“Chaser? I don’t know all the intricacies of DeLova’s operation but there has to be some mob stuff his club can’t touch.”
“Obviously, he didn’t share details. He said Mallory’s cousin has a piece. Demons have part of it. And…” I pause for effect. “He’s offering some of the action to us.”
“Fuck. Extortion—no thanks. Guns—Priest will bury all of us. Heroin—same problem.”
“They run counterfeit crap from Russia,” Jigsaw says. “Especially down in Bright Point. Move that shit right into NYC.”
“Well, we don’t speak Russian.” Z grins. “I bet that piece is going to the cousin anyway.”
“Maybe.” I sit forward, capturing Z’s attention. “Our concern should be whoever takes over for DeLova respects our boundaries and territory.”
“That’s why I want to make sure we stay friendly with Chaser’s crew.” Z’s gaze shifts to Jigsaw, then me. Technically, we probably should’ve called Hustler and Steer in for this meeting. “Let’s wait and bring this to the table when upstate’s here. It’s going to fall on both charters.”
“Okay.”
“Otherwise...” Z runs his hand over his chin and nods thoughtfully. “That’s more than I hoped for. Thanks for going the extra mile, with the backstage invite and all. I like that your visit wasn’t all about business.”
“Not a problem.”
“Shelby didn’t mind?”
Interesting that Z gives a shit what Shelby thinks. Can’t imagine many MC presidents showing concern about a female’s opinion. But I respect his approach. Too many clubs have been brought down by forgetting or dismissing how important an ol’ lady can be to their members’ well-being. “Not at all. Like I said, she got along well with Angelina. Chaser knows the headliner, so they talked a bit. It was all good.”
“Shelby do all right at their clubhouse?”
Meaning did she see some deviant shit and pitch a fit. “She was fine.”
“It didn’t get really wild until after they left,” Jigsaw adds.
“You stayed?”
“Dex and I stayed pretty late. Rooster wanted to get his princess a hotel room.” He sings out the last part in a high-pitched wail.
I roll my eyes but don’t bother responding to the taunt.
Z smirks but doesn’t comment. “Moving on. How’s our wee little support club?”
“Wee little nothing.” I snort and sit forward, resting my elbows on the table and lacing my fingers together. “Still feeling them out. This isn’t something we should jump into lightly. Oh and Remy offered to help with any of our porn needs.”
“Dex shot that down quick,” Jigsaw says.
Z rolls his eyes. “He want to star in them or something?”
“No, just meet the talent.”
“Yeah, we got plenty of that here. He can fuck off,” Z dismisses that easily. “What else?”
“Eraser didn’t seem as enthusiastic about the porn but we did discuss their money-laundering needs. Griff wants to open an auto body shop or something. Sounds like Murphy’s gonna have Teller handle that.”
Z chuckles. “Like Teller doesn’t have enough to do. That sounds good. You get a read on how they’re feeling about the support club?”
I catch Jigsaw’s eye and shrug, giving him a chance to jump in if he wants. He answers with a quick headshake.
“Honestly, none of us brought it up directly. It was more like a, ‘Hey, how’s everything?’ kind of visit. Letting Murphy reel ’em in slow with some assistance in their business ventures is a solid play.”
“Build that trust and loyalty,” Jigsaw agrees.
Z sits up and claps his hands together. “Thank you. That’s good.”
His gaze lands on the small silver burner phone in the middle of the table and he grits his teeth. “I got another fuckin’ call with Priest this afternoon.” He flashes a devilish smile. “I’m looking forward to siccing him on Murphy next.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that, Prez.” Guess I better text Murphy later and let him know what’s coming his way. VPs gotta look out for each other and all.
Hustler pushes the door open. “Z, you got a minute?”
Z slaps the table and stands. “We good?”
“Yup.”
Jigsaw follows them out.
My phone buzzes and I pull it from my pocket. The corners of my mouth automatically curl up when Chickadee flashes across the screen.
Almost finished.
Another picture comes through of Shelby. This time she’s fully made up in her supermodel persona.
I like the first picture better, but there’s no fuckin’ way I’d say that to her. Especially—I glance at the clock—an hour before she’s going onstage.
Me: You are smoking hot.
Shelby: Where are you?
Me: Clubhouse. Was having a sit-down with Z.
Shelby: Sorry.
Me: Don’t be. We’re done.
“What’re you up to?” Z’s voice breaks through my thoughts and I quickly turn off my phone, shoving it in