Page 8 of Chief's Addiction

Morpheus raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure about this? Sure you want to take it that far?”

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the desk. “We’re done playing games, Morph. They came into our territory, fucked with businesses under our protection, shot up our fucking clubhouse, spilled our blood. We gave them a chance to back off, and they spit in our fucking faces. Do you seriously think they’re going to stop?”

My VP studied me for a long beat, then slowly nodded his head. “No. I don’t. I’ll make sure everyone knows the plan.”

“Good.” I took another drag of my cigarette the snuffed it out in the ashtray. “Anything else?”

Before he could reply, Merideth Brooks started screaming from inside my front pocket about being a bitch and a lover, a child and a mother. “I told her to get that shit off of my phone,” I growled. Yanking my phone out of my pocket, I narrowed my eyes at my sisters name lit up on the screen.

Chuckling and shaking his head, Morpheus rose from his chair. “I’ll let you take that. See you in Church.”

I nodded as he slipped out, then pressed the button to answer. “Where are you?”

Foxy’s laugh echoed through the line. “Working.”

“That’s not an answer, sis,” I sighed. “We’re about to go to war with the Talons, and you pick now to disappear?”

“Relax, big brother. I’m just—” Her voice cut in and out. “—a few days?—”

“Foxy? Where the fuck are you?” The shithead made noises into the receiver. “Cali Sosa, don’t fuck with me!”

“Sorry, you’re cutting out,” she said, though we both knew the so-called bad connection was bullshit. “I’ll call?—”

And then the line went dead.

“Goddammit.” I slammed the device down on my desk.

My sister was a pain in the goddamn ass. And she had the worst fucking timing.

Climbing out of my chair, I moved to the small bathroom attached to my office. I stared at myself in the mirror, hardly recognized the man looking back at me. The lines around my eyes had deepened. The flecks of gray at my temples had multiplied. I was forty-six years old, and feeling every fucking one of those years.

Quit being a pussy, asshole.

Music from the main room rattled the mirror on the wall, reminding me to get my ass in gear. It was a Friday night and when I made it to the common room the usual suspects were there.

Rage and Killer were throwing darts. Dread, Havoc, and Reign were kicked back at a table in the corner. Lid and Cueball were huddled at the end of the bar, bullshitting about who knew what. And right smack dab in the middle of it all was my grandfather sitting at the bar, flirting with Bubbles.

My lips turned up. The filthy bastard had no qualms chasing broads half his age.

And as much as it made my stomach turn to think about it; at seventy, the old man still had a lot of fucking game.

Bubbles giggled at whatever he was saying, her big tits practically spilling onto the bar as she leaned forward.

“She’s a feisty one, Pops” I said, sliding onto the stool beside him. “Try not to break a hip.”

Shade laughed. “When you get to my age, mijo, you look forward to the challenge.” He tossed back the dark liquid in his glass. “Besides, she likes my stories.”

“That’s because she doesn’t know which parts are bullshit,” I said, motioning for Bubbles to fix me a drink.

She poured me two fingers of whiskey, neat. “Your favorite.”

I shot her a wink as I took a sip, then cut to the chase. “Foxy’s left town. You know anything about that?”

My grandfather’s expression remained neutral, but something flickered in his eyes. “Your sister comes and goes as she pleases. She always has.”

I arched a brow. That wasn’t evasive at all. What the fuck was he hiding? “That’s not what I asked.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “If she wanted you to know where she was going, she would have told you herself.”

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