Page 43 of Savage Saint

“To me, with mother chapter agreement.”

“Only you?” he asks, voice tense, but I’m not offended.

“Yes. For now.” I’m honest. “They trust me, know me. Not the patch on my back or every man wearing one. Same way there are things inside the club I trust you with before anyone else outside of my VP.”

Relationships matter, especially in our world.

“Price?”

“Below black market value.”

“Why?”

“They need to move a large shipment. I’ve tested what they have before, and it’s good.”

“They offered, or you asked?”

“Neither.”

“Explain.”

“We both want the same thing, Jameson. To grow. To dominate.” I let that sit with him for a minute, rolling my shoulders to alleviate the tightness sitting between them. “If you’re interested, I’ll make the call. But they have the merch. Know this for a fact.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, but I want you in on the final meeting.”

“Why?”

“So there’s no confusion later.”

“That’s fair.”

“If you don’t want to leave Louisiana, we do it by video. You meet them, terms are agreed on, and everyone knows what to expect.”

“Bring me a sample first.”

“Done.”

“When?”

“Give me a couple weeks. Something I need to take care of first.”

The crickets on his end get louder for a second, then his glass hits something solid. “Do what you must with the Volkov situation. Keep me informed.”

“I will.”

The line goes dead.

Short. Clean.

Lowering the phone, I let it rest against my thigh for a few seconds while the screen goes dark.

I have a lot to do before her lunch date tomorrow.

Doc catches me before breakfast the next morning. His expression holds exasperation. “Your brother is a pain in my ass, Saint.”

I’m standing at the bottom of the stairs, one foot still on the last step, my hand resting on the railing while I look toward the bar where he’s sitting on a stool with a steaming mug in front of him and the kind of irritated look that makes me arch a brow.