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His eyes plead with me, and because I owe this man my life, I tuck my gun back where it belongs and storm out of the room, not looking back. If I see that asshole’s smug face one more time, there’ll be no stopping me.
“Give me a shot of tequila and a beer,” I snarl at the prospect behind the bar. Once I’ve shot back the liquor and taken a swig of beer, Lucky and Satyr sidle up at my sides, itching for the gossip.
“Who are they?” Lucky asks.
“Robert and Leo Costa,” I mutter around the rim of my beer.
“No shit.” Satyr glances over his shoulder, where Cy is walking the two men out.
Lucky bites off a piece of licorice. “What did they want?”
“Rigger!” The place is nearly empty since it’s late, and there’s no party going on, so his booming voice echoes through the room.
“Uh oh. Riggy’s getting called to the principal’s office,” Satyr singsongs.
“Shut the fuck up.” I slide off the stool, taking my beer with me, and follow Cy back into Church.
“Before you say anything—”
“Beforeyousay anything,” Cy interrupts, plopping down in his chair and rubbing his temples. “If anyone understands your beef with that man, it’s me. Don’t forget you worked for me while you lived under his roof. But I still can’t have you fuck with them.”
“Since when do you let people tell you what to do? What the hell kind of club are we if we just allow this shit to fly?”
“Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you.” He slams his palm on the table. “I’m the president of this club, not you.”
I close my eyes and take a breath. When I’ve calmed my shit, I open them and try again. “What do they have on us?”
“You had a fuckin’ grandiose vision with this brothel, and I saw it. If we wanted to earn big and do it legit, we needed to think big.”
“Yeah, I know, and we’re already breaking my projections. What does that have to do with the Costas?”
“How do you think we funded that big, beautiful building full of all the luxury someone could want?” he asks.
I internally groan. “I never thought about it. I know we had money from selling the dusted weed, and we have other businesses that earn.”
“Even if we used everything the club owns as collateral, we couldn’t get that kind of money. What bank wants to loan an MC money to open a brothel?” Cy’s lips disappear beneath his gray mustache and beard.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Honestly, I never thought about it. Each time I went over budget or asked for more money, Cy gave it to me.
“I guess I thought the club had reserves.”
Cy looks at me like I’m stupid. “We’re talking millions of dollars. You thought the club was sitting on that kind of coin?”
I rest my elbows on the table and cradle my head in my hands. “I’m an idiot.”
“No, you’re creative and a visionary.” He squeezes my shoulder twice. “I bet on you, and to do that, the club took out a loan with the Costas. Looks like I was right because we’ll double our payment on our first month. If that keeps up, we’ll be in the clear in half the time I thought. But that means—”
“Ray lives.”
He nods. “For now.”
CHAPTERTWELVE
NAVY
Aknock sounds on the door to the office, pulling my attention away from the paperwork I’ve been consumed with. Mary might not have wanted me to work here, but she had no problem dumping every tedious part of her job on me.
Glancing up, I see Rigger walk in, looking every bit the badass biker he is. His worn jeans hang low on his hips, a plain white tee conforming to every muscle, his scuffed-up leather boots for function over form, and of course, his cut is decorated in all sorts of patches, frayed around the edges from years of wear and tear. All that would be enough for anyone to stay away, but add the chunky silver rings on his fingers, the hefty belt buckle peeking from under his cut, and the heavy metal chain connecting his front belt loop to his wallet, and the bad boy image is complete.
