Page 59 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

“I didn’t imagine I’d see you here after our last conversation,” I say, my gaze scanning the entire room.

The handful of club members present are all seated and tight-lipped, watching every movement with sharp eyes and stiff shoulders. Samson stands a couple of feet to Marlo’s left while her goons guard the front door, hands in their pockets.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure whether I should come here,” Marlo says, “but I decided to look past that disagreement and give you another chance.”

“Another chance to do what?” I ask. My phone buzzes. I briefly check it. It’s a text from Paulie saying he’s got Robyn, and they’re headed to her place. I should feel a sense of relief, especially as I glance outside and notice Calvin next to Margo’s limo. “I’m pretty sure we don’t owe you anything, Marlo.”

“You don’t. But that’s not why I’m here,” she says.

“Then whyareyou here?” Diesel rolls his eyes, thoroughly unimpressed.

“I have a business proposition,” she replies.

I stifle a groan, fully aware of what’s about to come out of her mouth. We called it days ago. It was simply a matter of when, not if, she’d bring it up.

“I take it our guys have been making it particularly hard for you to restart the drug routes in and around Redwood?” I ask with a half-smile.

“The Rogue Riders make excellent vigilantes or glorified sheriff’s deputies, I suppose,” she says and chuckles softly. “But it’s time to stop playing these stupid games. You fellas need to go back to doing what you’re good at.”

“Move your drugs around,” I say.

“You already have a transport company, an infrastructure. You built it on the back of my father’s business if you remember.”

“No, we built it on our own backs. Our work, our time, and our money went into it despite the damage inflicted upon this district by your father’s business.”

“Knox, I’m getting everything back on track, with or without you and whether you like it or not. I’m simply trying to avoid unnecessary aggression and bloodshed. I’m also giving you and your men the opportunity to make a lot more money than you’ve ever dreamed of.” She smiles. “Our new suppliers are big players from Mexico and Colombia. I’m talking millions in fees and the Riders could get one hell of a cut.”

Jagger scoffs and shakes his head, visibly disgusted. “Your audacity is astonishing.”

“Your self-righteous bullshit is what’s astonishing,” Marlo hits back. “How long did you think this knights-in-steely-armor bit was going to last anyway? You can’t stop the flow of narcotics in this area—not forever. Sooner or later, some cartel boss will want to carve himself a slice of this territory. Why let him when we could keep it in-house?”

“In-house,” I repeat, hoping she might pick up on the ridiculousness of her statement.

“Yes, in-house. The Hughes family were among the founders of Redwood. We helped build this town and its surroundings.”

“I understand that’s what your father told you, Marlo, but it doesn’t make you or anyone in your family some kind of Redwood hero,” I say. You’re drug dealers, plain and simple. As long as you operate outside the scope of the law, you’re putting every single resident of this district in danger.”

“You can’t stop progress, Knox.”

Diesel holds back a laugh. “It’s not progress we’re trying to stop here. It’s the return to one of the worst periods in Redwood history.”

“We were thriving!” Marlo says, sounding confused.

“Youwere thriving. Sure, the club was thriving too. Making money off the suffering of others. Profiting from addiction,” I say. “We worked hard to turn this club around, and frankly, I’m astonished by your decision to come here and ask us to set all that aside so you can go back to making more money from drug and gunrunning, because we both know it won’t be just a truck of heroin here and there, especially if you do business with the Mexicans and the Colombians.”

She takes a long sip of her prosecco, allowing herself a moment to mull over my words. “I’m not asking you to set anything aside. I’m simply asking you to repurpose what you already have, the existing infrastructure like I already said.”

“You want our trucks and drivers,” Jagger says.

“Yes, and we can certainly agree on a percentage for your support. I’m even willing to do a part-time collaboration. You can continue with your transport business if you love it so much if you give me four out of, say, seven days per week. It sounds reasonable to me.”

It’s hard not to laugh in her face at this point. It’s not audacity, it’s madness. It’s some kind of madness on Marlo Hughes’ part to think she can walk into our clubhouse and talk like she’s the one doing us a favor. I clear my throat and take a step closer to the bar.

Her goons stiffen slightly.

“Don’t do this.”

“Excuse me?”

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