Page 40 of Monk

I took another drink, letting the whiskey burn through me. “What’s the catch?”

Whisper’s mouth twitched. “No catch. Benedict’s a straight shooter. Old school. Runs his club tight, no bullshit. He’s not interested in games or power plays. Just business.”

“You trust him?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.

Whisper met my gaze, unflinching. “Yeah. I do. Met him through a contact in Tulsa. He’s been running guns for fifteen years, never had a shipment intercepted, never lost product. His word’s solid.”

That was good enough for most of the table, but I wasn’t most of the table.

“Amarillo’s close,” I said, my jaw tightening. “Too close. We start doing business that close to home, and it’s only a matter of time before someone notices. Feds. Rivals. Whoever.”

Kansas nodded slowly, considering. “It’s a risk,” he admitted. “But we need the connections. We’ve been operating on scraps since we cut ties with the Federation. This could give us leverage.”

“Or it could blow up in our faces,” I countered.

Blackjack leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “Everything’s a risk, Monk. You know that. Question is whether the reward’s worth it.”

“What’s the meet look like?” I asked Whisper.

“Neutral ground,” Whisper said. “There’s a warehouse outside Amarillo. An abandoned meatpacking plant. Benedict uses it for deals. He’ll bring three of his guys, and we bring three of ours. We inspect the product, negotiate final terms, and shake hands. If we like what we see, we take delivery of the first shipment and set up a regular schedule.”

“How regular?” Kansas asked.

“Monthly,” Whisper said. “Maybe bi-weekly if demand picks up. He’s flexible.”

I stared down at my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light.

Lina’s face flashed through my mind. Her eyes wide with shock, her mouth forming my name. The kid’s voice.“Momma.”

I clenched my jaw, forcing the images away.

“Monk.” Kansas’ voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding.

I looked up.

“You with us?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.

I nodded once. “Yeah. I’m with you.”

Kansas held my gaze for a long moment, then turned back to Whisper. “Set it up. We’ll ride out in a few weeks. Keep it small. Just the officers and a few enforcers. No need to draw attention.”

Whisper nodded. “I’ll reach out to Benedict tomorrow. Confirm the details.”

“Good,” Kansas said, lifting his bottle again. “Then it’s settled.”

The conversation shifted after that, talk of routes, timing, who would ride point. Blackjack suggested taking Highway 287 straight through, avoiding the interstate. Whisper mentioned amotel outside Amarillo where we could crash if the meet ran late. Kansas wanted Judd, Shadow and Trigger riding with us for extra muscle.

I listened with half an ear, my mind drifting despite my best efforts to stay present as Ruby’s hand slid higher up my thigh, her fingers brushing dangerously close to my cock. She leaned in again, her lips grazing my jaw. “You done talking business?” she whispered, her voice dripping with suggestion. “Your ol’ lady needs some attention.”

I drained the rest of my whiskey and set the glass down hard enough to make the bar rattle.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice rough. “I’m done.” I stood, pulling Ruby up with me. She giggled, stumbling slightly, and I caught her around the waist, my hand sliding down to grab her ass possessively.

She gasped, her eyes lighting up with anticipation. “Mmm, that’s what I’m talking about. Show these bitches who you belong to.”

I didn’t belong to her. Didn’t belong to anyone, but I let her think whatever the fuck she wanted.

Kansas glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “We good?”