Page 56 of Disturbed Lucidity

Taking my seat at the table, Logic sat next to me.

“This isn’t working, Luc. You can’t beat her into submission. She needs to be able to speak her mind without fear of being punished.”

“I know that, Logic,” I replied, watching while she carefully sat down in a chair, mindful of her tender ass. “But she also needs to learn to pick her battles. She challenged me in front of the club. I won’t allow that. She needs to learn to control her temper, and the only way for her to learn to do that is for me to show her that actions have consequences. Ivy isn’t just any masochist, Logic. She is the masochist. Slash believes she doesn’t have a breaking point. I disagree, and until I find out what that is, she will push and push hard, testing everyone’s limits and patience.”

“You think if you find her breaking point, you will find the real Ivy?”

I slowly nodded. “And you will be able to do whatever it is you do.”

Logic groaned. “That’s a tricky game, Luc. You fuck up and you could make things worse for her. Set her back further. Are you willing to risk that?”

Was I?

Looking at Ivy, I didn’t see what everyone else saw when they looked at her. Yes, I knew she came from a sick and troubled past. But she was also a strong, independent woman who had lost her way. That was the woman I wanted to meet. Not the woman pretending to be someone she wasn’t to make others feel better. I wanted the real Ivy. The one I caught a glimpse of when she was in my room last night. The woman who, with one look, made me forget who I was and allowed me to just feel as I took what she offered.

Ivy was more than her D.I.D. diagnosis, more than a sister to Slash, more than anyone gave her credit for. She was highly intelligent and funny. She cared about others and cared more about them than her own well-being. I saw evidence of that when she gave Gunny her food. She was a good friend and eager to do her part. Others didn’t look past her mental illness to see the heart of her. If they did, then they would know what I knew.

That Ivy was just like us.

A survivor.

So, no. I wasn’t playing a fucking game. While I was willing to risk a great many things, Ivy wasn’t one of them.

Hannibal whistled loudly while my brothers got into position.

I still wasn’t happy that Ivy was here for this meeting, but I was willing to play along, to see where Los Santanas were going with this meet. However, if any of those fuckers stepped one foot out of line, my brothers had orders to kill them all.

I wasn’t fucking around. They’d already pissed me off by using my strip club to move their fucking product. That alone was enough for me to declare war on them.

Walking over to me, Ivy said nothing when she took the seat Logic had just vacated. Frost taking up position on the other side of her. Trash and Agony had my back. The rest of the brothers each took a strategic stance, watching and waiting for any signal.

Leaning back in my chair, I watched when the door to the clubhouse opened and in walked several of the Los Santanas motorcycle gang. I believed in calling a spade a fucking spade. And these cocksuckers were nothing more than a fucking gang. Fuckers like them gave motorcycle clubs a bad rap.

Indigo scouted the area before we settled here, and while I knew that Los Santanas ran product through the town of Destiny, they didn’t have a foothold here. As far as I was concerned, the town and surrounding area was free game. It was only after my club started cutting off their distribution lines that shit kicked up to a boiling point. However, they’d crossed the line when they used my motherfucking strip club as a fucking go-between.

Taking a seat directly across from me was Miguel Chavarria, the president of Los Santanas. Next to him was his second, Raul Santos. From what I heard Raul was a lot like Trash. Which meant the fucker was deadly. As for the rest of the fucknuts, I didn’t give two shits who they were. I wanted this meeting over fast and them out of my territory.

“That the Puta who killed my man?” Miguel opened, and Ivy stiffened.

Yeah, pissing Ivy off wasn’t the way to start this meeting. Nudging the tip of my boot against her foot, I sternly said, “You here to talk about pussy or can we get to the fucking point?”

Miguel Chavarria was a middle-aged, overweight, sick son of a bitch who only cared about one fucking thing. Money. Asshole didn’t give a damn about the source or who he had to betray to get it. The more he got, the greedier he became. He was dangerous, and I didn’t like that he now had Ivy in his sights.

Fucker leaned back in his chair and sneered at her, licking his lips, while he rubbed his crotch. “I’ll give you a thousand for her.”

“Don’t trade or sell flesh, Miguel. Move on.”

“Ten grand.”

“Beating a dead horse, Miguel. Already gave my answer.”

“Gonna get that Puta’s pussy one way or another, Luc. Either you give her to me, or I take her myself, makes no difference to me. But I will have my dick in her pussy, her ass, and then her mouth. Maybe when I’m finished with her, I’ll even do you the favor of letting her suck on a bullet, since you seem too pussy whipped to take care of business yourself.”

“Ain’t leaving without her, boss,” Raul sneered viciously. He refused to take his eyes off her.

Miguel held up his hand to silence Raul, then sighed. “You got a problem, Luc.”

“What’s that?”

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