Page 2 of Sinful Mates

My gaze went to the pictures on my wall. Dad with Zethan’s stepfather, Graham, outside the newly built clubhouse. President and Vice President at Bathurst 1000 Races surrounded by the grid girls. The four of us celebrating the club’s first anniversary. Zethan and me. Fuck. Get a look at us. Young, carefree men. Free of the weight of the club. Free of responsibility and duty.

I didn’t know how long I stared at the wall when Castor’s voice called me back.

“Demote him for a year and make him work his way back.” Castor plugged the lid on my whisky decanter. “We’ll be back on our feet by then. All the bullshit with the mysterious avatar, the cops, and our finances settled, giving members less of a reason to protest.”

Not a bad idea. Perfect, really, sparking the idea to invite Castor to step up as VP. I needed a smart and reliable VP by my side. His analytical mind benefitted us. Personally, his collected, practical character substituted for Zethan’s, serving to cool my hot temper.

I grabbed a pre-rolled cigarette and lit it. Fire filled my lungs and nicotine pumped in my veins, giving me the hit I needed. “Do you want his position in the meantime?”

Trust was paramount to the Jackals when traitors lurked in our midst, enemies at our gate, and I needed an avatar, no one else. Humans stayed out of god business and club hierarchy. Zethan’s demotion left us one man down, and after the club voted against Aaliyah, I didn’t have high hopes she’d remain a Jackal. The odds were stacked against me, and I needed all the help I could muster.

“If no one else puts their hands up.” My enforcer held out the triple finger of whisky. Dark, murky, like my thoughts and need to destroy.

My stomach couldn’t handle it, and I waved it away, flicking ash over my desk. “Nah, don’t want one.”

Not entirely true. Three bottles would solve my pain, delay facing the inevitable. Give me a killer hangover, too. Get my mate on my case about drinking and smoking too much.

Gone were the days of parties, booze, and women. I needed to think of someone else’s needs besides my own. Two, now. Aaliyah’s child changed everything. Mia needed a stable home, not four. To go to school and interact with other kids her age. Enroll in dance lessons or whatever sports she enjoyed. Most of all, she needed protection from this life, from losing her innocence too young. From getting involved with the club when she was older and one of my men corrupting her. Anyone who touched my stepdaughter—biker, coworker, school boyfriend—would feel the full force of my wrath.

I drew down more smoke into my lungs, feeding off the darkness and heat. I steeled myself with a long, tired breath, and said, “I want you as VP.”

My mind was made up. Alaric was too risky at the moment. Aaliyah out of the question, when the club wouldn’t get behind a woman in charge.

Fuck. I never thought I’d say those words. Never thought I’d face this situation. Zethan devoted his life to the club and the shelter to cleanse himself of blame for his sister’s death. To take the law into his own hands where it failed Abigail. What did I do? Threw the law he built right back in his face.

The Jackals wouldn’t be where they were today without Zethan. Together with Castor and Alaric, we raised the club from local vigilantes fighting corrupt politicians and government officials, into a multi-million-dollar business. We purchased bars, tattoo parlors, stakes in my brother’s construction business, and dipped our toes into the drug trade.

Demoting Zethan was a dog act. The club and all its men owed him their fucking gratitude, not to stab a brother when he was down. Those fuckers wouldn’t have a job without him. Rope tightened around my wrists, a growing restriction binding my hands, my decisions, my goddamn power, and I fucking hated it.

“I’ll do it.” Castor threw back his drink and hissed.

I set my cigarette in my ashtray. “Good. I’ll table it at tomorrow’s vote.” I chose the water bottle Aaliyah left on my desk all the time. Hints to drink more water and be healthier. “The club better not circumvent me.”

“They won’t.” The hard edge to his voice dared them to try.

I wanted to feel his confidence. Breaking my best mate’s heart deflated me and I wanted to destroy something. Dry the oceans. Flood the deserts. Roast the Amazon. Vanquish my enemies.

Fury soared higher as I realized Zethan returned from his task, and my old lady went to comfort him and not me. Dark resentment and disappointment choked our link. Another thing she would hold against me. Just another reason for her to leave me. Another mate lost.

I pinched my cigarette and burned it down by over half. Flames lit the wick of my temper and burned it all the way to the dynamite stick, exploding it. I punched my desk, and my fist scraped along the wood floor. Blood trickled over my busted open knuckles. I licked it off and my shifter saliva closed the wound. Copper and metal stung my tongue, driving up my need to tear out someone’s throat.

My enforcer gripped my shoulders. “This is what Danny and our unknown adversary want. Don’t hand them the fucking prize.”

Fuck. He was right. Everything our foe did fractured the Jackals from the inside out. Remaining united, a force to be reckoned with, was the only way to destroy our enemies for good.

Castor caught my wrist to examine the damage on my hand. Broken knuckle, by the ache in it. “I’ll get the med kit.”

“No. I want her to do it.” I jerked away. “Get castrated at the same time.”

He chuckled and swiped at his jaw. “She’ll cool down too.”

I had a half a mind to punish her for her latest violation of trust. The last time she disobeyed me and went down into the cells to heal Zethan, I got carried away and spanked her too hard. After that, I promised myself to be more careful. Diplomatic talks were required for this situation. Me, Slade Vincent, talking fucking diplomacy when I could just as easily break shit.

Fuck, Set ought to dispose of me for surrendering when the god of War and Chaosalwayswon the battle. Only this time, the goddamn love god was in charge.

I sucked down the last of the fire from my cigarette and dabbed it out in my ashtray, enjoying the heat burning my fingertips. “Can you handle things without me? I need to go home. Be with my woman. Settle Mia in with us. She needs stability and not the rough life we live.”

“Sure thing, Prez.” Castor trailed behind me to the door.

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