Page 56 of Sinful Mates

I chuckled and bummed down more smoke into my lungs, ignoring the rules set by the hotel when I made my own. “The good old Nephilim story, huh?” Fucking Guild had wiped them out too, when Lucifer’s fallen angels slept with humans, producing half-breeds.

My men and Aaliyah were safe in that case. Avatars were given shifter abilities from our gods because they possessed those powers. The Guild would have a fight on their hands if they started to interfere with the gods. Still, the shifters were brethren, and I wouldn’t let the Guild kill them for their holier-than-thou fucking attitude.

I glanced down at the names inked on my arms. Dad. Graham, Zethan’s stepfather. Tank. Slim. Fallen Jackals. My finger circled the last. This both encouraged and discouraged me to take on Dash and his men as Jackals. We couldn’t afford to lose more men in a war against another powerful and well-supplied enemy. But we also couldn’t afford for the Guild to hunt us down and wipe us out because of our abilities.

I glanced at Zethan. Worry creased his brow. He thought the same as me. At least, I think he did. We always used to be on the same page, but who fucking knew what that asshole thought these days. He was different. Had a new purpose and motivation, and I doubted it aligned with mine.

Steele remained silent all this time. Like Zethan in that regard, assessing the situation. Speaking when spoken to, calm and collected. The kind of man that did well as a VP.

“We’ll do what we can to help,” I told Dash, and his hiked shoulders lowered.

He breathed out a long breath. “I appreciate it.”

I needed more information before I made my decision and consulted with my road captain and VP… fuck… enforcer. Castor and Aaliyah would get the lowdown tonight. Then I’d take the proposal to the club for a vote.

I stared down at the other president. “Is that the only reason you want to become a Jackal?”

“I’m working two jobs to stay afloat.” Honesty. I liked that in a man when I spoke what was on my mind. “A third if I lose my apartment.”

Fuck, that was rough. Maybe I could assist the guy out in another way if this didn’t work out. Dad taught me to help others. That was why he created the Jackals, to protect farmers from greedy politicians making land acquisition deals with the Council and property developers nudging into Bathurst. The gods also demanded balance, and donating to charities always offset the outlaw activities we steered.

“I’m approaching my twenty-fifth birthday and the shifter’s Luna ceremony. Dad’s pushing me to find a mate and settle down.” Dash hooked his thumbs in his jeans belt loops. “If something doesn’t give, I’m going to have to resign from the club, because I can’t work three jobs, run a club, and raise a family.”

Running a club wasn’t easy, even if it was a riding one. It needed money, businesses, and resources for bike storage, fuel, parties, registration, beer and food for club meetings. Money was chipped in by members, but that only went so far, especially when working two damn jobs.

I crushed my spent cigarette under my boot on the tiled floor. My blood demanded more nicotine to relieve my stress and I started to roll three more. “What would you need from us if you joined the Jackals?”

Dash’s brows pinched in thought. “Guidance and support.”

Not a problem. I could send some men down to get them set up. Fuck. Zethan would be ideal to send down to help get them established, but he didn’t seem enthused with club business after his demotion. Didn’t blame him. I wouldn’t be thrilled to show my face if I was publicly humiliated.

I still felt like an asshole for doing that to my friend, but I didn’t have any other option. Brix called for Zethan’s excommunication, but Castor came up with an alternative to save his ass. Zethan helped me take over this club four years ago, and it didn’t sit well with me that he wasn’t by my side advising me or keeping me calm. Fuck. How the hell would I do this without him?

I had good support in Castor, but he was greener than Zethan on club processes. Zethan’s dad and my dad created the club, so we both knew our way around the rules and day-to-day running of club business.

Castor would get up to speed quickly. Clever bastard could do anything. Read a book faster than any human. Knew our charter by heart. But did he have the wherewithal to lead? The million-dollar question.

Dash’s eyes went glassy, and he flicked off his fingers, counting what he needed. “Investment to set up a proper clubhouse, not the shitty backyard garage of our secretary. Outlay for weapons, wages, and whisky.”

The three W’s. My motto. I clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re my kind of guy, Dash.”

Finances with the club were still dicey and this was a big gamble. One Zethan and Rusty, our treasurer, were hesitant about. We were just getting back on our feet. Sales from Pharaoh would help with that, but we’d be down again until another chapter picked up and started to make money. Commencing a new chapter required a one to two-year investment, but we needed to expand for protection and survival.

I glanced at Zethan for his input. Asshole didn’t give me a thing. We needed to settle this tension between us. Put it to bed once and for all. Without fucking fists, because I was not getting in more trouble with our woman for hitting my best friend. If that was even possible. The way Zethan gritted his teeth said he was out for my blood and broken bones.

“Give me a moment.” I moved away from Dash and jerked my head at Zethan.

He came outside into the hall, following behind me instead of by my side where he belonged. Fuck, I hated this awkwardness between us. My decision came with consequences for our friendship and with my relationship with Aaliyah. For once, I wished I wasn’t the asshole who had to make all the tough decisions and cop the flack and heat for it. I wanted to tear up the Jackals’ charter and rewrite it with my own rules. But that would make me a dictator and not a democratic and fair leader.

I lit up another smoke as we moved to a window, scanning the crowd below for any hint of weapons or violence brewing in a man’s blood. Nothing hit me and I asked, “What do you think?”

“What do you care about what I think? You only care about the club and yourself.” Pent-up frustrations poured out his mouth. Old scores to settle. This was building for a while. Long before Aaliyah showed up on the scene.

Anger pounded in my temples. Fire roared in my blood, pressing me to action, and my fingers curled into fists. He knew how to push my buttons and get me to snap. “The only reason I haven’t punched your teeth out is because I promised my old lady.” I laid it down. “But if you want to take a swing, go for it. Get it out.”

The best way to settle an argument as my dad said. Talking it out was for pussies. Nothing soothed disputes better than the sight of blood on your opponent’s lip or eyebrow. Right now, I lusted for blood and pain. Anything to smother the hole in my fucking chest.

“I’m not that stupid, Slade,” Zethan grunted, his chest heaving, telling me he was tempted but resisted the urge. “You know that will not go down well.”

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