Chapter 30

CHAPTER

THIRTY

brEW

Church is in fucking session, even though I want nothing more than to celebrate this new milestone with my woman. I also have to make sure that I’m on the visitor’s list for the prison because even though I’ve already talked to Clink, I still want to do it in person.

Atomic’s voice breaks through the thoughts in my head as he begins to tell the rest of the club what we’ve already agreed to with the Southern Mafia head chapter. I can tell immediately that the vibe in the room shifts.

A coldness instantly fills the space.

Not everyone is excited about this, not even after he’s explained why we need this to happen.

“I thought we were done with those fuckers?” Rim growls.

Fate snorts, feeling the same way, no doubt. I can’t deny that I am in their boat. I want nothing to do with any of them, but I’m trusting Atomic’s gut on this, even though I don’t want to.

Atomic holds up his hand and then explains what they’re offering and how this is a truce that we can work with. “The last thing we need is more war, more issues. Conrad knew what he was doing. He knew that he had us by the balls, and at the same time, we had them, too.”

“Then why not wash our hands and be done?” Strings asks.

“They have contacts with the feds. We have contacts with local and state. This is the way we all stay out of prison. Clink paid the price once. We don’t want that again.”

Mentioning Clink puts a damper on the entire fucking room. The coldness vanishes, and instead, a cloud appears almost instantly. The cloud of prison. The cloud of one of our brothers being locked up for three long fucking years.

Fucking hell.

“This will make the club massively wealthy, but at the same time, it will help our other chapters. Because it won’t be our burden to carry. I really think it will be a great way to expand and help our other charters as well.”

He’s not wrong. If your club is strong, if they have wealth and are able to align with another organization, working with the contacts at the feds, hopefully, we may even, at some point, have our own.

That thought slams into me.

“Is all of this so that we get our own contacts with the feds?” I ask.

I don’t know why it just hit me, but it did. That’s what this is about. He wants his own contact with the feds and knows that this is a way in.

“I want our own contacts with every organization,” Atomic murmurs. “Every single one.”

I like the sound of that, even if it means dealing with these fucks, which I absolutely do not want to do. But at this point, we don’t have much of a choice. Atomic and the office-holding members have agreed to all of the terms, skin, trafficking, Southern Mafia or not, it’s happening.

“The first round will be our men. Five of them will accompany the truck. Then Brew will figure out what other clubs will take the next loads and the schedule.”

Great.

More work for me.

The club nods their heads, enjoying the money and protection aspect of it all, which I quite enjoy as well. But there is one part of the contract that I do not like, and they would not relent on—the woman.

“Atomic, what about the woman?” I ask.

He chuckles and adds a grunt at the end of said chuckle. “Woman?” Rim asks.

“The Southern Mafia is giving us a woman every five years. I wanted it taken off. But for whatever fucking reason, he said it was nonnegotiable.”

“We do not do skin,” Guts growls. The men begin to talk, and their volume rises as a collective immediately.

Atomic holds up his hand, his palm facing the club as he pumps it down slightly to get everyone to quiet down. They do slowly, but they don’t turn completely silent. Instead, their talking is nothing but a low roar.

“I haven’t decided on what to do with the girl. As far as I know, the trafficking that happens is consensual. When we receive the girl, whoever she may be, we’ll ask her what she wants. I don’t believe in keeping women, whores or otherwise, against their will.”

I almost laugh because I do believe in keeping my woman against her will. I’d lock her up, keep her chained to my bed if that’s what the fuck it would take to keep her with me.

Luckily, I don’t think I’ll have to do that. At least not yet. I may have to at some point when I assuredly will fuck up, and she’ll want to run away again. Because I will fuck up. I’m a man, after all.

“So, are we all in agreement that this was the best choice? I know I don’t need your answer, and to some degree, it doesn’t matter, but I do want to let it be known that if you have any moral reservations about the protection run, you are more than welcome to tell Brew, and you will not be scheduled.”

That little tidbit is new, and although it’s even more work for me, I have a feeling the rest of the brothers are greatly appreciative of his offer. Church is released, and the men stand, leaving the room, except Fate.

He sits across from me, his eyes finding mine. His gaze searches my own for a silent moment. Then he clears his throat. “I’ll go on the first round,” he states.

“Yeah?” I ask

Fate is a quiet guy. Doesn’t say too much. He is the muscle of the club when he needs to be, and he is strong inside and out. While he’s physically strong, he also has no issues telling me or anyone else when he thinks something is wrong and he won’t be participating.

He’s a good guy to have on your side, strong in body and will. So, the fact that he is volunteering to do this first run surprises me. I place my palm against the table, thrumming my fingers against the hardwood.

“Why?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Why?” Jerking my chin, I clear my throat and lean back, waiting for an answer. “I think I need a feel for the situation. I don’t agree right now, but if it’s all consensual, then I think it’s fine.”

So, there’s the truth of it. He’s unsure and needs to see it for himself. I can’t deny that now I think I might want to check it out, too. I tell him as much. It’s a great idea and the only way that I’ll feel any kind of peace about it, and I think Fate is thinking the same thing.

“I like that. I’ll go with you. Guess I better start working on a schedule. We leave in two weeks.” I stand from my seat, and the chair scrapes across the concrete floor. Jerking my chin toward Fate, I give him a smile. “Thanks for the idea. I’ll get us scheduled.”

He grins, then stands as well. He walks out of the room but only makes it a couple of steps before he stops. I almost run into his back. He whistles low, then turns his head and looks at me.

“You got problems, brother,” he says with a chuckle, then takes a step to the side.

I see what has him laughing, and it makes my entire body jerk.

Fucking shit.

SPENCER

The men file into the conference room, a place where I know I’m now allowed. It’s where they hold their church. Their meetings of great importance, at least to them they are. I still haven’t discovered what exactly they do, and I probably never will.

The prospect behind the bar offers me a drink, but I’m boring and ask for bottled water. It makes him laugh softly, but he delivers the water. As soon as it’s delivered, my phone buzzes in my back pocket.

Taking it out, I frown at the incoming notification. It’s a text from Ophelia. I didn’t even realize she was a texter, so I’m surprised to see it there. Sliding my thumb across the screen, I read the message. There are quite a few emojis that I have to suffer through to get to the actual message.

OPHELIA: (shocked emoji face) Jasmine came by looking for you. (Double red exclamation point—twice). She said she was going to find you. (Double eyes shifting to the side—twice). Just warning you. She seemed pretty P.O.-ED. (Two skulls and crossbones.)

The whole text is annoyingly cute, and I know I’m supposed to be upset about this woman, but I’m not. Not anymore. Not with Ophelia sending me the best warning ever. I don’t leave her hanging with my response, though.

I answer her immediately.

Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep an eye out. I don’t think she’d try anything here, but I hope she does. Because it might be fun to watch.

OPHELIA: I take it you aren’t upset anymore? (Double red exclamation points).

Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I send her a quick response but don’t go into detail because the woman she warned me about is indeed here. And she’s walking straight for me.

I’m still upset. I’m trying to be trusting. He ended it completely with her and asked me to move in with him. He basically told me he loved me. But I gtg. She’s here.

Jasmine moves toward me. She’s wearing much of the same as she was the other day. A short skirt that almost shows her vagina lips. This time, on top, a crop top that shows off the fact that she’s not wearing a bra by exposing her underboob.

Her hair is teased and styled out to there. Her makeup is thick and dark, and her lips match her nails. They are both cherry red. On her feet are heels so high that she almost looks like a baby giraffe when she walks.

I hear one of the clubwhores behind me snicker, and I bite the inside of my cheek because I’m about to burst out laughing at this woman. I don’t even look behind me to see which clubwhore it is. They’re all pretty nice girls, as far as I know, unlike this bitch standing in front of me, looking like she’s about to rip my hair out.

She can try, and I know it’s been a while since I had to defend myself against bitches like her, but I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again if I have to.

Although, I’m not one to fight over any man, so she’s going to have to attack me personally before I show her what I’m made of. And believe me, I will show her every inch of what I’m made of.

“You cunt,” she barks a little too loudly for as close to me as she’s standing.

I smirk, refusing to show her an ounce of my true emotions. “Usually, they call me Spencer or Clink’s sister. Not many people call me a cunt, at least not to my face,” I say coolly. I hear the same clubwhore who is sitting close behind me snort at my words.

“He’s not yours to have,” she grinds out.

Placing my hand flat on the bar, I push myself from my seat and slide off it to stand up tall. I’m not as tall as she is in her hooker heels, but I can still take her. Heels or no heels.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” I begin, “but Brew is a grown man who can choose who and what he wants,” I state. “And he isn’t choosing you.”

Jasmine’s gaze is cold, and if I felt as intimidated by her as I did the other day, the way she’s looking at me could make me feel some kind of way. But now that I know more about the situation, now that I’m seeing her, I can’t help but feel sorry for her.

It’s not just the baby thing, either. That part is sad, and I do have empathy for her. But it’s the fact she’s trying to hold on to this man and has been for ten years, and he isn’t sticking, no matter her tactics, no matter how much guilt she tries to use, or how tightly her fingers grip him.

He wants no part of her. At least that’s what he’s telling me. If he was lying to me about what he feels and the way he acts, he wouldn’t be the first man to do such a thing. But I don’t think he’s giving her false hope.

I think they’ve just been in a comfortable rut. One that she was hoping would eventually change, and it has, just not the way she wanted it to.

“He’s not yours. He’s mine. Get your skank ass out of here,” she growls.

I open my mouth to say something, although, to be honest, I’m not sure what I’m going to say. Someone else’s voice comes through from behind me, so I don’t have to say anything.

“Why don’t you get the fuck out of here, Jasmine? Nobody fucking wants you here anyway, especially not Brew,” Vixen calls out.

“Fuck you, whore,” Jasmine growls.

Vixen snorts. “I might be a clubwhore, but at least I’m not desperate. You need to leave town, start over somewhere not fucking here.”

Jasmine growls and takes a step toward me. She missteps, and her ankle rolls a little before she straightens herself. I almost laugh but decide not to make the situation worse. So, instead, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from busting out in laughter.

“I’m not the desperate one. This little cunt needs to go the fuck away,” Jasmine says, lifting her hand and pointing her finger at me.

And I’ve had enough. I really don’t care that she called me a cunt. It’s the desperate part that I take offense to. Because I was more than ready to run away and be alone for the rest of my life, but it was Evan who talked me into staying.

Leaning forward, I look directly into her eyes. “Listen, you little cunt. It’s time for you to go. I’m Brew’s old lady, you ain’t shit, and you need to turn tail and run.”

Vixen laughs behind me, but Jasmine doesn’t find me funny. Instead, she lunges for me, and we both end up on the floor. The disgusting, sticky clubhouse bar floor. This fucking bitch.