Page 55 of Filthy Savage

Nash jerks his chin toward him, taking only half a step forward. “This is exactly what I said it would be. A meeting between our clubs to figure out what happened and ensure that it doesn’t again.”

Conrad lifts his hand, holding his palm in the air then slowly lowering it, giving his men the signal. I watch as their weapons are brought down to their sides, but I also notice that said weapons are not sheathed in their holsters.

These men are entertaining us, but they do not trust us, not even a little. “Come inside,” Conrad invites before he turns around and walks into the mansion.

None of us moves. We stay exactly where we are, and I know I’m not the only one in our group wondering what the fuck we’re going to walk into when we enter that fucking mansion.

But wordlessly, we follow behind the asshole. One step, then another, falling into line as we walk through the front door and into the formal receiving area, at least I’m pretty sure that’s what it’s called. I honestly have no idea.

Nash is the one leading this, likely because he’s the only one of us who knew this shit existed to this extent. Conrad lifts his hand to the sofa, love seat, and chairs that are in the room.

None of us sit.

Instead, we line the walls of the room, all of our focus on him and the ten gunmen who were outside and are now in here, joining us.

“You came to me, Nashville,” he coos.

Nashville. My eyes widen, and I look over to King, who shakes his head, chuckling. I had no clue that was Nash’s name. I always thought it was some kind of road name, but now I’m wondering if Nashville is his legal name. Jesus Christ, that would be weird as fuck. I don’t know why, but it would.

“We came to you,” Nash states, interrupting my thoughts. Lifting my chin slightly, I look down my nose at this guy and listen.

I’m not going to speak unless spoken to. I need to learn to control my anger and my mouth simultaneously. Conrad makes himself comfortable, sinking down in one of the chairs and crossing one of his calves over his knee.

“We came to you because your chapter in Shreveport is gone. And they fucked with us. They attempted to come into Texas, but beyond that, they tried to involve themselves in our business and tried to strongarm us into working together. They also had one of their men infiltrate our club. I want to know if you were involved in this and if you’re going to continue and what that means for the future of our clubs.”

My eyes widen, waiting for this man to respond. He doesn’t show an ounce of reaction. He knows what he’s doing, and I wish I were as controlled as he is. Then Conrad clears his throat, places his hands on the arms of his chair, and inhales a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out.

“Why would they want anything to do with your club?” he asks, keeping his voice and tone far too even.

This whole thing sounds and feels shady as fuck, but Nash continues to entertain him. Meanwhile, I’m ready for backup to arrive so we can blow this fucker to the ground. This is the queen of the beehive, and I’m ready to end it all right fucking now. Burn it all to the fucking ground, whatever it takes.

“You tell me?” Nash asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down his nose at this stuffy, uptight fuck.

“I wouldn’t have the faintest idea,” he purrs.

For a man who has been expressionless this whole time, a spark flashes in his eyes. And that is a tell if I’ve ever seen one. I want to inform Nash, but I decide against it. He actually knows this fucker, so my guess is that he noticed the same thing I just did.

“As far as I know, the Southern Mafia wants nothing to do with the Dark Horse MC. You have your circle, and we have ours. The two should never cross, correct?”

Nash leans forward slightly, his gaze focused on Conrad, his jaw clenched, and then he speaks. When he does, his voice is a harsh bark, and I’m a bit surprised. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound so pissed before.

Typically, Nash just comes to the club to see King, to party a little, and recently to talk about his strip club. He hasn’t had the enormous stress of being the president of the original chapter of the MC for years. Sure, he’s been running his club down south, but they’re all retired members and, until recently, were just fucking around enjoying retirement.

But right now, as he talks to Conrad, he is pissed. I can hear it in his voice, see it in his face, and for whatever reason, seeing and hearing Nash pissed off makes me feel even angrier at this whole situation.

I bite my tongue, but it’s already bleeding, and I’m ready to fucking go.

“You’re ensuring there won’t be any issues between our groups? Your men will not only stay out of Texas but also out of our business, and that includes calling whatever federal agents you have on the payroll to arrest one of our own.”

Conrad has the decency to look surprised for just a split second. “I don’t know. Will you cease massacring my people?” he asks.

Nash snorts. “I only killed men who were there to kill me first.”

“And the women? They are our income, our profits, and you ended them like rabid animals.”

This time, it’s Atomic who speaks. He takes a step forward and looks down at Conrad. Then, his growling voice fills the room. And I know just from the tone that this is the end of this conversation. It is done. It is final, and whatever is agreed upon is what will be. If that means war, then it means war.

“We gave them plenty of warning. We had signed treaties that they broke, and at the end of the day, that entire operation could not be trusted in any way. A broken treaty means broken everything, and there were no rules. We gave the women back once, and we were not going to chance that shit again. The entire operation was taken out, as had been promised if they broke the signed, agreed-upon treaty.”

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