Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 132031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
“You shouldn’t be here,” Dev drawled, his spine stiffening with irritation. He crossed his arms over his chest, giving his most menacing stare.
She didn’t flinch at his tone or his look. The problem was that she’d grown up alongside him. She might even consider herself his little sister in the ultra-dysfunctional, modern biker family sort of way.
What Dev’s mother didn’t know and a secret he’d had to keep since he was about ten years old was that Daphne’s mother, Dixie, was his father’s personal property. She’d found her way to the club eighteen years ago, needing a daddy for her baby. She didn’t get one of those, but she was pretty enough, and slutty enough—willing to do anything—that she’d caught the club prez’s eye.
Very few had gotten the chance to fuck her since. Hell, that wasn’t true. She’d fucked every brother for various reasons. A reward for a job well done? Fuck Dixie. Had a bad day? Fuck Dixie. Need a willing third? Fuck Dixie. But it was all at his old man’s instruction. Nobody ever touched her without his father’s permission.
Daphne sauntered toward him, reaching out to slap his arm as if he’d said the silliest thing on the planet. His brows furrowed at her boldness. She was the only one who ever got away with that shit. Even his real little sister, Shanna, had enough sense to regard him as the devil he was.
“Mom and Fox are downstairs fuckin’. It helps him stay loose before y’all ride out. Come on.” She spouted the words like it was the perfectly ordinary occurrence that it was and flipped around on her heels, stumbling slightly in the execution. She took several stabilizing steps to stay upright. Dev shook his head. The girl still hadn’t mastered how to properly navigate those ridiculous high heels.
He stood there watching her, his eyelid twitching. He loathed the idea of following her.
His old man was a perverted son of a bitch, an exhibitionist to his core. He had some fucked-up rationale about how others seeing him banging some chick equaled manliness. And he had no compunction about that “other person” being his son. Seeing his dad’s old ass screwing fell into the hard no category for Dev. He stalled as long as possible, frozen in his spot.
At the concealed door that led downstairs, Daphne paused to glance over her shoulder.
“Come on, Devilman,” she sing-songed as if they were in a happy place. “Your old man’s finishin’ up. He knows you don’t like my mom.”
Dev grunted, not disabusing her of that notion. He didn’t dislike her mom, per se. He didn’t actually give two fucks about her at all.
Drawing in a deep breath, he strode forward. And like the little bitch he was destined to be, he finally followed her through the door. He pounded down the steps, two at a time, getting right on Daphne’s ass as she pushed through the doorway at the bottom. Dev kept his growl of irritation contained. That door should have been locked for everyone’s safety. Jesus, did anyone actually run this club anymore?
What they’d skillfully hidden from prying eyes upstairs worked openly downstairs. A two thousand square foot basement that had been carved out of the white rock below the foundation.
Part of the space housed a vault harder to break into than Fort Knox. Only three people in the world knew the entry code sequence—Dev, his old man, and his mother. The only one who could change the code, if necessary, was his old man.
Long tables ran the length of the rest of the space. Various activities played out on those surfaces. Tonight, it looked like a standard drug mill operation. Trusted, seasoned prospects worked at several tables filled with pills. Others looked to be cutting coke. A couple of large pallets, filled with closed cardboard boxes sat to the side.
What made him hesitate before coming down was happening in a corner. By the grunts and gasps, there were three of them banging away. A partial wall helped hide whatever nakedness he wouldn’t be able to scrub from his brain.
“Yo, Devilman. What brings ya here?” Diesel asked, drawing his attention to the brother. Diesel wasn’t too many years older than Dev and stood against the wall, brawny arms crossed over his chest, holstered weapons on each hip. He guessed that meant the brother was in some sort of security guard capacity.
Dev lifted his chin in response and watched Diesel’s eyes follow Daphne.
“What’s in these boxes?” Dev asked Diesel as he sauntered over to the pallets, curious about the contents.
“Don’t know,” Diesel answered as Dev used his pocketknife to cut through the packaging to reveal several much smaller boxes, each filled with Fentanyl patches.
Dev blew out a breath. There had to be tens of thousands of patches on these pallets. A goddamn motherlode of the shit. His lip quirked in a grin as he grabbed one full box then another. He could taunt his ex with these to get her to toe the line. A great bargaining chip that could make his life bearable, at least where Tena was concerned. He grabbed a third box for good measure.