Page 1 of Ruthless Obsession
CHAPTER ONE
MAVIS ENZO ‘RUTHLESS’ MARTICON
THE ENFORCER
Sitting. Watching. That’s been my life for weeks.
Jackson "Phantom" Marticon—my cousin and our Prez—told me to dig deep. Find out who stole the shipment. Make damn sure we had enough intel to bury the bastard.
The shipment wasn’t just any deal. It was a major weapons run worth half a mill.
We’re one-percenters. We straddle the line between law and lawless, and we don’t apologize for it. The Chicago chapter of the Royal Bastards MC moves guns, stacks cash and owns more legit businesses than the city wants to admit. We live good. Real good. And we’ve got no problem robbing crooked politicians and rich pricks to feed the people they screw over.
The name on my radar: Toby Fawson.
He’s slick. Always surrounded by women, bouncing between nightclubs and strip joints like he’s untouchable. So far, he appears to keep his hands clean.
I just need the proof to make it stick.
Movement at the front door pulls my attention. Jethro Wallace, our prospect—goes by Fuse. He runs a hand over his slicked-back black hair before slipping inside a North Side nightclub, Flare. No cut tonight. He’s in a navy button-down, jeans, and black boots. Casual. Invisible.
We’re keeping low profiles.
Ten minutes later, my phone buzzes.
Fuse:Back door.
Me:On my way, brother.
Time to move.
I slide out of the driver’s seat of my black Charger, rolling my sleeves to the elbows. White button-down. Fitted jeans. Clean black boots.
Being an enforcer means I watch, wait and then strike. Sometimes it takes hours. Sometimes weeks. This job’s dragging, but I won’t rest until I catch the thief.
Because no one steals from the Royal Bastards MC and walks away breathing.
I’m a businessman and enforcer.
My grandfather wielded my trust fund like a weapon. The ultimatum was simple: graduate college and run his company for two years, or watch my inheritance remain locked away until my thirtieth birthday. I refused to let him control my life for that long. Though he still managed to ensure I'd have a voice in the company's future, the manipulation stung.
He believed he could drive a wedge between me and my brothers in the Royal Bastards MC.
He was wrong.
Just as he'd failed to separate his own son from an MC years before, his attempts with me fell flat. Guess you could say like father like son.
When I stand beside my brothers, I feel nothing but pride—a bond that no amount of money or corporate maneuvering could break.
Slipping through the back door, my eyes adjusting to the dim interior. I move into the haze of smoke. The bass thrums through the floor, a steady pulse I feel in my chest that matches the energy of the crowd. The air is thick with a mixture of smoke, expensive perfume, and the sharp scent of fresh lacquer from the club's polished surfaces.
Making my way to the nearest bar, I signal the bartender and order a whiskey on the rocks. While waiting for my drink, I spot Fuse across the room, casually surveying the room likehe’s just another guy looking for trouble. The bartender returns placing my drink in front of me.
The club's design is all modern sophistication—sleek black leather seating and gleaming chrome tables occupy the first floor VIP section, separated from the main dance floor by velvet rope barriers. The lighting shifts between deep purples and electric blues, casting everything in an otherworldly glow.
As I lift my glass, two women approach. One blonde. One with jet-black hair. Both curvy, both trouble.
“Hey, sexy. How are you doing?” the blonde purrs.
