Page 30 of Their Princess

“Zip it, Jose,” snapped Caz, giving his brother a cold look. Then, he pursed his lips, thinking. “Fact remains: you’ve lost our product.”

“The fucking Mafia blew it up,” Sas gritted out.

Did he realize he cut a glance at Rafe over by the wall? Fortunately, I don’t think the brothers thought twice about that little slip.

“You think that matters to el Tigre?” Caz asked, tilting his head.

Sas’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. “And that’s why I’m offering you more compensation.”

El Fantasma and Acero met Caz’s gaze and shook their heads.

“Not good enough,” said Caz. “This isn’t our decision anymore. El Tigre has some non-monetary needs I think you can help with.”

Sas stiffened as the air changed in the room. “There’s nothing else we have to compensate your boss down in Colombia. The MC doesn’t have connections there.” He glanced over at Rafe again.

“True enough man.” Caz dropped his feet and the chair to the floor, then stood.

The gun was heavy at my lower back, but I wouldn’t be the fastest to pull it. I never was. I wasn’t an enforcer and didn’t get pulled into brawls on the regular, because I wielded a tattoo gun better than the real thing. But my brothers—patched and prospect—were rocking up the balls of their feet and back on their heels, a potential fight blooming. For this one, I would be at their side.

Sas towered over Caz, but that didn’t seem to faze the man. In fact, he reached up and straightened Sas’s cut, then brushed his Vice President patch like he was cleaning off the dust.

The cartel brother then dusted off the table where his boots had been. “You see, Sas—is it?”

He knew damn well that was his name, and I caught the blood flushing into our VP’s cheeks. The prospects Merry and Pip both reached for their backs and paused.

Caz continued, “We don’t communicate with the boss while we’re in the States.” He cast his gaze over to the Warden. “Too easy to intercept those comms, right?”

Ward leaned back, crossing his thick arms over his chest. He didn’t have a tell that answered for him, but just the mention had to put him on higher alert.

Cazador chuckled. “El Tigre trusts us to make deals on his behalf. And with good reason.”

Acero spouted off something in Spanish.

Caz smirked up at Sas. “If we make a bad decision, we die, as Acero points out.”

“Isn’t doubling your profits a good decision,” said Ghost, one of the three new prospects. His eyes stretched wide as he looked around at everyone present, but all the patched members in the room seemed to collectively roll their eyes.

I half expected him to start apologizing profusely. Kid was too fucking eager. Sas glared at him hard enough to make him focus on his boots.

“Counteroffer, amigo.” Not a question, but Caz left it out there like it was.

Sas nodded.

“Smart,” Caz smiled and bobbled his head, then in an instant turned stone-faced. “El Tigre is looking to gain control of the ports in Baranquilla.”

“The fuck is Baranquilla?” asked Sas, scowling.

“Port city, yo. On the east coast. If Boss gets control, it opens new shipping lanes. More trade possibilities. Way more than double our investment in your”—he looked around with a shit-eating grin—“little brat pack here.”

Sas lunged, but Rafe, as quick and silent as a fox, blocked him with a shoulder in his chest. Sas might have a good head on Rafe, but the ex-Marine was solid as fuck.

Acero and el Fantasma took a step forward, but Caz threw out both his arms, holding them back. “This is where the deal comes in,” said Caz, still grinning as though he fed on Sas’s frustration. “The other cartels will see us coming before we step a foot in the city. That territory belongs to the Baranquilla Cartel and el Comandante.”

Rafe mumbled something to Sas, and our VP backed away.

Rafe faced the cartel’s mouthpiece. “We can’t do that.”

Other eyes pointed at Rafe, not Sas’s though.

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