Page 39 of Monk
“You gonna take care of me tonight, Monk?” she purred, pressing herself against my side.
I didn’t answer. Just kept walking.
Ruby was... convenient. That was all she was. All any of them were. She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t expect anything beyond a good fuck and maybe a drink or two. She didn’t look at me like I was supposed to be something more than what I was.
She wasn’ther.
I shoved that thought down hard, burying it beneath the noise and the alcohol and the press of bodies around me.
Don’t think about her.
Don’t think about the way she looked at you in that barn.
Don’t think about the kid.
I reached the bar and pulled out a stool, dropping onto it heavily. Ruby slid onto the stool beside me, her hand immediately finding my thigh, her fingers tracing lazy circles through the denim.
Kansas was already there, leaning against the bar with a bottle of Jack in one hand. Blackjack sat to his right, nursing a beer, his expression unreadable. Whisper stood on the other side, arms crossed, his gaze scanning the room like he was cataloging every face, every movement.
Always watching. Always calculating.
“Monk,” Kansas greeted, lifting his bottle in acknowledgment.
I nodded back, signaling the prospect behind the bar for a whiskey. He poured it quickly, sliding the glass across the scarred wood, and I downed it in one swallow, the burn doing nothing to dull the edges. “Another,” I said, pushing the glass back.
The prospect refilled it without a word as Ruby leaned into me, her breath warm against my neck. “You’re tense,” she murmured, her lips brushing my ear. Her hand slid possessively up my thigh, fingers digging in like she had a right to touch me. “Want me to help you relax, baby?” She pressed closer, her titspushing against my arm, and I felt her other hand slide around my waist, claiming territory. “Now that you’re VP,” she purred loud enough for the brothers nearby to hear, “I should be taking better care of you. An ol’ lady’s job, right?”
I stiffened.Ol’ lady. The words grated like nails on a chalkboard. She wasn’t my ol’ lady. Would never be my ol’ lady. But I didn’t correct her. Didn’t push her away. Just let her cling to me like a fucking barnacle while I focused on Kansas.
“We doing this or what?” I asked, my voice flat.
Kansas’ eyes flicked to Ruby, then back to me. He didn’t say anything, but I saw the question there.You good?
I wasn’t, but that didn’t matter.
“Yeah,” Kansas said finally, straightening. “Whisper’s got an update on the Amarillo run.”
I turned to Whisper, who uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the bar.
“Met with Benedict last week,” Whisper said, his voice low enough that only we could hear over the music. “President of Wild MC. They’re based just outside Amarillo. Specialize in weapons, handguns, rifles, some heavier shit if the price is right.”
“And?” Blackjack prompted, setting his beer down.
“And he’s willing to sit down and talk logistics,” Whisper continued. “They’ve got connections we don’t. Clean supply lines. No heat. They move product fast and quiet.”
Ruby’s fingers traced higher, her nails scraping lightly through the denim. I grabbed her wrist without looking at her, stilling her hand.
“What kind of inventory are we talking?” I asked Whisper.
“Glocks, Sigs, AR-15s, AKs,” Whisper said. “He’s got access to suppressors, extended mags, armor-piercing rounds. Says he can get us anything we need within seventy-two hours. No serial numbers. No paper trail.”
Kansas leaned forward, interested. “What’s his pricing structure?”
“Competitive,” Whisper replied. “Handguns run about four hundred a piece. Rifles, eight to twelve hundred, depending on the model. Bulk orders get a discount. Ten percent off orders over fifty units, fifteen percent over a hundred.”
Blackjack whistled low. “That’s better than what we were getting from the Federation.”
“Yeah,” Whisper agreed. “And Benedict’s willing to front us the first shipment on credit. Wants to build trust. We pay him back within thirty days, no interest. After that, it’s cash up front.”
