered doll if she would just bite.
She glared as if she could intimidate me.
I laughed. She was half my size. Kid size. Bite size—I licked my lips. I could eat her and spit her back out. Devour her. Fuck her so hard she saw stars. She would be covered in my saliva, sweat, and cum, and it would be a glorious ride.
She broke eye contact first, inclining her head to her uncle. “Let’s go, Rafe.”
Her uncle, while he jumped at her words, looked like a caged animal.
He opened his saddle bag and pulled out two leather vests, handing one to the brat, before he straddled his straight-off-the-dealership-floor ride.
There was something about the quiet man I couldn’t pinpoint. Something feral and dangerous. Like he was the last person who might explode, but if he did, he’d probably wipe out the entirety of Park Ridge. Perhaps I just needed to get him in the ring and throwing punches to get him talking.
Just as well that she chose him. Wifey-to-be probably didn’t know how to lean into turns. So, if that’s how she wanted to play the game, I would win. I always did.