Page 60 of Sinful Mates

Castor wandered over to our side, Zethan crowding us on the other side. “Still want to hold onto that insurance file? I’ll push it far and wide. Keep it refreshing on social media. The assholes behind this will have to resign.”

Slade swiped at his beard, temptation coiling the bond, ready to choke the fuckers for their latest stunt. “Fuck ‘em. Do it, Genius. The cops fired the first missile. It’s time we struck back. I want the insurance story national and international, not just local news.”

The dark gleam in the VP’s eyes burned with vengeful relish. “Gladly, Prez.” Shadows crept over his features as the reckoning commenced.

This was it. The final showdown. The fucking apocalypse. Good versus evil. Only one victor. Muscles in my stomach pulled tight at the possibility of the gods wiping us all out for breaking the covenant of Maat.

“Zethan, Alaric, get your asses on your bikes. We’re going for a ride.” Slade navigated through the rows of bikes to the front of the garage where his Harley was parked at the head.

Knots twisted in my gut as I trailed behind him. Fire burned beneath my skin. My golden eye itched. Something was off. A foreign presence in the garage. A bomb, maybe.

“Wait.” I grabbed my president’s arm and moved past him.

I crouched beside his bike, patting around the gas tank, scanning with my magical eye at the same time. Something coarse pulled me along the engine, down the ignition circuit break, the foot gear shifter, to the exhaust pipe at the bottom. My fingers traced a little round knob. Pulses trickled through my skin. I plucked it off for a closer look. Horus’ eye penetrated the plastic shell uncovering computer chips inside.

I lifted it and set it in my president’s palm. “It’s a fucking tracker.”

Slade studied it for a second and dropped it to the ground to crush it.

I pushed him out of the way. “No. They’re looking for the women.”

Zethan pressed his hands flat to Slade’s bike, leaning on it. “Castor, investigate its origins and where it’s transmitting to.” Demotion didn’t destroy the natural VP mode in him.

Slade’s eyes narrowed at Zethan giving the orders but then softened, and he agreed with a nod.

Castor bent down to collect the tracker, power crackling in the air as his magick traced the transmission. “It’s reporting to the Bathurst Police. Reports hourly to the superintendent.”

Slade’s finger swung in the VP’s direction. “How the fuck did we miss this?”

Castor’s features darkened with irritation.

“Alaric, check out the rest of the bikes,” Slade barked. “Everyone’s grounded until each bike is assessed and cleared. Put the private club on lockdown. No one is to leave.”

Fair, given the circumstances, but that wouldn’t hold for long. The men would want a break.

“You can’t do that,” Zethan protested.

Castor jumped in to support him. “The men needed to go home to their families and homes. They won’t tolerate being locked up. Not this close to the holidays or over them.”

Slade’s bond quaked at the challenge. “You think those women had a goddamn choice to leave Danny’s captivity?” he snarled with plenty of glinting teeth. “They die if the cops find them.”

Castor and Zethan stood up to Slade and met his demands with reasonable alternatives. Working for Set, Slade led with his temper, quick to blow up rather than think things through logically and calmly. Fear of losing Aaliyah and Mia dragged him by the dick. Clamped us all by the dick. We had to figure this out as a team, not lose our shit and make a stupid mistake.

Three alpha males locked in a showdown. Me, I’d stay as a beta. Obey orders. Stay out of conflict and avoid triggers.

I threw in my piece to keep the team together. “Bones and Slash won't mind staying with the girls. They can move into the club for a while.”

Slade thumped a fist on my shoulder. “Fucking gold.” He turned around and jabbed a finger at the VP’s chest. “No one’s fucking leaving until it’s safe.”

This was why we were better as a team.

Castor knew he was beaten on that one and switched gears. “I’m proposing an alternative.” He kept his voice and gaze level, never backing down to the president, meeting him alpha to alpha. Sometimes Slade needed water to his fire. “We put safety protocols in place. Daily scans for trackers. Check for tails by the cops. Alaric sky bound multiple times a day. Burner phones. Nothing to trace the private club’s location.”

Good options. I nodded my support. Zethan added his too with a curt shake of his head.

Slade conceded but didn’t admit defeat. “Alaric, no one leaves until you’ve completed a scan of every bike here, including Aaliyah’s. When you’re finished, we’re leaving.”

“Yes, President.” Safety was paramount in a war.

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