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Trey rolled his neck, bracing for what was to be another outburst. Rogue did not disappoint. He stepped up to Nash. Trey had to give credit to Oz’s guy. While Nash remained silent, he didn’t back down.
“We don’t need a fucking announcement or permission. You need a reminder of your place and ours? Big fucking difference, Nash.” Rogue shoulder-bumped Nash in true bully fashion and threw open the door leading into the back hallway where the office was located.
Always with the fucking theatrics.
Nash straightened and glanced over at Trey. “I don’t know how you fucking do it, Trey.”
Years and years and years of experience.
Trey smirked as he passed. “I don’t let him pull that shit with me.”
It wasn’t a dig at Nash. As Oz’s second-in-command, he had power and authority, but none close to Trey and Rogue. There was a hierarchy in how they were viewed within the Underground. Oz, Rogue, and Trey. For all outward appearances and business makeup, it was an accurate assessment. However, when it came to the three of them, there was no boss. They were equals with different levels to their positions. Each man had their strong suit and brought their best to the table. Combined, it was far more power than they’d have on their own or individually. Or that of any preceding kings of the Underground.
Rogue barreled through Oz’s door, not even offering the courtesy of knocking. Though it was unnecessary. Trey knew Oz would have been informed the minute they pulled into the parking lot. If he knew Oz, and he did, the man had watched their every move and heard the discussion with Nash. Oz didn’t do surprises.
Rogue spread his arms. “What’s the fucking problem?”
Oz stood at the end of the couch. “You would know better than me. It’s yours, not mine.”
“We got five hundred grand worth of product sitting in the fucking warehouse. They need passage, or this deal won’t fucking go through.”
Trey walked farther into the room, eyeing Oz. This was not Trey’s fight between the blood brothers, but he’d step in if needed. Oz swirled the glass of amber liquid with complete ease. Much like Trey, Oz had been accustomed to Rogue’s outbursts since they were young. Even more so for Oz.
“Then maybe you should have thought of that before you made it.” Oz straightened. “You knew the risks in running it over the interstate. That didn’t stop you from making the deal, correct?”
Rogue folded his arms and scowled. “Let them run it through yours.”
“This isn’t my deal. And I know it’s not Trey’s because there is no way in hell he would have signed off on it without coming to me beforehand. You want this deal to go through, then make the necessary arrangements.”
Rogue’s jaw squared. “They run it through your territory. I can make the call, and we unload this shit tonight.”
It was like watching two alpha lions in the wild. Neither would back down.
“Not without my permission. And they don’t have it.” Oz paused. “Neither do you.”
Rogue’s gaze darkened, and his brows dipped tightly, forming a crease between his brows. Even the shade of his face brightened as his temple pulsed. “I would fucking allow it for one of your deals!”
Trey pressed his lips together. He wouldn’t interject, but he knowingly glanced over at Oz. They were of one accord. Even without verbal confirmation, Trey knew.
Rogue may have allowed it, but not without gloating. Oz would never hear the end of it. It was the sole reason he never allowed Rogue to bail him out of any deal from the beginning.
Oz took a sip of his bourbon and lowered the glass to his side, licking his lips. “That’s irrelevant since I’d never put you in that position. That’s the difference between you and me. When I make deals, they benefit the organization, not as a personal gain.”
It was an undisputed fact.
“Your holier-than-thou bullshit is getting old,” Rogue scoffed. “In fact, I’ve been over that shit for a long fucking time.”
Oh fuck! Trey folded his arms and watched.
“We all have our place, Rogue. Maybe I should ask you the same thing you asked Nash.” Oz narrowed his gaze. “Do you remember yours?”
Rogue’s face contorted, and he stepped forward, which had Trey making his way toward the brothers. It had been a long time since they’d come to physical blows, but he wouldn’t put it past Rogue, considering the tension in the room.
“Rogue.” Trey's firm tone was similar to the one he’d always used. Sometimes it worked. Other times it didn’t.
Rogue stopped a few feet away from Oz, and the seconds felt like an eternity as the brothers stared one another down. It would be a fair and even fight if it came down to it. There was no guaranteed winner, but it was the last thing Trey wanted to see. Rogue muttered, “Fucking asshole,” before storming out of the room. Rogue wouldn’t beg for anything.
Oz walked over to the bar, completely unfazed. Trey expected nothing less. Oz had more self-control than any man he knew. It was why, for many years, Trey had idolized him, watched him, and mimicked his every move. How could he not? Oz saved me, along with Rogue.
