Page 63 of Riding Hard

“I’m the president of the Boulder City chapter of the Iron Flame MC,” he states.

Rustik sits forward slightly again, cutting another piece of meat from his steak. He stabs it with his fork, then slips it between his lips. I watch as he chews slowly, no doubt to buy him some time, to think about what we’re going to ask from them.

“What do you want from me?” Rustik asks.

Hound opens his mouth to speak, but Rustik holds up his hand, the one holding the knife. Hound snaps his lips shut. This is nothing like what we’re used to. We have always been the ones in charge, and it feels wrong to let anyone else have control.

“I want to hear from your president,” Rustik states.

Dare is as focused on Rustik as Rustik is on him, though for different reasons, I’m sure. I watch for a moment, waiting for the meeting to keep moving forward. I am so fucking ready to be done here and go home.

“We need your contacts for our business.”

“Business?” Rustik interrupts.

Dare quickly explains what we do for money. I have no doubt whatsoever that he knows exactly what we do. I can tell he’s shrewd. He knows what everyone does within a hundred miles of his operation, plus he knows what our club does in Prescott, so I find it hard to believe he doesn’t realize we do the same damn thing.

“Your counterparts didn’t want to work with us, and yet you’re here. You want us to give you contacts. And you’re willing to run our product for us?”

“That’s the long and short of it,” Dare replies.

Rustik jerks his chin toward the man at the other end of the table, one of his advisers. I’m not sure which one he is. We were introduced to them, but I can’t remember a fucking thing. I think of them as Gold Rolex or Silver Rolex.

So this is Silver Rolex.

“Thoughts?” Rustik asks his man.

Silver Rolex clears his throat. His gaze flicks back and forth between Dare and Rustik, then stays on Rustik. “It’s what we wanted. We wanted to be taken out of transporting. This takes us out. We have contacts they could use, for a fee.”

“What kind of fee?” I ask.

I speak out of turn, I know I do, and I wish I could stuff the words back into my mouth the moment they tumble out. My focus swings back to Rustik. I start to apologize for speaking out of turn and then decide, fuck that. I don’t want to apologize for shit.

“A five percent finder’s fee of whatever payout you get.”

Five percent doesn’t sound like a hell of a lot, except we’re talking big numbers here, and if our payout is a million dollars, five percent is fifty grand. So that’s a lot of money just to give someone our number.

I don’t say that, though.

I’ve already said e-fucking-nough.

“Two percent,” Dare counters.

Rustik chuckles. “Five, but I like that you want to barter. This isn’t something I’m willing to barter on. But I won’t make you do our transports, either.”

“No?” Dare asks.

Rustik leans forward, placing his silverware on his plate, then he clears his throat. “No,” he confirms. “It isn’t the right fit. I’m not sure what the right fit is yet. I have some ideas, but it’s not transport.”

“Care to elaborate?” Wrath asks, speaking for the first time since we’ve been here. Though when I glance over at him, I realize he’s stayed quiet because he’s eaten every fucking thing on his plate.

I almost laugh, but then Rustik speaks. “We’ve got some assholes who owe us money. My men are spread thin. Maybe your group can handle collections for us?”

“Twenty percent of what we collect,” Dare says.

Rustik chuckles. “Five.”

“The five you get from us is going to be a lot bigger than the five we get from you,” Wrath points out.