“And from what I know,” Rebel continues smoothly, “princesses from fallen MCs fetch around ten mil a cunt in the right markets.”
Motherfucking Christ.
“Give or take.”
The office explodes with tension. Every man in the room goes rigid. We already knew this, but to hear it in such crass terms makes my blood boil.
My hands curl into fists so tight my knuckles crack. For a split second, I seriously consider smashing the phone to shut him the fuck up.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” I growl.
Rebel doesn’t even sound bothered. “I’m just stating facts.”
Dad’s voice cuts through the room, flat and colorless. “Sandy didn’t leave.”
Wolf’s head snaps toward him.
“She didn’t walk out on you,” Dad shrugs, his tone darkening. “Savage kicked that bitch out.”
A heavy pause settles over the line.
“What?” I finally ask. Wolf is staring at my father, stunned—speechless.
Dad lets out a humorless chuckle. “Because she was fucking prospects behind his back. He didn’t want anyone to know because… well, how good is a Prez who is cuckolded by his Ol’ Lady?”
Silence follows. Even Rebel doesn’t have a quick comeback for that one.
Wolf exhales slowly, dragging a hand over his face. “Doesn’t change the problem in front of us,” he mutters.
Ryder finally speaks again, voice steady but tight. “If Hellfire’s meeting Ioana Ro?ca,” he says, “then maybe Charlotte’s sale from years ago might not have been closed properly.”
I frown. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Ryder says quietly, “someone might still think they own the rights to her.”
My stomach twists violently. If that’s true, then this isn’t just about leverage. It’s about someone coming back to collect what they believe they already paid for. That the swap was not enough.
But why now? After seven fucking years, why is the buyer interested again?
An hour later, I’m sitting at the small bar inside the clubhouse. It’s nothing like Sinful Chugs—half the size, half the noise—but it does have the whiskey I’ve been craving ever since Rebel opened his mouth earlier.
‘Ten mil a cunt…’
That was right before the bastard officially rescinded his alliance. Said he wouldn’t throw his men into a losing war.
Guns? Sure. Men? Not a chance.
The Nomads are a different story. Blaze and his whole club are baying for blood after Shotgun’s murder. Hell’s Army made his Ol’ Lady a widow and left their six-year-old kid without a father.
Even with the Nomads backing us, we still don’t have the numbers. Not against a club ten times our size.
My vision blurs slightly as I stare into my glass, the amber liquid shifting in and out of focus.
Charlotte is in the kitchen with Bel and Misty. Every now and then her laughter drifts through the swinging door. But it’s wrong. Forced. Strained.
I recall what Ryder had warned me about after our conversation ended.
She’s not handling the stress well.
