Page 19 of Ares

We’re both soaked now.

“Thank you,” she says.

I mock gasp. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

She rolls her eyes. “Now who’s hilarious?”

Suddenly conscious of her wet tank top and how it clings to her firm breasts and taut nipples, she folds her arms across her chest..

But it’s too late. I’ve already noticed.

“Just so you know, I’m still not asking you to sleep with me,” she says.

“Good, because I’m still not interested.”

A smile tugs at her lips.

And surprisingly, one tugs at mine.

Her smile turns into a grin. “But I am grateful, thank you.”

“Pleased to be at your service.”

She opens the car door but pauses. “Want to grab a coffee? It’s the least I can do to say thank you.”

I think about it for a second or two. I want to but I shake my head. “Maybe next time.”

She doesn’t seem upset—just smiles and climbs in. “See you around, Thor.”

And closing the door, she drives out of the parking lot and disappears into the rainy night.

ARES

“They are the hairiest, fattest fucking buds I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Gambit holds up the cannabis buds to the light.

We’re in Church, and all twenty-two Kings are staring at the samples Jack has had brought over from the cannabis crops.

“And sticky,” Venom adds.

Dakota Joe holds a big purple bud up to his nose. “That’s some potent shit. The smell alone is like a kick in the face. How much are we looking at?”

“Street value of just over one million,” Jack says.

“I think this is cause for celebration, boys,” Merrick declares with a grin. He’s always ready to party, and our harvest parties are legendary.

Hands bang on the table in agreement.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Before we party, we pick.” Jack looks around the long table at all the faces seated there. “The crop is ready for harvest tomorrow. It’s all-hands-on-deck. You all know what you got to do and where you gotta be.”

We don’t harvest the crop ourselves, but we all have our responsibility. Jack runs a tight ship. You want to eat, you have to help stir the pot.

This season is set to be our biggest yet, and the Soulless Sons are in place to handle the distribution. The Soulless is a smaller club based in Cooperville. I wouldn’t call us friends, but we’re not rivals anymore, either. They have a good distribution line, so Jack struck a deal with their president, a hardhead called Zed. We supply the merchandise, and they distribute for a certain percentage. It means we don’t have to fuck about with dealers and all the other people who come out of the woodwork when you have A-grade gear to peddle.

It’s also good to have some kind of relationship with the Soulless.

“I ain’t promising anything yet, but if it’s as good as we’re predicting, y’all are going to be receiving cash-fat envelopes at the end of the month.”

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