Page 22 of Property of Tacoma
My lips turn up. Six foot three, two hundred and fifty pounds, prone to violence, and yet my enforcer has a soft spot for crazy cats on the internet.
“He’s addicted to TikTok,” Bash mutters, still scrolling through his own phone.
“Fuck off,” Gator replies.
I shake my head, amused at the irony. Bash has absolutely zero room to talk. The man is obsessed with watching the stock market, specifically checking for any movement on his XRP crypto. He bought a gazillion shares back in 2022, swearing that crypto and blockchain were going to be the way of the future. The club invested right along with him. Just in case.
The AC kicks on with a groan, and the smell of bleach wafts through the vents. My nose wrinkles at the harsh chemical scent. At least it’s better than the stench of death that had started to take over the whole fucking building. Lord knows if we’ll ever get it all out.
“Got any updates on this place?” I need something to focus on. My mind keeps wandering down the hall to the blonde bombshell currently cleaning up our mess.
Bash finally looks up from his phone. “Kitties is up twenty percent from last month. The new girls are bringing in fresh clientele.”
Gator perks up at this, sitting a little straighter in his chair.
“Speaking of new girls,” Bash continues, a sly grin spreading across his face as he side eyes Gator, “Lavender’s bringing in quite the crowd. Girl can work that pole like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
Gator grumbles something under his breath, and Bash’s grin widens.
“What was that?” Bash taunts.
“Nothing,” Gator mutters.
Bash laughs, pointing at Gator with his phone. “He’s got a crush on her, but she won’t even look at him.”
I can’t help but laugh at the scowl on my enforcer’s face. He’s sulking over a stripper who won’t give him the time of day.
“Maybe try talking to her instead of just staring at her like a creep,” I suggest, enjoying the rare opportunity to see the big man squirm.
“I don’t stare—” Gator starts to protest, but is cut off when my phone starts blaring Poison’s Nothin’ but a Good Time.
I glance at the screen, recognizing the Jacksonville area code immediately. Pulling it to my ear, I answer, “Yo.”
“It’s Chief,” comes the gravelly voice on the other end. “Got a minute?”
“Yeah,” I reply, leaning forward in my chair. “What’s up?”
I lift my glass to my lips and take a sip of bourbon when he says, “First, I want to make it clear that my sister is off limits to your men.”
“Sister?” I ask incredulously, as I almost choke to death. “I mean, she’s your sister?”
Gator and Bash are now watching me carefully; their interest peaked.
Sister. Who would have fucking guessed? There’s absolutely no resemblance between them. Zero. Zilch.
“Yes, my off-limits sister,” Chief says with added emphasis on the ‘off-limits’ part. “And I expect that you’ll make sure your men are aware of that fact?” It’s proposed as a question, but we both know that it’s not.
“Yeah. Sure.” I have every intention of making sure all my men know to keep their hands to them-fucking-selves.
“Good.” There’s a pause, and I can hear voices in the background on his end. “And do me a favor, yeah?”
I grunt for him to continue.
“Keep an eye on her while she’s there. She has a habit of getting herself into trouble.”
I snort. That doesn’t surprise me one bit. She put my brother on his ass in the blink of an eye. I can just imagine her getting into all kinds of skirmishes.
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “She’ll be looked after while she’s in Odin. I’ll protect her like she’s one of my kids.” I flinch as soon as the words leave my mouth. I’m old enough to be her father for fuck’s sake. And trust me, the things I want to do to her are definitely not fatherly. Not. At. All.
