Page 115 of Hidden Ties

A cold smile played around Wraith’s lips. “You must be slipping if it took you that long to recognize Sarge as one of my men.”

“Brody is a Phantom?” Mica asked hoarsely, his gaze switching back and forth from him to Wraith.

Sandman gave Mica a pitying look. “How in the fuck did this fuckwad keep from being jacked?”

The answer was simple. Ice. No one fucked Ice over. The Predators and the Phantoms were rivals, but they had a healthy respect of the damage they could inflict. If it came to a head-to-head battle, the Phantoms could win, yet the damage would be catastrophic. Wraith was a good leader and wouldn’t risk the brothers’ lives on the slim chance they would win.

Ice had made the Predators a club to be feared, yet they had a problem—they had allowed themselves to have weaknesses. That hadn’t always been the case, but now they had wives, children who could be used as bargaining chips to destroy the club. The Phantoms didn’t have those weaknesses; they were ruthless, merciless, and had a cunning that could rip a man to shreds before they knew what was happening and their body parts were spread before them.

“Ice has taken Mica under his wing.”

Wraith’s interest was piqued by the revelation. “Why?”

Kent shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We’re making money, and that’s all we should give a fuck about.”

Wraith dropped his arms, boredom settling on his face. “Let’s finish this up before you take another fee out of the Phantom’s cut.”

“I can accept?” Mica asked warily.

“Jesus,” Sandman muttered.

Kent took the bag from Mica. “Go sit in the car. I’ll be there in a minute,” he directed him.

Mica didn’t have to be told twice.

Wincing at how hard Mica slammed the car door, he turned back to the Phantoms.

“It’s his first time.” Kent walked forward to hand Wraith the bag.

“No shit.” Jeeringly, Wraith took the bag from him. “You should advise him to get a regular job. He’s not cut out for this shit. He’s lucky we don’t fuck him up just for fun.”

“I’m sure he’s figured that out.”

Carelessly tossing the black gym bag to Sandman, Wraith turned back to him and gave him a discerning stare. “You look good, little bro.”

SIXTEEN

Kent stared back at his older brother, keeping his expression hard. “I’m doing good.”

Wraith gave him a wry smile. “Damn. You still pissed at me? Get over it already.”

His behavior didn’t thaw. “I got over you not letting me join the Phantoms a long time ago.”

“Does it feel as if Creed got over it?” he asked Sandman.

“Nope. He still sounds like a whiney baby,” Sandman jeered.

“Fuck you,” Creed snarled, taking a step toward Sandman.

Wraith burst into laughter, stopping him mid-step.

Bringing himself to a hard stop, Creed sucked in a breath of the cool night air. “I see you’re still a dick.”

Sandman shrugged, unconcerned at the insult. “Which all my bitches beg for.”

Creed curled his lip. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

“Maybe I should have a go at some of your bitches to see if I can tell the difference.”

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