Page 20 of Desert King

“I can’t. I’ve tried.”

“Have you?” I shrug off her touch. She sighs. “They’re all waiting inside for you to make the vote.”

My brow lifts. “If you had a seat at the table, what would yours be?”

She shrugs. “I see both sides.”

“Me, too.”

“You’ll do the right thing, Tarak. You always do. Even when the right thing is the wrong thing.”

“Thanks, for the vote of confidence, sis.”

“Anytime.”

“You didn’t cause any trouble when I was gone, did ya’?”

“Not as much as you did.”

“He had it coming.”

“So, you decided to waltz down to the Triple XXX and just walk in?”

“I was in the mood for some tits and ass,” I shrug, grinning like a mother fucker.

“Oh yeah? Did you get any?” The memory of how that girl stood before me in her dirty jeans and thin T-shirt runs through my head. Her eyes returned fire. Her tiny fists were balled. She was beautiful in that moment. Her defiance stirred my blood. She also stirred Edge’s. Her little-bitty tits and no ass didn’t matter. All that mattered in that moment when she baited me was making her beg for my touch.

I force my lips into a wry grin. “Of course, I did.”

“Slut.”

Shrugging, I bend down to kiss her cheek, then head into the clubhouse. My men dip their heads as I walk past. “It’s time for church!” I call out, round the corner and push the heavy double oak doors leading to the inner sanctum open.

Two dozen eyes question me as I enter the room. Taking my seat at the head of the table, I pick up the oak gavel, slamming it down.

“Today’s vote will be on the harvesting and distribution of antibody plasma on the black market. All those in favor say ‘aye’.”

No one speaks.

“Fine. I’ll vote first. Aye.” Brows lift. I grin like a mother-fo. “What? You didn’t think this Apache had the balls for it? Either it’s us or the Scorpions.” One by one, my men follow my vote for aye. I slam the gavel down. “It’s done. I’ll call the rest of the chapters and report our vote. The entire MC has to decide. But the New Mexico Chapter is in.”

Slamming my chair back, I head to my office shutting the door. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I wonder what in the heck I just got the Club into. Hell. I hate taking shit from survivors. They earned their right to live but the world is still a hard and bitter place sometimes. I’m the best bad guy out there. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Sinking down in my chair, I open my desk draw choosing a new burner. The MC runs just about everything in this part of the state and it burns the ass of some up and coming federal agent, Kinkaid. The man has a friggin’ hard-on for me. My phones are tapped, drones fly overhead. Last time one came close, I took out my rifle, shooting it down. If Kinkaid knew the call I just made, he’d have my ass in a federal prison past eternity.

I decide to call New Orleans first. Then New York. I’m still pissed at F.O.C.U.S. for that stunt at the Triple XXX. He has some crazy ass idea that he could triple profits by circulating women from different clubs. He thinks men get tired of staring at the same pair of tits on a stage and thought by having women do two-week stints, rotating them around strip joints would keep the customers coming and spending more. The Club spread us a bit thin these past few years, giving more than taking and keeping our people fed and their bills paid. Now we need to replenish our cash reserves. Plasma and pussy are better than ways the other MC’s make cash. At least that’s how I’m living with my choices.

“Jameson.”

“Tarak.”

“We just took the vote. We’re in.” He breathes hard through the phone.

“It’s an ugly business.”

“You still have your contacts in Hong Kong?”

“I do. Bastards.”

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