Page 15 of Royal's Reign
I’m not saying it’s all bad, because sometimes when we’re all sitting around in the bar, including some of my brothers, and Grinder, it can be fun. She’s more her natural self, not playing the temptress, and the conversation flows. The way hereyes light up when she laughs, the dimples that pop up in her cheeks when she smiles, so fucking cute. It’s times like that I want to grab hold of her face and kiss her sweetly. Damn, she’s so fucking pretty.
Yup! I need a plan of how we can get her back to work and still keep her safe, so I can keep some of my sanity.
The Saint’s Outlaws have a standing in this city. One that is not to be fucked with but also respected by many. Especially the companies that we both support and protect. Of course, our services aren’t free, but they are not always paid for in cash. Favors in return are a common commodity.
The club is low on numbers, and business is becoming more demanding and in need of extra bodies on runs, securing the compound and working the Saint’s Outlaws garage, our only business that’s actually on the straight and narrow. So, getting Giorgia back to work with the right security on site twenty-four seven, it’s just a logistical nightmare, but it would normally be a costly one too. Money that, although we’re not struggling, we don’t really have to spare. However, I have a way of getting around it, at least in the short term.
I mount my matte black Harley; the chrome gleaming in the afternoon sun. Grinder and Hammer are seconds behind me as we fire up our rides and head out.
As we make our way into the city, the distinctive rumble of our motorcycles gains us a lot of attention.Some choose to ignore our existence, keeping their heads down and picking up the speed of their steps. Others, the ones who, although still fear us in many ways, also respect the fact that despite being outlaws, we do install a certain amount of lawful control within the area.
One that the cops struggle to implement, or don’t want to get involved with.
That’s where the Saint’s come into their own. The cops turn a blind eye to our unconventional ways of taking out the trash that prowls in the shadows of our city.
We don’t deal drugs. Sure, we haul them, along with guns and cheap liquor, but we also make sure that there’s an element of control on our turf. They don’t get into the wrong hands, and no one is putting them into the hands of kids or the vulnerable. Double standards? Sure, but fuck it would be a much darker substance riddled and violent city if we didn’t do our own kinda policing, that’s for sure.
We make a quick pit-stop to see Dirk Wendle at Wendle’s Security. He’s a good man, on the level most of the time, but when one of his guys, Manny had gotten into a bit of bother, going in a little too hard when removing some lowlife from one of clubs on the outskirts of town, it had been us he’d come to for help. The perpetrator had first verbally and then sexually assaulted one of the female bar staff when she’d gone on a break, cornering her outside the staff room. He’d overpowered her by punching her in theface until she was barely conscious, then had forced his hand up her skirt and into her underwear. Manny, on his way to the John to take a piss, had caught him in the act. God only knows how far the bastard would have gotten if he hadn’t. Manny had flown into one hell of a rage and used his fists to get justice on behalf of what we found out later was who he had just started dating. Manny was an ex-Marine. A man trained to kill or be killed. Let’s just say that Dirk was in need of a disposal and cleanup team. Both of which were on the Saint’s Outlaws list of negotiable services. No money ever exchanged hands for what we did, but Dirk still had an open, unpaid tab and was about to pay up in the way of favors.
Thirty minutes later we’re walking back out of the Wendle’s security office, the two men following us, as it happens, Manny himself, and another of Dirk’s employee’s Frank. They climb into a black unmarked company SUV and follow us to our next destination.
The office block that holds Trace Globe International Commerce, TGIC for short, is one hell of an impressive building.
The chrome, mirror glass and twenty-plus floors scream multimillion-dollar company. If you Google them, you get the public face of a respectful, high-standing business, dealing with a portfolio of company alliances that would make Jeff Bezos weep.
Yet, if you dig a little deeper. If you have a talented hacker as we do with Forger, and access to the darkweb, then you’ll find the real deal behind this company’s dealings.
I guess they’re not that different from us.
On the legitimate side, we have the garage; they have a multitude of kosher trade lanes. With the not-so-legit stuff, we have the drug and gun trafficking, which is small fry compared to TGIC.
They have links to a totally different kind of traffic. Sexual exploitation, forced labor, forced marriages, even child soldiers. The pretty picture shows them selling designer garments, hi-tech medical equipment, but what also goes on behind the dark veil of evil is the trading in organs, live humans for hunting, and for those sick bastards that get a kick out of torturing and dismembering people, while listening to their screams of pain and humiliation.
Not that I’m totally opposed to the act of torture, but only when it’s warranted and truly deserved. Not for some sick bastard to get his dick hard all in the name of entertainment.
If Giorgia had the slightest inkling of what was hiding behind this glossy tower and pristine business attire, she would freak out. For now, I’m keeping that tidbit under wraps, at least until both her brother and I can quietly persuade her to make better choices in her working life.
I instruct Grinder to wait outside, taking Hammer, Manny and Frank with me when I enter the building.
Considering that they have such a shady background, dealing with several nefarious modern-daygangsters and cartels who are known for being sensitive souls, that easy take offense to the slightest thing and hit back without asking questions first, there’s zero security front of house in this building. Possibly because of this place being one of the few legitimate fronts, it only offers a reception manned by two chicks with fake tits, in silk shirts, tight-ass skirts and five-inch heels. At least they have matching blonde weaves and bubble-pink glossy lips, although all a bit plastic looking for me. I prefer a natural look. Like Gio.
Fuck!
I stifle a snigger when I catch the expression of horror on their faces as we walk towards the tall reception desk. The two suited guys behind me might look the part, but me in my leather cut, well-worn jeans and biker boots is not what they are used to seeing turn up in this marble-floored, ostentatious chandeliered space.
“Ladies,” I greet them, resting my thick tattooed arms across the countertop. “I’m here to speak to your security manager.”
“Security… umm. Sorry?” The slightly smaller of the two wannabe lookalikes stutters.
“Excuse me,” the other interrupts with a forced smile, showing glaringly white teeth. Of the two, she’s definitely the more confident, least affected by us being here. “We don’t have anyone with that title, sir.”
“Okay. Let me make it easier for you.” I lean a little further over the counter. I spot a knife-shaped letter opener lying on the desk at the side of a stack of mail.Reaching out, I snap it up. I balance it between my inked fingers, flicking it around like it’s a weapon and not just a piece of office equipment. “Say I’d burst in here, wielding a knife, scaring the shit out of you,” I twiddle the letter opener some more to add credence to my storytelling. “Whose number would you be dialling?”
“The cops,” the taller one blurts out cockily, yet her eyes follow every movement of the knife, giving away her fear.
“Darlin’, you see my colors. You know who I am,” I tap a finger to the patches on my right pec. “You can be sure as fuck that the cops won’t be of any use to you when we’re around. Now think again. Who would it be?”
“If we have any problems, we ring the Site Manager,” small fry gives up. She’s shaking with fear and no doubt wanting this over with before she has a total breakdown.
