Page 4 of Property of Spike

“And I said no.” I glare at him, the heat in my chest building as I fold my arms over my chest. “Why the fuck would I let an outside source cross my entire goddamn territory?”

“It’s not like we’re trying to set up shop,” he protests, his tone edging on whiny. “Just passing through.”

“Not to mention,” Skip cuts in from the corner of the room, his sharp eyes fixed on Billy, “La Quinta belongs to us. You’re talking about crossing our turf to deliver shit to our turf. That’s not passing through; that’s pissing on the Iron Shadows’ name.”

Billy rubs the back of his neck and looks between us like a cornered animal. “I know, Skip. But you all don’t sell the shit you mule. If you let us cross and sell the Fentanyl, we’ll give you a five percent cut of the profits.”

I let out a humorless laugh, the sound harsh in the tense room. “Five percent?” I lean forward, planting my fists on the table as I glare at him. “You think I’m gonna risk my club’sreputation, our operations, and the safety of my brothers for five fucking percent?”

Billy’s mouth opens, but Skip beats him to it. “You’re out of your damn mind, Billy. We don’t deal in poison, and we sure as hell don’t play courier for anyone else’s shit.”

Billy’s face twists, but he holds his tongue. He knows better than to push too hard, but I can see the frustration boiling under the surface.

“Let me make this real simple for you, Billy,” I growl, my voice like gravel. “This club doesn’t bow, doesn’t bend, and sure as hell doesn’t work for anyone else. If you think you’re gonna waltz across our turf, sling your shit, and toss us crumbs like we’re starving, you’ve got another thing coming.”

He shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “I wasn’t trying to insult you, Spike. I just thought…”

“That’s your problem,” I cut him off, straightening up. “You thought. Next time, save yourself the trouble and don’t.”

Billy sits there for a moment, his jaw tightening, but he finally nods. “Fine. I get it.”

“Good,” I snap, motioning toward the door. “Now get the fuck out of my war room before I decide family ties aren’t enough to keep you breathing.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s out of his chair and through the door in seconds, leaving a faint trace of cologne and desperation in his wake.

Skip shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. “Billy’s always been an idiot, but I didn’t think he’d have the balls to come in here with that bullshit.”

“Family’s tricky like that,” I mutter, sitting back down and glaring at the map again. “He’s lucky he’s blood, or I’d have made an example out of him.”

Skip smirks. “You sure he’s lucky? You scared him so bad he might piss himself before he makes it back to his car.”

I grunt, a flicker of amusement breaking through the frustration. “Good. Let him remember that feeling next time he gets a dumb idea.”

The humor fades quickly as the club’s weight settles back onto my shoulders. Billy’s little stunt is just one more thing on an already overflowing pile of shit. The Iron Shadows are mine to protect, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone, family or not, jeopardize what we’ve built.

“Any update on that small gang?” Skip asks, his tone clipped as he moves toward the table.

“Tank’s got it handled,” I tell him, leaning back in my chair. “They’ve got twenty-four hours to pack up and clear out, or they’ll be leaving in body bags. But that’s not the only issue on our plate.”

Skip mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “Seems to be a common theme these days. What now?”

I tap the edge of the map spread out before us, zoning in on the eastern border. “We’ve got a shipment coming through tomorrow night. Problem is, my inside man at the Calexico border checkpoint decided now was a good time to land himself in the hospital.”

Skip exhales sharply and takes a seat across from me. “We really need more than one damn inside man at these borders. We’re cutting it too close every time something like this happens.”

“That’s the plan,” I reply, sighing and dragging a hand down my face. “But until we can get the right people in place, we’re stuck scrambling when things go sideways.”

He drums his fingers on the edge of the table, his brow furrowed. “What about a bribe? Whoever they assigned to cover his spot probably isn’t gonna turn down easy money.”

“Most people don’t,” I admit, sitting forward and resting my elbows on the table. “But I’m not about to throw cash at someonewithout knowing where they stand. I want Maverick to dig into whoever’s taking his place. Find out if they’ve got a price or, better yet, something we can exploit.”

Skip nods, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Leverage is always better than cash. Costs less, too.”

“Exactly. Money talks, but blackmail screams,” I say, my tone sharp. “If Maverick finds something, we’ll act on it. If not, we’ll come up with a backup plan. Either way, this shipment doesn’t stop, and it sure as hell doesn’t get held up by some bureaucratic bullshit.”

Skip leans back, crossing his arms. “I’ll get Maverick on it. You want to pull anyone else in on this?”

“Not yet,” I reply. “The fewer people in the loop, the better. But we’ll reevaluate if we don’t get something solid by morning.”

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