Reaching up, I graze my fingers over her brow, watching her lids flutter shut, so I keep doing it, loving how easily she responds to my touch.
“So what the fuck is it that Ewan wants me to do?” Ringo snaps, shifting the conversation back to business.
“It’s simple,” Griffin states, sitting back in his chair and pressing the tips of his fingers together. “Your President needs to be replaced. Ewan wants him out. He’s too much of a loose cannon, and Ewan’s not happy that we allowed the Southern Sadists into this region with such an unstable guy running the show.”
“We?” Devon scoffs. “That wasallyou, cousin.”
Griffin rolls his eyes, but he just turns his attention back to Ringo as he speaks.
“I thought it was you who controlled this region.”
Sighing, Griffin’s hands fall to his lap. “I control what Ewan allows me to control. If I don’t get this sorted, he’ll send someone else in to take over.”
“Fuck,” Ringo snarls, and Griffin nods.
“Yeah, fuck. We don’t like it either. Although Ewan is right about Smitty. He’s a crazy motherfucker that’s going to do something to get us all in the shit.”
“So, you want me to get Smitty to stand down and put someone else in the position?” Ringo asks, his brows tugging in as he frowns. “Or what? The Southern Sadists are out? That wasn’t part of the fucking agreement.”
“The Sadists are locked in now.” Griffin acknowledges with a sigh, like this conversation is the last thing he wants to be doing. “Thatagreement stands, but there was never an agreement made about your President, just the club as a whole. So, in order to fulfil the agreement to Ewan’s liking, he wants Smitty out, and he wants his head.”
I stiffen at Griffin’s words, my eyes flicking to Ringo to see his death glare locked on his Marx friend.
“He doesn’t actually mean his head, right?” I ask, and Devon scoffs.
“That’sexactlywhat he means.”
My gaze flicks between each man, and when it falls on my husband, I find his gaze has dropped to the table in front of him.
“He wants someone to challenge him for the position. A death challenge?” Ringo asks for confirmation, his eyes flicking up to Griffin, who nods.
“Yes. He wants him dead, but not just by anyone. Ewan wants it to be done by you.”
27
Calm is anything but what I fucking feel, yet calm is what I try to be as Griffin’s words sink in.
Ewan wants Smitty gone. Dead. And he wants me to replace him.
Fucking hell. Could this shitshow get any fucking worse?
“Ewan wants me to challenge the President in a fight to the death,” I growl, fighting for fucking control. “Which I could potentially lose, but if I’m lucky enough to win, I have to take the role and run the fucking club?”
“Exactly.” Griffin nods, and Abbey gasps next to me.
“No!” she cries. “You can’t ask him to do that.”
“Actually, we can.” Griffin’s glare is directed at my wife. “We gave our men to you to use. To protect you all. Not only did that leave the rest of my family and our empire vulnerable, but it cost us wages and some of our men’s lives.” Griffin sits forward, anger starting to contorthis expression. “So, yeah. It’s a big fucking payment for a big fucking favour.”
As his words sink in, so does my reality.
I always knew the payment was going to be big. For some reason I had it in my head that they might not call on it for a number of years. Figured they’d want me to kill some high-level sob that was getting in their way.
But this… this is fucking different.
Sighing, I run my hand down my face, feeling fucking exhausted.
Ewan Marx wants Nate Smith dead. My President. And he wants me to kill him and take over the Southern Sadists.
