“Seems the reason they offed our connection was because he wouldn’t go along with it.” Smoke turns to face me, his eyes cold and hard. “Human trafficking is a federal offense, usually carrying a life sentence, but apparently your father and his buddies weren’t worried ‘cause they have so many connections.”
“I . . . I can’t believe it,” I stutter. “George Henley and my father play golf regularly. He’s been to our home for dinner parties. How could they be involved in something so repulsive?”
“Shit happens.” Smoke regains his seat at the head of the table. “People get greedy. . . and then they get stupid.”
“And you’re absolutely sure that’s what’s locked in the basement?”
“Ninety-nine percent sure. Probably also the reason yourfather wanted to keep you locked up. Afraid you’d start digging into shit, or you’d come back here, and we’d tell you.”
“And Brad was involved in this too?”
Blood barks out a harsh laugh. “Ohhh yeah, only he took it one step further. Not only did he want to sample the merchandise, he also put the screws to your old man for a bigger cut of the action.”
“That didn’t go over so well, so your father had to have him eliminated,” Smoke adds.
My stomach pitches like I’ve been punched. I feel the blood drain from my face, and for a second, I’m afraid I’m going to barf on the Royal Bastards’ polished wood table.
Bolt leans in. “Take it easy, babe; you had no way of knowing what these fuckers were up to.”
I force myself to drag in deep, cleansing breaths, but I can’t shake the sensation of somehow being tainted by association. My father and the man I was living with—how did I miss the signs?
“Now, we have to figure out how to deal with him.” Smoke narrows his eyes. “And that’s where you come in.”
Bolt shifts in his seat. “Nah, nah, we ain’t involving her.”
The room erupts, and they all begin talking at once, their voices low but intense. All with different ways to stop the degenerate operation.
“I say we wait till they show up again, then we hit them at the bar.” Diesel smirks. “Take ‘em out right there.”
Smoke shakes his head. “Too public, too flashy.”
“Then we cut off their supply line. It’s gotta start somewhere down here in Mexico.” Bolt adds, “Maybe even Tijuana.”
“I say,” Diesel bangs his fist on the table, “we grab one of the suits—make him talk—then show him what happens when you fuck with the Bastards. Make him an example.”
“That’s a war we don’t need,” Blood says.
I listen to all of them and realize their thinking is way off.
“None of that will work,” I blurt out loud enough to be heard over the din of male voices.
The room goes silent. All eyes again on me.
Smoke stubs out his cigarette. “You got a better idea?”
I plant my palms on the table and stand slowly. The room doesn’t sway, so I continue, “You’re trying to hurt them like outlaws. Muscle. Violence.” I cock my head. “That’s not where they live.”
“Then what?” Smoke’s dark eyes meet mine.
“My father and those other men live and die for their reputation.”
The room stills.
“He may be a criminal of the worst order, but he’s also—respected, connected and untouchable. You go in with violence, and he’ll have everyone from the chief of police to the governor more than ready to lock you all up and throw away the key.”
“Then what?” Blood asks.
“No one would ever believe he’s this dirty. You’d have the highest officials in the state more than ready to take you all down unless . . . you take away the one thing he cares about even more than money.”
