All of them look worried, although Santos doesn’t seem nearly as threatening as I’ve seen him in the past. “I’ll get her home.”
She’ll be safe with him. But not home.
I pull her to my front and wrap her in a hug, putting my lips to her ear. “My house. Go.”
She stiffens. “No, I’m not leaving you.”
A groan rumbles up from my throat. “Please, I can’t do this if I’m worried about you. You need to go.”
She swings her gaze to Santos and back to me, her chin high. “I’m not leaving. I’m going to wait for you.”
I grab her upper arm and yank her. “With who? Hatch?”
She gasps.
“Go with Santos to my house. Don’t fuck this up.” God, why can’t she just fucking listen?
“Mason, man, we don’t have all night,” J.P. says with a frustrated growl.
She scowls. “Why are you forcing me to leave?”
“Think you’ve proven you can’t keep yourself safe.” I nod to Santos and he moves in to take her.
“Come on, Trix.” He hands her a tight dress, and she slips it over her head with a demeanor of pure hate radiating from her violet eyes.
Fine. Let her be pissed. As long as she’s safe. We’ll both live through this to fight about it later.
“Now, if we could get this fucking show on the road.” J.P. sweeps his hand toward the open door of what I’m assuming must be an office or conference room.
I head back, but not before I make sure to see Santos and the girls leave the villa, the door closing behind them.
I follow J.P. into a room that has a long table surrounded by chairs. Elijah’s sitting at one end, his eyes cast out the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the Vegas strip. I take a seat next to Drake, who’s sitting with his head in his hands. Shit, this doesn’t look good.
J.P. doesn’t say a word and leaves the three of us, shutting the door behind him.
“Seems you two assholes are fuckin’ things up for me.” Eli’s voice is stern and non-feeling. “Interfered in a little transaction we’d worked out between us and the Wild Outlaw MC.”
So this is the shit Drake’s dad is into. From surf gang to MC ties that walk way outside of the law. “If you’re referring to me saving your son’s ass and replacing the shit he owed, yeah, I guess I interfered.” You motherfucker.
Eli spins in his chair, and I’m struck by how similar he and Drake look. Dark eyes and hair, athletic build, but whereas Drake’s style reeks of California wannabe gangster, Elijah’s is more mafia with a sprinkling of biker and a dash of serial killer. Even with their similarities, their body language couldn’t be more different. My brother has never looked so beaten, and Eli’s snarling. “Big shot superstar thinks he can talk shit to me?”
My muscles tense as the urge to wrap my hands around this guy’s throat becomes overwhelming. “You called me here. Now tell me what the fuck you want.”
He pulls a gun faster than I can track and points it at me. “Your slut mother never taught you boys any respect.”
Adrenaline races through my veins, half anger, half nerves, but the anger wins. “You’re wrong. She taught us to give respect to those who earn it.”
My gaze darts to Drake, who still looks lost in his own head. I don’t know what happened in here before I walked in, but whatever it was clearly wasn’t in Drake’s favor.
“You’re not gonna let him go, are you?” I stare at Eli, refusing to break eye contact.
He seems to grasp hold of what little control he has left and holsters his weapon. “I have a proposition for you.”
“I only came here to talk about you releasing my brother—”
He burst into an evil laugh that pricks against my skin.
“Mase.” Drake’s voice is beside me, but faint. “I already tried.”
I glare between them. “What? Why not?”
“Because he took a vow when he joined me.” Eli shrugs and stares at his son. “No getting out. He knew that from day one.”
“What if he refuses?” No man can make another man do anything he doesn’t want to.
He pushes up from his seat and moves around to drop his ass on the table next to Drake. “We terminate those who don’t stay loyal.”
My flesh crawls at the seriousness of his words. “You’d do that to your own kid?”
Eli tilts his head. “You sure you want the answer to that question?”
I throw an arm out, pointing to a downtrodden Drake.