“This little bastard is blade happy, so watch yourselves,” a brother from Royal Bastards MC warns us before we step inside.
My best friend Jameson and I are hired muscle. We’re both out the army, six years in and one year inactive, with a year left inactive to wait out. Once that’s up, we’re hoping to prospect for the Royal Bastards, so we get to prove ourselves worthy of the fucking honor. The thrill of the road has always been something Jameson craves. A brotherhood is something we’re used to, and the Royal Bastards is a good fit for us.
A few patrons exit when they see us walk inside and head straight for the back room where this guy does his business. Apparently, he owns this place, and although it’s a shithole, it’s clout. If we have to, we’ll take it off his hands as a down payment.
“He’s got company, let me just…” some punk-ass fucker announces, trying to push past us to get to the door first. Jameson towers over him, giving him a quick nudge to get the fuck out of our way. The whole point of us showing up is to surprise this fucker. I push the handle down and waltz right on in.
He’s got his back to the door, his body pushed up against a naked woman. Her eyes clash with mine, terror gleaming from their depths. Damn, she’s a beauty. How the fuck did this loser get a girl like her? Through fear and dominance if her swollen eyes are anything to go by. I hate this prick a little more now.
Milo looks over his shoulder and turns, a blade already in his hand. What the fuck did we walk in on? His eyes blink rapidly as we move farther into the room, my senses on high alert, tracking his hand movements. His fingers twitch. He’s actually debating if he can take us. Fuck this. I move fast, grabbing his wrist, twisting until I hear a pop before he even registers what’s happening. The blade falls to the ground as he howls out in pain. I kick it across the room before grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket and shoving him into the chair behind his desk. My eyes flick back to the woman scavenging for her clothes. She pulls a dress up her body and tucks a curtain of dark curls behind her ear. Her cheeks are wet, eyes swollen with tears.
“Take a seat, darling,” I tell her, lifting my chin to an overturned chair.
She looks young, haunted.
“She doesn’t have to be here. Let her leave,” Milo spits through clenched teeth.
“I’ll decide who needs to be here, motherfucker,” Jimmy, the VP of the Royal Bastards growls. “You got something for us?”
“I need a few more days.”
Tsking, Jimmy moves around the table, sitting his ass on the lip just in front of Milo. “You think you can fuck us around?”
“No, no, it’s just someone fucked me over for money, so I’m short.”
“You will be short when my boys starting cut chunks outta you, starting with your feet,” Jimmy snarls.
This fucker doesn’t even flinch. He looks high on the product and spiraling. His eyes dart to the girl, then back to Jimmy, embarrassed she’s seeing this shit. He probably acts like he’s untouchable, the big bad wolf, a tormentor of all around him, and she’s witnessing how full of shit he is. The boogey man is nothing more than a weak, pathetic nobody.
“Can you just let her the fuck outta here? This shit is business she’s not part of.”
“This isn’t business, it’s a shitshow. You can’t be trusted to pay up what you fucking owe. The rate you’re going, you won’t make it past your twenties,” I scorn. He’s pathetic. Don’t get high on your supply—first rule of dealing. This motherfucker is using more than he’s selling.
“He won’t make it past the next ten minutes unless he tells us something we want to hear,” Jimmy interjects.
“I have half.” He bobs his head.
“Damn, looks like I’ll be breaking something else,” I growl, stepping forward.
“I can’t give you what I don’t fucking have,” he sneers. “And I can’t pay if I’m dead.”
Jimmy scratches his neck, his eyes traveling around the small room, landing on the girl sitting quietly in the corner like she’s seen this scene a thousand times before. “Sorry you had to be here for this, darling. You have shitty taste in men,” he informs her with a shrug of his shoulder before turning his attention back to Milo. “What’s this place worth?”
“I’ll get you your money.” Milo cradles his wrist. Sweat beads his forehead. He doesn’t have the means to get the money. If he did, he would have had it by now.
“I know you will, but we’re going to need collateral to motivate you,” Jimmy warns. If he’s intimidated by the three of us dominating the small space between him and the exit, he’s not showing it.