Page 54 of Graveyards & Greed

He shrugged. “Being prepared is better than being lucky. Unless we’re talking about sex. Then a blow job will do just fine if you don’t have a condom.”

“God, you’re such a pig sometimes,” I griped, shoving his shoulder. He grinned and shoved me back.

Sin City Disaster worked all morning to clean up the mess, and they loaded up the last of the burned, skeletal motorcycle remains onto a flatbed trailer. If the MC were aiming to intimidate us, their plan backfired spectacularly.

A man in a bright yellow Sin City Disaster shirt approached me. “Are you sure that’s where you want these delivered to?” he asked again, thumbing toward the charred bikes.

“Yes, and don’t worry. They'll be expecting you. Call me if you have any problems, though.” I handed him a hundred-dollar bill as hazard pay.

He took it with a nod but rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay. We’ll be back to pick up the air purifiers later.”

“It looks like a scene out ofMad Max,” Callum nodded toward the flatbed as it pulled away. That was the whole idea. A little mental intimidation and humiliation, straight out of Machiavelli’s playbook. The cousins didn’t know, but I’d also called in an anonymous tip to a local TV station about the charred bikes being delivered that morning. I wasn’t above rubbing a little salt into their wounds.

Callum and Kilian took off, and the rest of us headed to Ezra’s office. Ezra’s face was grim. “Both of you need to keep your tempers in check and let the MC president do most of the talking. We’ll get more information that way.”

I nodded. “Ivan will be listening in. He should be able to tell us what they say afterward.”

A few minutes later, Billy Grolier, president of OutKast MC, answered after three rings. He had a gravelly, low voice and I pictured him stroking his long, gray-streaked beard as he sat in his grungy clubhouse. “Hello, Ezra. I wish we were talkin’ under better circumstances.”

“Good morning, Billy. So do I.” There was a bite in Ezra’s tone.

“This wasn’t sanctioned. You know LeBaron has a beef with y’all about his missing son, but this wasn’t an official act.”

My eyes narrowed dangerously, but Ezra put up a hand and continued. “Terrance LeBaron’s son, who is an official member of your MC, attacked and raped a fifteen-year-old girl who’s affiliated with the House of Spades. It was unprovoked, and he wore his cut when he attacked her. Then Terrance LeBaron and another one of your men came to the Palm Desert Oasis andassaulted my granddaughter.”

Ezra breathed through his nose a few times, trying to calm himself down. Maybe we should’ve toldhimto mind his temper. “So do you think it matters whether the attack was sanctioned or not?”

Billy grunted. “Ezra, we go way back. You buried my first wife, and we’ve been on friendly terms for years. But your granddaughter also blew up three of our motorcycles and shot one of our men. The other took shrapnel to his face, and those two are in jail on first-degree felony arson charges.”

“That’s fortunate.” Ice filled Ezra’s cultured voice.

A long, awkward silence ensued. “What do you mean?” Grolier asked carefully.

“It’s fortunate they’re still alive because if any of her cousins would have been here, your men would be dead instead of just facing felony arson charges. You attacked my place of business and my granddaughter’s home.”

“We’re taking disciplinary actions. It won't happen again,” Billy replied, though his tone didn't inspire much confidence.

I leaned forward, tired of his weak assurances. “Hello, Billy. This is Sylvie Spade. Fennick is here with us. Your men have been sniffing around the mortuary and the dispensaries in Henderson and Summerlin for months now.” My tone was as sharp as a scalpel. “Consider this your final warning. You put a leash on your members, or we'll do it for you.”

Ezra shot me a look, but his lip twitched. Fenn leaned back against the wall, arms folded. I was surprised he hadn’t cut in yet.

“Listen, little girl. Bitches shouldn’t be involved in club business. You need to butt out and shut the fuck up.”

Here was the old-school, asshole, misogynistic MC president I remembered. “Then lucky for me, this isn’t club business. But it sure as fuck is House of Spade’s business. A delivery is arriving at your compound about…” I checked the time on my phone. “Now. It’s club property, so don’t give the delivery person any grief.”

I heard him tell someone to go look for it. “If you hurt any more of my men, things are going to escalate, and no one wants that.”

Fenn peeled off the wall and leaned over Ezra’s cell phone. “Hello, Grolier, this is Fennick.”

I heard someone sigh in the background on the other end of the phone.

Fenn smirked and continued. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Idowant things to escalate. Because you either know what’s going on, or you’re so incompetent you don’t know what the fuck is happening with your own motorcycle club under your own goddamned nose. So which is it?”

Billy growled into the phone. “Watch it, boy. I respect your grandfather and uncles, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I take any lip from you.” Then we heard a commotion on his end. “What the fuck do you mean?” I heard him ask someone. Then his breath got a little labored like he was walking somewhere. “What the fuck is this?” he yelled. “Fennick, what in God’s name did you send me? And there’s a TV crew out there! Fuck! Get them out of here.”

I grinned, even though he couldn’t see me. “It wasn’t Fennick, William. It was me—the bitchy little girl—who sent those back to you. And do you know who blew them up? Also me. Before you get too butthurt, just remember I could have targeted your men instead.”

Billy growled. “You’re kickin’ a hornet’s nest, girl. You keep stirring my men up, and I might not be able to stop them.”

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