Page 23 of Property of Tacoma
“Appreciate it,” Chief says, seemingly satisfied with my response. “Now, business. Kermit will be blowing through soon.”
I nod, understanding the code. Kermit means primo grade-A green that’s guaranteed to make all your problems disappear—high-quality weed from the Saints’ connections in Cuba. And “blowing through” means there’s a shipment of blow coming too.
Like the Kings, the Saints have charters all over the US. We facilitate the safe passage of the Saints’ product across the southern states, while they help move our guns through their territories. It’s a new business arrangement, but so far it’s been beneficial for both our clubs.
“Understood,” I reply. “When?”
“Next week. I’ll send the details through the usual channels.”
“We’ll be ready.”
We say our farewells, and once I end the call, Bash starts laughing.
“You’re so fucked,” he says, shaking his head.
I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He snorts. “You all but peed on her leg when you brought her in.”
I avoid his laughing eyes, but I know he’s right. I’ve been picturing her naked since the moment she tossed Bane in the dirt.
Before I can respond, there’s a soft knock at the door, and Foxy pokes her head in. Her blonde hair has been rearranged into a messy bun on top of her head, and there’s a smudge of something on her cheek that I have a sudden urge to wipe away.
“I’m done cleaning the room,” she announces. “He’s cleaned, bleached, and wrapped. My guys, Benny and Bobby, will be here in a few minutes to collect his body.”
No sooner are the words out of her mouth than there’s a knock at the back door, and her lips tip up. “That’d be them.”
“That was fast,” Gator mutters, standing up.
I get out of my chair and lumber out of the office toward the back entrance. Peering through the peephole, I see two big dudes dressed in all black standing outside.
“This them?” I ask over my shoulder.
Foxy squeezes in front of me to look, her body brushing against mine in the narrow hallway. The contact has my cock thickening behind my zipper.
She lifts onto her toes, and I catch a whiff of something sweet that reminds me of summer and peaches.
Delicious.
I decide it’s my new favorite scent.
“Yeah, that’s them,” she confirms, stepping back.
Unlocking the door, I pull it open and motion them in. Holy shit. These dudes are fucking BIG.
“This way, guys,” Foxy says, thumbing over her shoulder. When she turns, heading back to the VIP room, they follow behind her obediently.
I follow too, and am surprised how spotless the room is. There’s no trace of the horror that was here just hours ago. The wall has been cleaned of Camden’s blood, the message magically erased, and his body is wrapped tightly in industrial-grade plastic.
Benny and Bobby grab an end of the package and lift it effortlessly from the floor. Gator hurries ahead to hold the back door open for them as they carry their burden out. Outside, a nondescript white Econoline van is parked in the alley.
“Where are they taking him?” Gator asks as one of the men—Benny or Bobby, I can’t tell which—slams the van door shut.
“Somewhere he’ll never be found,” Foxy says cryptically before stepping forward to hug both men.
I grit my teeth.
It’s irrational. I don’t even know this woman. But seeing her put her hands on another man makes me want to end their miserable lives.
