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“Got something,” Talon said, settling himself into a wrought iron chair at the breakfast table.
“It gonna suck my dick?” Weathersbee asked, laughing at his own joke.
“Nope, but it might get your dick sucked,” Talon shot back.
Weathersbee popped a grape in his mouth. “I need something good. Carlotta’s going on about a baby, and that’s a hard pass, so I gotta keep this bitch on the hook.”
Talon reached into his front pocket and pulled out the velvet bag. He opened the top flap and rested the sapphire against the black.
“That should do it,” Weathersbee said. “You got papers?”
Talon tagged the folded paper from his back pocket and passed it over.
“Certified. Eight carats. Price at the bottom,” Talon said.
Weathersbee read and nodded. “Be back,” he said, rising from the table and crossing the patio to the French doors of his office.
Talon sat back and enjoyed the poolside view until Weathersbee got back.
“Here you go,” Weathersbee said, handing over a fat stack of cash.
Talon flipped through the bills to make sure they were all Benjamins, even though Weathersbee had never tried to dick him over before.
He stood, securing the stack inside his leather cut. “Anything else?”
Weathersbee watched the stone as he rolled it back and forth between two fingers. “Yeah, Carlotta wants a baby. The wife might tolerate the mistress, but she’s not gonna stand for that shit. I got clipped a while back, but Carlotta doesn’t know it.” He paused, weighing his next words. “Come back in a couple weeks. Bring something bigger.”
Talon swallowed his disgust and nodded, “You got it.”
He strode to his Harley, started her up, and pulled back out into Savannah traffic, making plans to call his fence in Europe and wondering what kind of man would treat the love of his life like so much shit.
Weathersbee might drop G’s on her like his money was going out of style, all to keep her hanging around waiting, but he’d never give the woman what she wanted most. A family.
Talon’s face clouded. Given that assessment, he couldn’t really blame Jenna for doing what she had to do to get what she wanted, whether that was cutting loose a dick of an ex or pulling out all the stops to get her article.
He’d seen her get on the back of Ryder’s bike the night before. Knew he’d taken her home. And Talon wondered if he’d spent the night. Wondered if she’d given his brother the same wild ride she’d given him.
Talon ground his jaw as he worked his way back to the compound to stow the cash in one of the club’s safes.
He didn’t like thinking about Jenna. And he damn sure didn’t like thinking about all that was Jenna all over his brother.
So, even though it left a sick feeling in his gut, he knew what he had to do.
*************************
Maker
Widow Maker, Maker to his brothers, Sergeant at Arms of the Bloody Saints MC out of Charleston, South Carolina, Sergeant at Arms meaning he did shit most of this brothers either didn’t like or flat out couldn’t handle, wedged his massive body into a booth, his back to the wall of the diner.
Maker had certain skills, developed in not so great circumstances, but beneficial to his club. So he’d decided long ago the trade was worth it.
He was all razor blades and nightmares, and women might like to take a test drive, but the few who’d tried to sleep over had pissed themselves before morning. Needless to say, none of them had put money down on his pink slip.
So eventually, Maker had given up.
He’d had dozens of women over the years, but never one to call his own, a fact he didn’t plan to change.
He enjoyed a quick dip, but made clear that’s all it was.
