Page 28 of Vengeful Mates

Unexpectedly, an informant reached out to Castor with news, and as road captain, I tagged along for security. Parked out of sight several hundred feet away, I observed the exchange of information and payment. Horus’ eye scanned the perimeter for threats, hidden cameras, or recording devices.

We regularly rotated our meeting places to out-of-town locations to avoid any tails tracking us, this one an industrial estate tucked behind houses, giving lots of privacy and plenty of escape routes if needed. Castor sent the cop to one location and left a note to meet him at another, allowing me to scan for stalkers.

I tuned my hawk hearing to the conversation, acting as a witness for Castor. A train rumbled in the distance behind me, cutting off a few sentences. Didn’t matter. I caught the gist of the exchange. A mole in our club feeding information to the police on an upcoming drug shipment.

“Another goddamn traitorous bastard!” I kicked dirt with my boot.

The club couldn’t get a break.

Who the fuck was it this time? I scrolled through a list of men with grievances with Slade or the club. Three names flashed in sleazy neon lights. Brix, Tanner, and Siren. The last two were Brix’s groupie bitches, and I doubted they had the balls to go to the cops, but we couldn’t be certain in these times of war.

Castor slid across an envelope of cash to the informant, nodded, then took off for his bike. I tweaked my hearing for the sounds of cameras clicking if anyone tailed us. Nothing. So far, so good.

Taking my cue to leave, I threw on my helmet and waited for him to start his bike to mask the noise of mine. I lingered for him to roll slowly past me before sliding in behind him, tailing him back to the club, acting as rear protection for my VP.

Back at the club, we stationed our rides in the garage, taking a moment for a quick check-in before taking the news to our president.

“You heard?” Castor peeled off his riding gloves and stuffed them in the pocket of his cut.

“Yeah.” I dismounted from my bike at the same time as him.

I didn’t envy the VP’s job of delivering the bad news. Slade would be pissed. Right after the dark mood following him around for the past six months lifted for Aaliyah’s shifter heat, he now had more shit to deal with.

“Who’s your money on for the rat?” I peeled off my riding jacket, hanging it on the peg with my name on it.

Castor lifted his hand, examining the tattoos on his knuckles, the symbol of Maat. Fairness, balance, harmony. “Fucking Brix.”

“Mine, too.” I ran a hand through my hair to loosen my waves, sticky from the sweat of being in my helmet. That was summer for you.

“Time to face the fucking music. Get Zethan if he’s not with Slade.” Castor entered first, going straight to Slade’s office, preparing him for an avatar chat.

I retrieved Zethan and tracked behind him into the president’s office.

Slade scrubbed at both sides of his face with his hands. “What the fuck is it now? If I find out there’s another police investigation into the club, I’m going on a fucking murder rampage.”

I held back a laugh. This shit was serious, but I would gladly see the back of Brix if he was the rat. Slade wanted to get rid of him for a while, and I fucking hoped to Horus that was our damn man because his dead, lazy, fat ass would be a beautiful sight in the freezer out back.

Castor went through the informant’s information before asking, “Were you planning to deliver the Pharaoh your brother fabricated?”

“Yeah, we need to get it off his hands.” Slade poured himself a double shot of whisky. “And find us a new manufacturer. I don’t want my brother going down for us when he did me a huge favor.”

The president held up the flask, asking if the rest of us wanted one. I waved him away. Quit a few months back. Zethan shook his head, on a stricter regime, only consuming alcohol at night now for Mia’s sake. Castor folded his arms over his broad chest and shook his head, clearly not feeling like a drop.

Slade grunted, set the flask down, and tossed back his drink. “I want Dash and his men involved on this to learn the ropes. Let me ring him to get him up to speed.”

At the height of the cops’ harassment, they were buzzing around our businesses like flies and went as far as raiding our private clubhouse and kidnapped the trafficked women. Activities that made Slade nervous, and he arranged a last-minute delivery with the new chapter, which got canceled when Aaliyah dealt with the cops. Subsequently, the president put the delivery off for a month in case eyes remained on the club, then Christmas and New Year’s got in the way.

Slade dialed the Lithgow president and VP, running through the scenario with them, the risks, our tactics from our disastrous last run, and the fallout. “We can’t use the same diversion techniques as last time when we smoked out our mole. We risk the cunt advising the cops of our strategy.”

“Agreed.” Castor scratched at his lower lip with his thumb.

Last time we employed three trucks, two of them fakes, to deliver a shipment but were intercepted by unknown riders paid for by the Wolves or Colton Raine. Tank got killed and a few of the men shot, Jaxx executed for his betrayal and informing the riders of our route.

I rolled my arm thinking about that night, when I took a bullet to the wing and Aaliyah healed me. The wound occasionally ached if I moved it wrong or pushed myself at the gym on arm days. Same deal with the fresh nerves regrown in the damn finger Danny cut off and Aaliyah reattached with her powers. Certain movements spiked twinges of discomfort. Pain I could handle when I had worse, going without painkillers or antibiotics when that fucker cut my eye out.

Slade scraped his beard, then helped himself to another whisky. “Dash, I want your men with Zethan and me on this run.”

“Understood,” Dash replied, assured confidence in his voice, reminding me of Zethan.

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