Page 18 of Property of Max
Damián Cortez.
The real monster has finally come out to play.
“Why bring me in here before the meeting?” I ask, leaning forward. “I thought this was about my status. I was ready to accept I’d been booted.”
“What?” Spike’s head snaps up, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Damnit, Max. Is that why you’re always so withdrawn? You think we’re just waiting to kick your ass out?”
“It’s only a matter of time,” I mutter.
“I asked you in here to make sure you were good with it first,” Spike says, his voice like steel. “I know it’s a sore subject, and I didn’t want to blindside you. Stop being a fucking idiot.”
“We get why you did the shit you did,” Tank says, his arms crossed tight. “Yeah, we were pissed. But we fucking get it, man. You’re our brother. You’re wearing that cut for a reason. Stop sulking and get over the damn pity party.”
“What Tank’s trying to say,” Maverick adds, his voice calm where Tank’s is sharp, “is that your place here is solid. You’re a Shadow, brother. One who was willing to give his life to save everyone else.”
Tightness burns in my chest, my throat thick. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the weight of their words.
“Says the Outlaw to the Traitor,” I mutter bitterly.
“Says thePresident,” Spike shoots back, eyes narrowing, “to his fucking Prospect Leader. And his brother.”
The silence after that is so heavy that I feel it in my bones.
“Now,” Spike leans forward, his gaze pinning me in place, “are you good with this topic before we take it to the war room?”
“I think I should be the one asking you that question,” I say, my voice low, rough. My hand tightens on the arm of the chair without me meaning it to. “This is the bastard who’s ultimately responsible for your sister’s capture. For the deaths of her friends.”
Spike’s jaw flexes. A growl rumbles out of him, raw and dangerous. “Yeah. Don’t think that hasn’t been on my mind every damn day. Between that, and his plans to sink his claws into Palm Springs…running his skin business out ofmyfucking compound? His days are numbered.”
Silence hangs heavy, thicker than smoke. Tank’s arms stay crossed, but I see the storm in his eyes. Abby holds Tank’s heart. Even if he doesn’t realize it yet. Even Maverick’s jaw ticks; the calm only skin-deep.
Spike pushes back his chair, the leather groaning under his weight as he stands. “Let’s take it to the war room. Time to bring the rest in on this conversation.”
I rise, the nameDamián Cortezstill burning in my head like a brand.
***
“What do we do with this information?” Skip asks ten minutes later, his boots kicked up on the table like this is any other conversation. “Do we go after him? Or wait for him to come knocking on our door?”
“We don’t have the manpower to take on someone like Cortez,” Knuckles says, his voice steady but grim. “Even if every chapter came together, that’s what…three hundred men? Against thousands.”
“That weknow of,” Crusher adds, leaning forward, arms braced on his knees. His tone is harder, darker. “We’ve got some idea of what Los Fantasmas looks like on the ground. Most of their guys are nobodies. Foot soldiers, addicts, desperate men who can be bought or broken. But Cortez? We don’t know who else he’s got backing him. Could be hitters, mercenaries, or politicians. Hell, whole armies just waiting for the right moment to strike.”
The room goes quiet for a beat, the weight of it settling in.
“This is bigger than us,” Crusher continues. “We run the risk of losing everything if we go head-to-head with Los Fantasmas.”
“We run the risk of losing everything if we don’t,” Spike cuts in, his voice sharp as steel. His hand slams against the table, rattling bottles. “Muerte already told us this bastard wants to use our compound as his home base. What do we do…stand aside and let him waltz in? Sure, maybe it saves a few patches in the short term. But at what cost?”
His gaze sweeps the table, landing on each man in turn. “This asshat kidnaps women and sells them. You want to risk the women in your lives? Because I sure as hell don’t. My wife andoursisters are safe inside these walls right now. The second we step aside, that safety vanishes.”
The room is quiet, heavy. His words burn in my chest because he’s not wrong.
“Cortez’s dealings are far more monstrous than we were led to believe,” Foster says from his seat. His tablet is set aside, and he looks each of us in the eyes as he speaks. “I’ve been digging into this man from the moment we got his name. He’s doing more than selling skin. He’s taking victims, having them raped on camera, and posting the videos online for others to watch…for a price. I had planned to pull up a link, just to give you all a small taste of what’s had me sick the past few weeks, but I don’t want those images in your minds.”
Foster hesitates, struggling with some internal conflict, before finally looking back up.
“Those recordings are not of men raping women. They’re of men raping little girls.”
