“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I still don’t understand the need to kill someone over a few lost court cases and the potential of a hundred-thousand-dollar trust. It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around it, Cain.” My nose glides a path along his throat, Cain’s scent surrounding me.
“Babe, your trust is way more than that. How did you not realize your parents left you a million and a half dollars? The minute you hit twenty-five, it’s yours.” I lift my head up, my eyes blinking in utter shock.
“Um, we never talked about that, and then, after their death, well, let’s just say it wasn’t my finest hour when I heard their last will and testament. Are you sure?”
“Yeah, babe, one hundred percent. The files are in your laptop bag.” He smooths back my hair, tucking it behind my ear.
“Wow, I really was an idiot,” I breathe out.
“Nah, depression can do shit to you. If it weren’t for the club when my dad passed away, I’d have spiraled. Hell, ask Razor. I went on a four-day bender. Alcohol and weed were my crutch. I think I didn’t get my shit together until Doc found me passed out in bed, a handle of Kentucky Gentleman Bourbon in one hand, a joint in the other. He gave me a swift kick in the ass, knowin’ the gavel was bein’ handed down to me. Babe, you were just goin’ through the motions. It just took you longer to snap out of it.” Why does he have to make so much damn sense when I’m throwing a pity party for myself.
“Too bad it took being shot in order for me to snap out of it, though it could be partly because of this amazing, rugged man, not a mean bone in his body when it comes to me, and the way you allowed me to stand on my own two feet. Not bulldozing your way into putting me on that sexy-as-fuck bike of yours. You’re the real deal, Cain Abrahams.” My voice is wobbly, and tears are threatening to stream down my face.
“Fuck, don’t go gettin’ sweet on me, Persephone.” The rasp in his voice is deep and husky, full of want, making my legs rub together just thinking about what we could be doing after this heavy conversation.
“Why? Does it do something to you, Cain?” I rub my lips against his. That’s all it takes. He takes over, and we do a whole lot more than kiss our day away, and when the two of us walk out of his office later, let’s just say there is a shit ton of clapping, hollering, and a drink being slung. I’m not embarrassed in the least, and neither is Cain. The two of us just fit naturally. Though the three orgasms he gave me, nothing would have knocked me off that high.
Twenty
Shovel
“They get our message?” I ask the table. All the brothers are surrounding it. The guys and I, both those who have women and don’t, enjoyed a few hours of drinking, eating, and shooting the shit.
“Fuck, yeah, they did. They sure as hell didn’t like your calling card. Apparently, they had no idea what Kyle Landers was up to. Thought after that Mack and Sara incident was over, we were fair and square. Not sure how they ever got that idea. Fuck, that shit was a clusterfuck, and just when we started thinkin’ they were stayin’ on their side of town, this gets dropped in our laps,” Razor states with venom in his tone.
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure that’s a crock of shit. It wouldn’t shock me if they weren’t behind the Kyle bullshit. Somethin’ ain’t adding up. Got that feelin’. Anyone else feeling that way? It’s too fuckin’ easy for one, and after what went down with Raven, not thinkin’ it went away like we thought it would.” I sit back in my chair, hating like hell that we’re about to do something that will hinder everyone. “That being said, as much as I want to declare lockdown over, it’s not in the cards. You know the drill. If your house is within the gates, you’re good to head home unless you want to stay in your room here. So, Razor, we’re gonna need Raven, and I know Persephone will want to get in on that. Anything else we need, we’ll figure it out.”
“I’m sure they’ll be demanding something soon enough, knowing that rat bastard, Tony.” This comes from Cannon.
“They have our number. They’ll get a hold of us.” I nod my head. My shovel did the job, and it’s something that will never touch Persephone as far as I’m concerned. It was a reminder to not only me but to the Cartel too. It may be morbid as fuck, but the apple doesn’t fall from the tree. My father’s choice of torture was nails, hammering them into different body parts. That’s why the brothers called him Nail. And from there, he created my name. It didn’t help that I’d walk around as a prospect with a shovel in my hand, doing dirty work for the club. One of the guys mouthed off one too many times, and shit came to a head. It stuck ever since.