Cross scoffed, shaking his head. “Then I guess we’re done here.”
The members of Satan’s Hex started toward the door. This wasn’t even close to done. Without a formidable deal in place, it left them to venture to other avenues. It wasn’t unheard of for the club to break ties with previous transports. It didn’t happen often, but occasionally partners parted ways. However, this was different. They weren’t getting out of the transport business, which meant they’d possibly find another way to move more product. They weren’t the smartest of men, and if he had to guess, Griggs might call their bluff.That will be a mistake, asshole.
Wraith shared a look with Ace, who gave a subtle nod. When Cross stood, following the men out of the clubhouse, Wraith fell in line beside him. They needed a reminder.
Cross and Wraith walked out the front door and down the stairs.
“Do you need directions on getting outta here?” Cross asked, gaining their attention.
Spinner snorted. “You got one street off the highway. I think we can find our way.”
Cross smirked, slowly nodding. “Actually, got a few offshoot streets.” He pointed to the left and narrowed his gaze. He wasn’t pointing out anything they didn’t already know. “But I think you know that, right?”
They did. For a deal this big, Satan’s had done their research. Killcreek was often dismissed, not verbally, but they weren’t given the same regard as others. Degenerate, ruthless, outlaw bikers who fed off violence. Not many were highly educated, partied more than they worked, and everyone assumed Inez ran their club from behind-the-scenes. That was the perception. It couldn’t have been more wrong.
The Satan’s members mounted their bikes, but none responded. They understood the threat with an underlying promise.
Wraith and his VP stayed outside watching the bikes pull out of the driveway. Neither of them said a word. They didn’t have to. They were on the same page with their thoughts. This wasn’tover. Maybe Satan’s Hex would take the deal. And maybe they wouldn’t. Only time would tell.
“What do you think?” Cross asked.
Wraith arched his back, cracking it in the process. “They don’t have the numbers to move that much. They’re gonna cut corners, and in six months” —Wraith looked over at Cross— “They’ll be sharing cells with Slater and Axel.”
Cross snickered. “That would be something to see. Those two would fucking destroy every single one of them before they had a chance to make their own fucking beds.”
True.
“Been in contact with them?”
Killcreek was under no obligation to give Slater or Axel a heads up on what was going down with their club.
Cross shook his head. “Not our club, not our problem. But” —He grasped his jaw— “thinking if there was a way without bringing attention to us, Ace would make the call. But there ain’t, and he won’t take that chance. Tell you though.” Cross smirked. “When Axel and Slaterdofind out? Wouldn’t be surprised if we got a call with a job to burn their fucking clubhouse down.”
“I’d take that job,” Wraith said.
Cross slapped his back. “Me too, brother.”
Seconds after the bikes disappeared from sight, a familiar car rolled up, parking near the rear of the house. Cleo’s spot. It had been designated years ago when she’d first arrived. Aside from the VP and president, the brothers parked wherever they wanted.
Cross didn’t bother waiting for her, and he turned, walking back into the house. Wraith waited.
Cleo got out, hooking her pocketbook over her shoulder. It weighed her down more than usual. He figured it was where she’d stored her snacks. It was strange how she always concealed them in a bag. It was as if she didn’t want anyone to know what she had in fear that it could be taken away. It made sense since she’d never really had anything that was her own. The womanwas a psychologist’s dream. Broken, beat down, and battered. That’s what they’d see.
Wraith saw something different.
Cleo locked the door, and it beeped. Wraith scoffed, shaking his head. There were more cameras and security on the clubhouse property than a prison. As she passed her rear door, she reached back and double checked the handle. Overly cautious and doubtful of herself. It didn’t take a medical diagnosis to know her past trauma had scarred not only her body but her mind. Cleo didn’t trust herself, which was ironic since she seemed to trust all those around her.
Too fucking trusting for her own good.
As she rounded the bumper and popped the trunk, she patted the left pocket of her cutoff jeans. Double checking for her phone. He steeled his features, battening down his smile. The woman had more odd quirks than he could count. For most people, especially the club, they’d go unnoticed. Much like her presence. Not Wraith, though. He’d watched her every move since the day he’d set eyes on her.
It might’ve been considered an unhealthy obsession, but he refused to give it up. Or her. His allegiance stemmed from her connection to the club. His possession was completely personal. He’d never formally claimed her. Not yet.
Cleo bent over the trunk, grabbing a bag of ice. She juggled it in one arm and reached for another. His gaze was drawn to her ass. The hem of her shorts rose, showing slivers of her cheeks. Goddamn this woman and her cut-off shorts and tank tops teasing her toned stomach. Being around Cleo was a daily test of his control. Wraith ground his teeth and jerked his head to the door.
“Prospects!” His venomous roar was loud enough for anyone in the neighboring towns to hear.
It only took seconds before the front door swung open and four prospects ran out. He gestured to Cleo, keeping his glare on the third guy in line. Joker. The younger man had enough decencyto drop his chin to his chest and pass the others in an effort to get to her car quicker.
