Page 60 of Whispers of Fire

Never mix business and women, that's his motto.

"Alright, let's refocus, everyone," I say, my tone firm. "We have a lot to discuss regarding the takeover of Seattle.” We’re planning to extend our territory and take it from the Steelhawks Chapter, ensurin’ that every detail is meticulously planned to minimize any potential risks or a bloodbath.

Ares stands and starts givin’ each of us a dedicated task, which I already know when we prepared this meeting together. He is all about mind games and strategy; he likes things to go as planned and fuckin' hates when an obstacle stands in his way. He lives for the club, like all of us. Once each guy knows what he has to do, he dismisses them.

“Alright, off to work,” he says as each guy leaves the large room only furnished with a massive wooden table and twelve chairs around it. Not more. Cause sittin’ there is fuckin' earned.

“I'll give you a rundown of the situation in 48 hours,” I say, as his loyal right-hand man.

He grunts in response, his jaw clenching. Is he nervous? Not unusual during a takeover. That sort of thing can go south real fuckin' fast. We need to watch our backs even more than usual.

“Come grab a cold one with me.” It’s not a question.

What does he want?

Followin’ him, we take the stairs and leave the basement to the main hall where the bar is. One of the club chicks is serving the guys, brown hair, pushing her tits in front of them as if they were not already completely out. I shake my head, thinking about my sweet girl and her innocent eyes.

Ares sits on a stool a bit far from the others and I sit next to him. Without a word, the chick jogs towards him with two beers, like a puppy. I sigh.

“What's up?”

“What’s up?” he says back in an accusatory tone.

I furrow my brows.

W hat's up with him? We have a fuckin' takeover on our hands, not the fuckin' time to play twenty questions at the bar.

“Who's she?” he asks, taking a gulp from the bottle. “The chick who called you.”

“She's my neighbor,” I say as casually as I can.

His eyes narrow. “Neighbor, huh? You answer your neighbour’s calls during a fuckin' club meeting?” he says casually, tilting his head, but I can sense he’s fuckin' pissed.

“You know the club is my priority, never gave you any reason to doubt me.”

“Yeah, well, don't start now.”

“Ares,” I sigh, cause I fuckin’ hate deep talk and shit like that. “You're my prez, but this girl, she’s, fuck, she matters.”

There, I said it.

“Fuck, lookin' damn serious already. That's a shame.”

“Why?” I furrow my brows.

“Cause you're moving,” he says casually, drinking his beer.

“Since when?”

“Since I just decided my VP can’t fuckin’ think straight without talkin’ to his booty call and I need you sharp and fuckin' ready for the takeover.”

No, I can’t. I can’t move away from her. Fuck. Every fiber of my body urges me to fight this.

“It's not like that.” Cause my angel has nothin’ to do with the chicks here, and what we have is more than anyone will ever understand. I want to lash at him but he's my prez; things don't work this way, not in our club. I owe respect and loyalty to him, especially since he's the one who saved me from the streets after the accident. I clench my fists, looking faraway, envisioning the idea of being far from my girl.

Fuck.

It fuckin’ hurts.

---