Page 36 of Sinful Mates

Castor

Slade hitme up the moment I rolled my bike into the club’s garage and cut my engine. “Give me an update on our situation.”

Persistent asshole tried cornering me a few times on our break, and again when we hit Bathurst soil. Out of respect for Aaliyah’s wishes of no club business, I gave him nothing. Irritated him no end, but he could break my nose, I didn’t care. Learned my lesson with my ex-wife about the mistakes of neglecting my woman and not giving her what she needed. Missteps I wasn’t making with my mate. Slade could push all he wanted, but he wasn’t coming between Aaliyah and me.

Sunburn on my back scraped underneath the weight of my jacket. Little too much fun in the sun. Long days lounging in the pool or by it, reading with my woman. Beach walks, swims in the ocean, hunting for shells, and making sandcastles. Worth the time away. The five of us got to bond with Mia and let Aaliyah come into her own with motherhood, a job she didn’t feel worthy of for abandoning her child.

Getaways never lasted. They came and went like the seasons, short and over too soon. Especially with the way we worked these last few months.

Slade’s insistence on the bond brought me back to reality.

“Good morning to you, too.” I slowly hung my helmet from my handles, fixed my hair and injected life back into my curls, straightened my clothes, making my point.

My president tucked his hands under his armpits. “Come on, you preening asshole. You know you’re good looking. Hurry the fuck up and tell me what I need to know.”

For that dig, I made him wait a few more minutes, bending down to check my reflection in my bike’s side mirrors, swiping away dust from my side mirror, pulling at the collar of my cut.

Stony faced, Zethan watched the interaction from the sidelines, clutching the tray of four coffees he always brought us on the way to work. One for each avatar. The strain on his bond loosened with amusement at my behavior.

Slade hit me behind the ear. “You’ve had your fun, smartass.”

I let out a dry chuckle and flung my leg off my bike. “Can I have five minutes to settle in? Drink my coffee? Read my morning paper? Enjoy a twenty-minute toilet break?” That last one a stab at the members who took long liberties with men’s room breaks.

Zethan approached us, body taut, bond even stiffer with proximity to Slade. “Glad to know where the club’s money goes. Thank fuck I don’t have to worry about twenty-minute shit breaks chewing up our budgets.”

Slade growled and rubbed his forehead as if trying to erase that thought from his mind. “There’s tablets for that, constipated fuckers.”

Zethan’s mouth stretched into a lazy grin as he handed me my coffee. Long black. One sugar cut down from two. Nurse Aaliyah convinced me to drop my sugar intake, not that I consumed much anyway. Worse things could kill me, and I wasn’t afraid of a little processed sugar cane.

“Now that I’ve got more time on my hands,” he said, the bond clamping with resentment, “think I’ll take long toilet breaks and read the news.”

Tension wrought between them, Slade snatched his coffee, which wasn’t freely offered. “Fuck that! Another item for the next church agenda.”

I took a slow pull of my java just to piss him off. Nonchalant? Yeah. Disrespectful? Yeah. Our president needed to learn some courtesy and not barrage me the second I arrived at work. There was no denying the situation with our bar—Bangers—warranted attention since we barely managed to keep it in operation after the fake drug raid. I wasn’t Slade’s damn secretary, and I sure as shit wasn’t at his beck and call every moment of the day. We weren’t his soldiers and deserved respite.

“You’d be surprised how much work I get done on a long bathroom break,” I drew out, draining my cup. “I don’t get hassled.”

Slade threw back the last of his coffee and tossed it in the bin in the corner. “You made your point, smartass.”

Limits of his patience tested. Time for answers before he pitched a fit.

“Let’s take this into your office.” I let him lead and followed behind him in order of rank, with Zethan taking up the rear.

Alaric was with Aaliyah at Bathurst West Primary School for a meeting with the principal to enroll Mia and would join us at the club in an hour or so.

Stiff and rearing for a fight, Slade slid into his chair, teeth glinting and jabbing a finger at his wooden desk. “Update now, asshole.”

Relenting and giving him what he wanted, I tapped into my god’s gifts, scanning my highway of information for answers to our litany of problems. Within seconds, I located four emails from the superintendent at Bathurst Police to his connections in various government departments.

Fuck. Worst part of my job to be the bearer of bad news. I took a long breath to deliver it. “The superintendent at Bathurst Police is managing a coordinated effort between multiple government agencies to investigate us. I’m concerned that if we keep the pressure up on the police, we risk scrutiny, complaints, investigations, and random raids escalating.”

Slade’s temper thundered along the bond. Pits opened wide in the soil, swallowing everything in sight. “Fuck’s sake. What’s it gonna take for these cunts to give up?”

Normally, Zethan cut in with words of wisdom. This time he remained silent, leaning on the back wall as if not part of the conversation, leaving our volatile president to his own devices and me to pick up the pieces. Bruised ego at play.

I washed my dry throat with lukewarm coffee. “Here’s a list of what we’re facing. Hygiene complaints in our bars, restaurants, and tattoo parlor for bullshit reasons. Serving underage drinkers. Opening beyond licensed hours. Infections from unclean tattooing equipment. Random drop-ins from Safe Work inspectors to our garages, shutting them down for any offense. Anything to put the club out of business.”

The bond electrified like a live wire.

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