Page 37 of Sinful Mates

At the risk of getting burned, I went on because Slade needed to know all the risks. “With New South Wales Liquor and Gaming sticking their nose into Bangers, we can’t afford for more of our businesses to go under the microscope.” I didn’t need to spell it out for him.

“If they’re putting heat on us, it’s only fair we retaliate.” My president salivated for justice. Part and parcel of being the avatar of the god of war, and I had to admit, the reckoning side of me craved that too.

I looked to Zethan for backup, but he gave me nothing but an unreadable expression and disinterest in the bond. Fuck. He really pulled back on his investment in the club, and I worried we might lose him altogether. Slade pretended it was business as usual, acknowledging the issue, but refusing to address it. The longer he let this go on, the further Zethan slid away, and it was only a matter of time before his involvement in the club became history.

Slade angrily fished out a cigarette and lit it, burning a quarter of the stick with the massive flame on his finger. “We can’t sit back and let them swamp us with complaints.” His harsh exhale of smoke coated the air in a thick, dark smog. “Then we’re in the same situation as we were with the Wolves.”

My president needed to hear my legal advice and make a decision. “Agreed. More scrutiny equals the potential for more of us going down under bogus charges.”

Fever burned along the bond and probably under Slade’s skin. “What are you proposing?” A thick cloud blanketed the room, strangling the oxygen.

“We have two options.” I counted off the first on my finger. “Sitting back and doing nothing. Keep our noses clean and wait this out until the smoke blows over.”

Slade’s growl and hard, slanted look suggested he’d rather go to Hell than roll over like a defeated mutt.

“Or we play dirty.” I knew this option appealed to him by the way the dark smoke turned white. “Pay visits to the superintendent’s family and any other officer under his orders to do his dirty work. Show them we know where they live. What schools their kids attend. Where they go to the gym. Buy groceries.”

Reckoning burned hot and cruel as I dug into my dark side. Far cry from the solicitor who followed the law to a T. Injustices drove me to my Machiavellian side, and after six months from my last reckoning, I was itching for one. The law of Maat must be balanced. Dark. Light. Everything in between. Those sworn to protect the people abused their positions of power, asking for the error of their ways to be set right, and I was tasked with dispensing righteousness.

Sure, the club and its members were far from innocent. We killed, maimed, and bribed. Struck down our enemies without a second thought. Usurped their territory. But we were above the Wolves’ habit of bribing businesses in their territory for protection money. Above spreading fear for compliance and obedience. Our business was ours, and we didn’t interfere in another’s, unless they obstructed ours. Eye for an eye.

Slade tapped his smoke on his desk, his rugged features darkening with the vengeance his god exacted. “Threats and intimidation. I like it. But I’m disappointed you didn’t throw slashed tires in there too.” His deviant grin stoked my fires of reckoning.

I downed the last of my drink before it went completely cold. “How about blood painted on their front doors too?”

“My kind of war declaration.” He lit up a second smoke, grinning as he accepted the fire into his lungs. “What’s the plan for retaliation?”

“Release the insurance footage from the Wolves’ porn operation.”

Slade nodded, as if agreeing. “Why don’t we release that off the bat and get them off our backs?”

“Thoth insists on giving everyone a chance to correct their mistakes,” I said. “If they don’t learn sagacity or acumen.”

Slade pinched his smoke between his teeth. “Sag-ass-what-the fuck? Stop using big words on me, Genius.”

“It means judicious.”

Slade pinched his forehead. “Whatever. Send the grunts in. Soldiers, no avatars. I don’t want senior members going down.”

Dispensable in times of war. Unavoidable casualties. Necessary to win a battle. Right now, I had to lose any misgivings about protecting the club when the lot of us risked going up in flames. We had to think long-term. Self-preservation. To do that, we needed sacrifices, willing or not. One main contender came to mind. Brix. Driftwood Slade and Zethan wanted to cut loose for a long fucking time. Loyalty to his father and Brix’s preserved the asshole’s position in the club, but with all his recent agitations, all his protection went up in smoke.

“Send Brix and one of his bitches to deal with it.” Plumes of dark cigarette smoke returned.

Cold glanced down my neck and I swiped at it. “Do you trust that idiot won’t get us into more trouble?”

“No!” Slade barked out a humorless laugh. “But who else have we got?”

I threw in my pitch. “Send me.”

Slade’s bond twisted with dismay at my recommendation. “Hard fucking no.”

He needed to hear me out. “I can use a glamor on my victim and they’ll never recognize me. I’ll get our message across. If the cops get involved and need a face to pin, they’ve got Brix.”

Slade raked his nails along his beard. “I’ll allow it. No cuts. No bikes. Nothing to identify you, except Brix’s ugly mug on CCTV. And only if our old lady agrees.”

I clicked my tongue, leaning back, arms raised and hands behind my head. “Pussy whipped.”

“Think whatever you like, asshole.” Smugness twisted his lips. “Me eating whipped cream from her pussy.”

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