Page 86 of Kneeling to Candy

“Good. Keep it that way.”

If all goes to hell, it’ll be Duffy’s head on Piero Bianchi’s hit-list, not mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

BUTCH

The conference room is filled when Candy and I arrive for church. “Church” is code for what bikers call an important meeting pertaining to club business—like a religious experience. Typically, we never involve our women in these meetings unless they’re directly involved with what we’ll be discussing. It’s a way for us to keep our women safe from what we deal with. We may be mercenaries by occupation, but we’re still bikers at our core. We’re not against breaking a few rules for the better good, especially when it involves the lives of innocent people.

Candy being asked to join our meeting means she’s officially on the team for the mission.

Hand in hand, Candy and I move to the last two remaining seats. Word of my claiming must have traveled fast, seeing as all eyes lock in on us. And anyone who doubted the news certainly doesn’t doubt anymore with Candy sporting my property patch on the back of her club jacket. We receive a few smirks from the crew, but nothing else. They’ll harass us later—it’s time to learn what we’ll be facing with this case.

Helping Candy into her seat, I take the chair beside her and wait for the meeting to get underway.

“Ravens,” Atlas addresses the crew from the front of the room, with Gauge on his right and Piero on his left.

“HOOYAH!” we holler back.

Atlas continues. “Good news. We’ve contacted Patrick Duffy.”

“Fuck me, that was fast,” Punk says, with an amused chuckle.

“It was a collaborative effort. Once we knew who we were looking for—thanks to Candy’s insight—the work was easy. Between Chase digging around on the black web and Piero reaching out to his contacts, we tracked down…” Atlas pauses, seeming to choose his words carefully. “Let’s just say an informant.”

Piero smirks. “The snitch sang like a canary.”

“You and your men have that effect on opposing parties, brother,” Atlas says pointedly.

The mobster shrugs in response, not denying anything.

“The informant gave us a burner number, connecting Piero to Duffy,” Atlas continues, filling us in.

“And how did that conversation go?” Brass asks.

“Better than I expected,” Piero replies smoothly. “Once I introduced myself, the bastard was all too eager to placate. Nerves have a way of doing that when the offender knows they’ve overstepped.”

The room breaks out into chuckles before settling to hear more.

“What did you say to get him to comply so fast?” Stage asks.

“Told him if he insists on stealing from me in my territory, he needs to pay the piper.”

Ziggy asks, “What was the agreed amount?”

“I demanded eighty percent of the profits.” He snickers to himself before adding, “The fool thought himself a negotiator. We agreed I would get seventy percent of the Denver sales and first pick at auction to reclaim any of the Denver women—or as he referred to them, ‘merchandise’—prior to them hitting the bidding floor. A veto, if you will.”

“Merchandise?!” Reaper all but snarls his disgust, slamming his fist into his palm. “Fucker is going to burn.”

“Soon, brother,” Atlas agrees, echoing Reaper’s displeasure.

“Seventy percent?” Triple lets out a low, slow whistle. “Damn. If this was any other business dealing, I’d say you killed it.”

“Who the hell gives away seventy percent of a business deal?” Eagle questions in disbelief.

“An idiot,” Gauge answers. “That’s who.”

“I agree. The man doesn’t have much brains for the operation. But the confidence with which he spoke would suggest he’s leading this flesh trade. Still, I asked who else I was dealing with. Duffy was quick to say he worked alone…” Piero pauses, lost in thought.

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