Page 86 of Riding Hard

“Overall, I think they’re businessmen, and they know the bottom line is all that truly matters. I like that about it. It doesn’t seem like they focus on emotions—which I fucking love.”

The fire truck sirens sound in the distance, and I know it’s time for us to get the fuck out of here. “I’m willing to play their game as long as we’re reaping rewards. But I’m still leery,” he murmurs.

Reluctantly, I turn my back on the fire and head toward my bike. Speed does the same, though he walks in the opposite direction. We don’t park together for a reason, and now we’re going to leave in opposite directions so we don’t draw any more attention to ourselves than we already do just by existing.

Climbing onto my bike, I start the engine and make my way toward home. I pass the fire truck but don’t even look over my shoulder to watch them drive past me. Instead, I just smile as I continue toward home.

I’m trying not to count my money before it hits the bank, but this is going to be a good one. Even after the lawyer pays off the Bratva with interest, we’re going to be sitting pretty. And there’s a contract in place on both ends. I can’t help but wonder what kind of ally this could make with an attorney.

I’m not one to force anyone to owe me shit, and I won’t do that with him, but he might be good to have in our back pocket as a resource. The club isn’t immune to trouble with the law or otherwise, and I made sure that this job was not only done right, but that there is no question about the cause of the fires. And that’s how I keep this shit tight with the attorney.

If he’s ever needed. I hope he isn’t, but hell, I’ve seen stranger shit happen. Glancing down at my gas gauge, I decide to pull in to fill up. Climbing off my bike, I get the pump started before I take my phone out of my pocket and glance at the notifications.

There’s one from Rustik. A new text. Opening it up, I smirk at the sight.

RUSSIAN BOSS: COME TO MY HOME OFFICE.

It’s not a question. It’s a demand. I find it funny, but also, I’m good with it because that’s just who he is. Instead of telling him to go and fuck himself, I send him a thumbs-up emoji and put the nozzle away, climb on my bike, start the engine, and head straight for the Russian’s house.

It doesn’t take me long to get to his place. Throwing my leg over the bike, I walk up to his front door, and without even needing to knock, the door opens, and he stands in front of me, a smile on his face.

“I like this,” he states.

I snort, moving past him, stepping inside his ridiculously huge house. He closes the door behind me. I don’t go any farther than the entrance. Turning toward him, I cross my arms over my chest as I tilt my head to the side and wait for whatever it is he’s all hot to tell me.

“You texted me. I’m here. What’s up?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.

He clears his throat, then rocks back on his heels. I watch him. I’m not sure what he’s going to say, but I wait, and then he finally speaks. When he does, I’m not surprised that it’s a demand. Well, he’s demanding a question to be answered.

“The job has been done?”

“I just left from there. It’s going to be unsalvageable, a complete payout. You’ll get paid, we’ll get paid, and he’ll have enough to start over.”

Rustik nods once, then his eyes meet mine. “I like working with you. Things have gone well. I would like to continue this.”

“We haven’t even gotten a payout yet,” I say with a small laugh. Though we will. I’m completely certain of it. I don’t see how we won’t. It was a flawless fucking execution.

“Doesn’t matter,” he states. “I like this. It frees up my men, and it’s been really fucking nice.”

“You called me all the way down here for that?” I ask. “To say this frees up your men?”

He smirks and arches a brow, then clears his throat. “I did,” he states. “I like face-to-face interactions. It makes things seem real. Sometimes, when you’re the Pakhan, it doesn’t happen that way.”

“And on paper.”

I watch as he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out an envelope. “On paper.”

Fuck.

This is real.

I guess we’re climbing into bed with the fucking Bratva. We’re not tiptoeing on the edge anymore. We’re right here, climbing into the fucking bed and rolling around in the goddamn sheets. I hope we don’t regret this shit in the morning.

CHAPTER

SIXTY-NINE

LOOT