Page 30 of Devils Cut

Her gaze flickered to the door, and I could tell she was unsettled. Was it because she suspected the job wasn't exactly legal, or was she worried for my safety?

"Listen," I said gruffly, "I'll be back in time for the end of your shift. We'll head home together, alright?"

She nodded, but I could see the reluctance in her posture. She still refused to get on the back of my bike - something about not trusting the damn thing. So we'd drive separately each day: me on my Harley, her in that rusted-out shitbox she called a car.

The image of my shiny new Audi A5 flashed through my mind. I'd offered it to her more times than I could count, but she always stubbornly refused.

"Seriously, Tempest, just take the damn Audi," I insisted, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "You can't keep driving that piece of shit."

She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowed. "I've told you before, Corvus. My car gets me where I need to go. It's been good to me, and I'm not giving it up.”

I muttered to myself, "Your stubbornness is going to be the death of you."

She was fiercely independent and her loyalty to that old car was unbreakable. I downed the last bit of my drink, said farewell to Amanda and Tempest, and left the bar.

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The cold wood of the president's chair was a stark reminder of the weight on my shoulders. I sat down, feeling the chill seeping through my jeans, and called church to order. "Alright, let's get this shit started."

I hated sitting in the president's seat. It felt unnatural like I was trying on someone else's skin. But it was my temporary spot till my pops were outta locked up. The old man wouldn't be happy to see me here, but he'd understand.

The dim glow of the low-hanging lights cast eerie shadows on the walls as I called the meeting to order. "Alright, boys, let's get this show on the road." My voice echoed through the room. Hammer and Trey sat to my right, Nate to my left. I leaned back in my chair, a feeling of unease settling in my gut. "How've you all been?"

"Can't complain," Hammer grunted, idly tapping his fingers against the table.

"Same here," Trey chimed in, eyes scanning the room.

"Good, good," I nodded, focusing on the task at hand. "So, first things first..."

Nate looked down at the paper in front of him. "We need to make a decision on Killer. Do we patch him in or not?"

I didn't hesitate. "I say yes."

"Same here," Hammer and Trey said in unison, their voices firm. It felt like the right decision for the club.

"Alright then," Nate agreed, a determined look in his eyes. "Organise his patch. We'll throw a party.”

"Second thing," Nate said. "The Russians got back to us."

I raised an eyebrow, waiting for the catch. There was always a catch with those guys.

"They've organised another shipment with our buyers and want to attend to see it happen," Nate explained. "They want to stand in the shadows, follow the shipment, see what goes on."

"Fuckin' babysitters," Trey muttered under his breath.

I shrugged, letting out a low sigh. "Why not? Let 'em follow it, work it out for themselves." If the Russians wanted to keep an eye on things, that was their prerogative. I didn't give a shit, as long as they stayed out of our way.

"Yep," Hammer agreed, nodding solemnly. "Once they see it's not an issue on our end, they can deal with whoever they need to without involving us." He cracked his knuckles, a subtle warning that we wouldn't tolerate any interference.

"Exactly," I thought, trying to hide my annoyance. The last thing we needed was more complications.

"Agreed," Trey piped up, a smug smile on his face. "I like the quiet little bubble we've created."

Nate's eyes narrowed as he crumpled a piece of paper into a tight ball and hurled it at Trey. "For fuck's sake, Trey," he growled. "You know better than to mention the quiet. Now something's gonna fucking happen!"

We all groaned, feeling the weight of his words. Shit, dude just invoked Murphy's Law.

"Fuck, sorry," Trey muttered, rubbing the side of his head where the paper ball had hit him. I shook my head, trying to dispel the bad omen hanging over us.

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