Page 64 of Filthy Savage

Five-year commitment with four five-year options to extend.

One cargo merchandise to be given to the club, their choice, per five-year contract.

*The Dark Horse MC will not have anything to do with cargo as far as picking up, procuring, or speaking with the contents of trucks.

My eyes widen at the sixth item. Lifting my head, I blink as I look up at Atomic. “Does this mean they’re giving us a girl once every five years?” I ask. I also try to ignore the fact that nowhere in this verbiage are any of these actually women.

He hums. “One of the items I wish to discuss with him. When I said we are not dealing with skin, I fucking meant it.”

I almost laugh because this is as far on the edge of dealing with skin without going over as a person can be. King coughs, likely feeling the exact same way as I am right now.

“Brother,” I snort. “This is dealing with skin. The technicalities are there, but at the end of the day, that’s what it is.”

Atomic nods a couple of times, then runs his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends, before he clears his throat and begins to speak. It honestly sounds like he’s talking in circles and trying to convince us and himself that this is the right move.

“This could be lucrative for us, seriously fucking lucrative. It’s protection without having to loan any money or shake down any businesses, not that we would. We’ve got added expenses with Sal’s Bar. Income is going to be coming in from that, and it’s legit.”

“Yeah, and this is not legit, not at all,” I point out. “Are we working toward being legit or not?”

King chuckles, and Atomic looks like he’s going to explode. I don’t give a fuck, though. Yeah, he’s my president, but he’s also my brother. I’m always going to hold the fucker accountable for everything.

“We’ll never be legit. It’s nice to have some things in our portfolio that are, and we need to continue to be diversified. This is something that we can deliver and bring other clubs in on. Itdoesn’t have to be five of our men every single trip. We can take turns. I think it would be good in general. But I’m going to be asking for more money and no girl.”

“Fifty grand for what would probably be just a week’s worth of work ain’t a bad deal, and if we do it on a round-robin type thing, it could work,” King murmurs. “I don’t hate this.”

“Some of the guys are going to hate that it’s the Southern Mafia and the women are being trafficked,” I point out the obvious.

Atomic crosses his arms over his chest, tipping his chin slightly. “I get that. Trust me, I do. But this keeps those guys from fucking with us and fucking us. It keeps them from forming a new club close to home, and it enables us to have a pulse on what they’re doing a little more than being completely fucking blindsided again.”

I don’t hate any of that. I don’t. But I do hate the fact that we’re even going to be involved with these assholes. “I guess I agree,” I say. “Though I do have to say it’s under protest.”

“Same,” King grunts.

“We’ll get in, and then we’ll take control of this the way we need to take control,” Atomic says, his lips twitching into a smirk.

That is it. The decision has been made, and there is nothing else to do. We spend the rest of the evening drinking, and then we head back to our rooms. Tomorrow, we’ll have the meeting, and then we go home.

As much as I want to just tell them all to fuck off, Atomic is right. This is the best decision for the club, as much as we all dislike it. It’s better than our hands being forced to do something we really disagree with, and he’s right. This gives us an in that I think we’re going to need—even though I fucking hate it.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

SPENCER

The motel isa comfort that I knew I needed.

Ophelia was at the counter, her shrewd gaze on me when we arrived yesterday. As soon as Gnaw walked away and Rim was set up at the front door, I locked myself inside, showered, and climbed into bed.

It didn’t take me long to fall asleep, mainly because I was crying. I should have bought myself a bottle of wine and drank myself to sleep. Crying until I passed out seems like an amateur move.

But I did it, and my eyes are scratchy and dry to prove it. I’m sure when I look in the mirror, I’ll regret the whole evening and my stupid feelings. Inhaling a deep breath, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and force myself to stand.