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“It’s not a bad idea,” Diesel hedged, “but why this big fanfare over your devious plan, if all you wanted was to sell it back?”
“Dumbass,” Slate snickered, and I immediately reached across the table and smacked him upside the head, although my smile remained.
“Because, dickhead,” I told him directly, “I don’t just want to sell it back to whoever’s left standing at the Carter empire. I want to individually target every name in there, and sell our silence back to each player. We’ll keep the files, get a fat payout from each guilty party on there as payment for us keeping our traps shut—which I think could add up to more than what we would have gotten out of the Carter’s in one go, if we play it right—and then we have a back pocket full of potential future allies, or at least neutrals, unless they like the idea of us going to the cops with our intel.”
Immediately, Slate’s smug expression dropped. “That sounds like a lot of work for a one-man tech team.”
My grin stretched. “You’ll need to go through the entire thing, sort and catalog it all, and get separate files set up and re-encrypted for everyone.”
Slate rolled his eyes to the ceiling and slumped in his chair. “Great.”
Diesel snorted. “Don’t get ahead of yourselves, that sounds like a lot of work, and I’m not convinced yet it’ll be worth the effort.”
Rebel leaned forward. “It might be. Far be it for the treasurer to say that money isn’t everything…but with Rocky’s idea, we get more than just money. I can see the potential benefits of having dozens of snobby rich fuckers at least wary of us, if not exactly allies. We can get away with a lot more if a bunch of billionaires have a reason to turn a blind eye or do us a couple solids.”
“But,” Diesel countered, “with higher rewards come higher risks.”
“I can set up a kill switch program if we do this,” Slate said reluctantly. “Reset the passwords every twenty-four hours and if I’m late by even one minute, it all goes to Sheriff Cross. That way we’re covered.”
“That sounds complicated,” Diesel sighed. “I need to think about it and then we need to vote on it. In the meantime, Slate, I will need you to run background on the targets to at least see what we’re dealing with.”
“I’ll get to it tonight,” he said with a huge sigh. “Some of the names are big enough it won’t be necessary.”
Surprise lifted Diesel’s eyebrows as well as mine. “Then we definitely need to tread carefully,” he advised.
“Someone ordered shots?” Simone, one of the youngest of the club whores, sidled up to the table in shorts that barely covered her tight, twenty-one-year-old ass. The cheeks peeked out as she leaned over the table to show off her assets.
My cock didn’t even twitch in response. Not one spark of interest, which really fucking pissed me off. “Thanks, Simone.”
“Anytime, big guy.” She winked and leaned in close, resting one hand on my chest and the other high on my thigh. Her lips looked a little too thick and fake when she parted them to speak, and her bleach blonde hair tickled my skin annoyingly. “I’m in need of a long, hard throat fuck,” she purred. “You interested?”
I stared at her as I waited for my cock to jerk to life. But there wasn’t so much as a fucking throb. “Not tonight,” I grunted, which earned me a pout.
“You know where to find me,” she said, and squeezed my thigh before brushing the back of her hand along my sound asleep cock.
“I do,” I said, and removed her hand without emotion.
All eyes—except mine—swung to the sway of her hips as she sauntered off in those booty shorts. She was tempting as fuck and everything a man could want of an easy lay, but not even her love of a good, rough fuck could get my cock standing at attention, apparently. All I could see were too-skinny legs and fake, fake hair. I sighed.
Slate made a comment about her ass to Rebel, and the two fell into conversation. But Diesel laughed and arched a brow at me. “Something going on?”
“No.” Yes. The problem was that the same old shit, the party scene, the easy girls, none of it was enough anymore. “Just looking for something new and not so easy.”
“Not so easy, huh?” His brows rose further, which only made me scowl.
“That doesn’t mean I’m looking for an old lady,” I growl.
“If you say so.”
“I do.” I thumped my beer a little too forcefully on the table, and he grinned.
“It’s all right if you feel too old to fuck twenty-one-year-olds,” he joked.
I flipped Diesel off. “Who you callin’ old? You’re not much younger than me, remember that.” I tossed back my shot, suddenly ready for some peace and quiet. “Think I’ll head out.”
“Turning in early is the first sign of old age.” Diesel raised his voice as I stood and started walking off, while my other brothers—the fucking traitors—laughed with him.
I said my farewells over my shoulder and jumped on my bike, driving a little too fast as I made my way to my empty house. With a son graduating from college, maybe I was feeling a little ancient today, but that didn’t have anything to do with my mood lately.
