“We should start getting the club ready for Hell Mode,” I said. “I suggest we tell them before the party tonight, let them run fucking wild and free, and then go into that mode starting Sunday morning.”
“Christ, you’re serious about this, huh?” Sonny said.
I grimly nodded.
“Those Black Reaper boys are still in town?”
Sonny nodded, but he looked pained to admit it.
“You’re not—”
“I’m not going to do a goddamn thing about it right now,” I said as I started to spray the countertops. “I just want to know in case we need to put someone else at the front line. Why sacrifice our men when we can have someone else do it?”
Sonny again nodded but didn’t look like he believed me. He probably imagined I was starting to consider coloring up to the Black Reapers.
If he thought that, I’d done an even worse job of being a father to him than I thought.
“You think they’d go to the front of the line that willingly?”
“If they want to think they have a shot at us helping, yes,” I said. “You don’t think I’d risk our prospects before I’d let someone else take a shot, do you?”
Sonny said nothing.
“Just because they haven’t become full members doesn’t mean they’re the shit we step our boots into. They’ll earn their name in time, but they’ve already earned a place in this club.”
The three of us continued cleaning in silence when I heard a loud knock on the door.
“Is it the hot reporter?” Sonny said.
“Better fucking be,” I growled.
I’d meant to say “not be.” I couldn’t even bring myself to care that I’d said otherwise.
I got to the front door just as another hard knock came. To make the point, I swung the door open aggressively. Sure enough, there stood the hot little bitch.
“Satan?” she said with a stronger voice than her body language would have suggested.
“Who the fuck you think was gonna answer the door? Jesus Christ?”
She didn’t laugh. But she didn’t back down, either.
“Hailey Cook, WPTV. I’d like to get your comments on the recent peace in Phoenix.”
She stuck a microphone in my face. Over her shoulder, I could see a camera crew. This was not going to happen, not in front of a bunch of leering eyes and creeps. What the hell did they say when they didn’t want to be recorded?
“Off the record?” I said in the tone of a question, but it was more of a command.
She dropped her microphone, disappointed, but she nodded.
“Come inside.”
“Are you—”
“I’m not going to fucking bite,” I growled, “unless you let me do the fucking part.”
I snorted. Hailey said nothing. The camera crew tried to follow, but I slammed the door shut in their face.
“Are you—”
