Page 9 of Foxx
She winks. “You are. But like I said, what Aiden says goes. So tonight, you’re with us.”
“It’s a good chance for you to get to know some of the other girls. They’ll be here too,” Libby adds.
As Roz starts to leave, she stops and turns back. “And you might want to wear the dress he picked for you.”
“What happens if I don’t?” I ask, genuinely curious.
Roz and Libby share a look. “You’ve got guts, honey, I’ll give you that. Reminds me a little of myself when I was your age,” Roz notes.
“Red is just not my color,” I offer, even though it’s completely untrue.
“Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
I have to admit Roz doesn’t seem like the type of woman who would work for a man that was okay with assault on a minor. In fact, she seems like the kind of woman who would cut off a man’s dick for even thinking about it. But I won’t do what Aiden Foxx says, regardless of her warning. Following the two women out of the dressing room, I smile smugly to myself. Because I have the perfect dress at home that I’ll wear tonight just for him. I’m not letting a fucking Disciple tell me what to do. As he already reminded me, he’s not my bossyet.
Chapter 5
Aiden
“We’re not a middleman for the mob. Ramsey can suck my fucking dick,” I bite out. My threat hangs in the heavy silence around the table in our clubhouse meeting room, our church, but I don’t think twice about anyone questioning me. Everything said here is sacred, even when I casually mention that the don of the biggest Mafia in the south can get down on his knees and choke on my cock.
The mood in the room is as somber as the space itself. It has an almost medieval feel. The walls are a dark, stained wood, and an antler chandelier, made from bucks my grandfather killed, hangs low over the twenty-four-foot-long table. A table that bears only our club insignia, burned into the wood. The skull-faced, cloaked reaper on the back of a Harley.
Every single man seated around this table knows that I run a very different club than my predecessor. If betrayal of any kind ever happened on my watch, the culprit would have his throat slit before he even knew I was standing behind him.
“Tell us how you really feel, boss?” Stone, my sergeant at arms chuckles, lightening the mood.
“Aye, but it’s worth consideration for the future, no?” Archer, my uncle for all intents and purposes as well as my vice president, pipes up to my left. His accent is thick even though he came to America from Wales when he was twenty, and after many weathered years as my mentor, he’s my most trusted counsel. I lean onto my forearms at the head of the table.
“Maybe. But not now,” I say clearly. Atlanta has become like a warehouse for the Mafia that’s hounding us to work with them. “The ATF, the DEA, they’re set up around the ports like fucking summer camp. I want nothing to do with it. Money or no money. It’s too much of a risk. We’re Disciples, not street poppers.” I’m not afraid of the mob or ill prepared to work with them. I carry so many sins on my back, it may kill me if I turn around too quickly, but we only deal with other clubs. The Titans and even the Hounds have our back now. We wash for them, we get booze and guns to the dry counties. That’s how we make our money. On our own terms.
“We aren’t the mob’s little bitches.” I look around the table at Stone, my sergeant at arms, Dean and Davis, my road gunner and treasurer at the end of the table, and Raef, my enforcer. They all know I’m right.
“Every one of you motherfuckers makes enough money.” I point to them.
“We get in bed with Angus Ramsey, we never get out,” I say. They all know it’s the truth. Even still, after Raef brought it to the table, some of these guys wanted the figures we could earn. Raef was just bringing the opportunity. He has ties to a mob contact from his stint in prison, but that kind of greed will get a man killed, buried beneath the Cyprus trees wherethis crime family is known for hiding its enemies. It’s my job to protect the members and the future of this club.
“Call to add the Cyprus mob to our distribution list, all in favor?” I ask, looking to Stone at my right.
“Nay.”
Good man.
We’ve finally got a good thing going. It’s taken more than two years since the day I took over this broken, beaten, and bloody club to get it to the level it is now. It has respect again, and that respect has been hard earned. My stepbrother, Marco, drove this club straight into the fucking ground for eight years before he was gutted like the pig he was by the leader of the Hounds of Hell, Gabriel Wolfe. If Wolfe hadn’t done it, I would have.
I sit and wait while the other nays come from around the table. Even Raef looks up at me and then gives, “Nay. You know best, Prez.”
“Aye. Brenin, we trust you,” Archer adds, patting my shoulder and calling me the slang word for king in Welsh. The funny thing is, he’s called me that since I was a teen, long before I was president of this club.
I snap the gavel down and look around the table.
“I’m not saying never. I’m saying not while there’s so much heat in Atlanta. It’s the quickest way to get caught up in some sort of fucked-up RICO case, and I for one like living free on the back of my bike.”
“Hear, hear,” Raef says from his place as he lights a smoke.
“All right, enough business for today. I have to call Roz back,” I tell the table.
“Did you invite her to come tonight?” Archer asks as I stand. “Tally likes to have average-age pussy around so she doesn’t feel old.” He air quotes his words and smirks.
