Page 60 of Devils Cut

"His mum was busy, and couldn't watch his kid today," I explain, scratching at the stubble on my chin. "He's home with the little one."

"Ah, got it," Hammer nods, understanding in his eyes. Family always comes first, even when you're part of an MC.

"Hey, Nate," I say, "You sort out that thing with your sister?"

Nate's jaw clenches, his eyes darkening. "No," he growls, frustration evident in his voice. "She won't tell any of us who the father is. And she wants to keep it."

"Shit," I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my hair. I crack a grin, trying to ease the tension in the air. "Well, Uncle Nate, do you need some help?"

Nate shoots me a dark stare, gritting his teeth. "Yeah, I wanna kill the little fucker."

We all burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the rusted metal walls surrounding us. Hammer doubles over, clutching his stomach. "You gonna give him a talking-to about the birds and bees?”

"Fuck," I say, chuckling. "I'll supply the condom and banana for you." I mime peeling it, smirking at Nate.

"Very funny, dickheads," Nate grumbled, crossing his arms. The sound of an approaching car cuts our laughter short. We look up as the black car rolls in, dust billowing behind it.

"Showtime," I mutter under my breath, watching Mr. Pavlov step out of the vehicle. My heart races, adrenaline pumping through my veins. He walks toward me with purpose, his tailored suit crisp despite the dirt road. I stand tall, shoulders back, ready for whatever he's got.

"Thanks for meeting with me," he says, extending a hand. I grip it firmly, feeling the weight of this moment. Shit's about to change – one way or another.

"Hope your issues are resolved now?" I ask, not giving an inch. Can't afford to seem weak in front of this guy.

"Oh, yes. All dealt with," he replies, a sinister edge to his voice that sends shivers down my spine. Something tells me "dealt with" ain't all sunshine and rainbows.

"Good." My fingers itch for the comfort of my gun, but I keep my hands steady, betraying nothing.

"Listen," Mr. Pavlov says, leaning in close. "I'd like to deal directly with you in the future. I can have my men meet you here once a month for shipments, twice the usual amount, and I'll pay you directly."

My mind races, calculating the risks and rewards of this new arrangement. But there's no denying the appeal of cutting out the middleman and keeping more cash in our pockets.

A sly grin creeps across Mr. Pavlov's face, and I can't help but match it with my own. "Deal," I say, shaking his hand firmly. "When d'you want the first shipment?"

"Two weeks from now," he replies, his accent thick and heavy.

"Got it." I dip my chin in acknowledgment as he turns to leave, climbing into his sleek black car. The engine roars to life, and he speeds away, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

"Fuckin' hell," I mutter under my breath, watching the car disappear down the dirt road. Turning to Hammer and Nate, I'm met with their mixed expressions – relief, scepticism, and just a hint of fear. "Well, that worked out in our favour."

"Let's hope your pops ain't too mad about it," Hammer says, shrugging his broad shoulders. He's right to be worried; my old man doesn't take kindly to change, especially when it comes to business.

"Let me deal with him," I reply, my voice tight with determination. Pops may be a stubborn son of a bitch, but I've learned a thing or two about handling him over the years.

"Whatever you say, VP," Nate chimes in, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, cutting through the air like a knife. I glance down at the screen and see Killer's name flashing. What the fuck does he want?

"Killer," I answer, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Corvus... shit, man..." Killer groans into the phone, his voice weak and strained.

"Killer? What's going on?" I ask, my heart pounding in my chest. This ain't right. Something's fucked up.

"Been shot," he gasps, "laying... front door of the house."

"Fuck!" My mind races as I try to process the information.

“There is a man in the house looking for someone named Louise, he still has his gun,” Killer's voice shakes through the phone, each word strained and panicked. My heart drops to my stomach like a lead weight.

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