“And if he does, he’s fucked. He ain’t gonna be shooting.”
Remy threw his vest on and walked out. He knew he was being a smug ass going out without a weapon. It was a statement: that the Jackals were far more powerful than the Scorpions. That they could stomp on their asses in a blink of an eye.
The perimeter’s spot lights flickered on as Remy and the men stepped out into the cold, early morning mist. The wind was ferocious, stinging his numb cheeks a bright shade of red. They were breathing out clouds, and breathing in icy smog. Fucker had stood in this weather for three hours. Not bad.
With the lights on, he was no longer a silhouette. The more Remy closed the gap between them, the more of his features came out, and it wasn’t pretty. Jaxon Barlow was a man possessed with rage. He was drenched from head to toe in old rain, breathing heavily, a hand gripping his gun tightly. When they connected eyes, Remy had to fight the smile that was begging its way out. The man was a mess. And he fucking loved that.
He stopped at the gate. Both stood on opposite sides. Staring.
“Where is she?” Jaxon gritted out.
Remy looked past him and at the four Scorpions standing several feet behind him.
“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ bout, man,” Remy casually answered, idly scratching his chin.
Jaxon’s nostrils flared as he bounded forward and gripped the iron bars that separated them. “Don’t you fucking lie to me! I know you got her--”
“Got who?”
“Damien told me everything. You’re standing on thin ice, Remy. I swear to fucking God, if you don’t give her back--”
“What?” Remy snapped, taking a step closer to the gate. “What’re you gonna do, Scorpion? Ain’t nothing your ass can do to us.”
“You wanna fucking bet?”
Remy chuckled, eyeing Jaxon like he was two feet tall and made of cuddly bears. “You gonna start another war you can’t win, man? Who’s the one floating all them businesses you and your chimp of a boss got goin’? Regardless of what happens, I got what I want. I got my answers. Answers you were too pussy to come out with tonight.”
“Where is she?!” Panic swept his face as he gripped the bar tighter. “I swear, if you hurt her--”
“She’s a fucking Jackal, you moron,” Remy bit back. “You’ve known that for some time too. She ain’t hurt.”
“Give her back.” Remy saw the vulnerability in those words. Jaxon was losing his shit. The man looked desperate.
“No,” Remy calmly said. “You ain’t getting her back. She ain’t gonna be in that world of yours. Ain’t gonna get passed around like a whore. Would you really have given her that kind of life?”
Jaxon’s face fell. “I would never have passed her around –”
“You ain’t got no choice! That’s what woulda happened to her and you fucking know it!” Remy’s anger began to surface. “She would have been fucked like an animal in that poison of a club--”
“You act like you’re so much fucking better,” Jaxon interrupted, staring holes in his head. “Like you’re not some scum of a fucking murderer. The whole lot of you! Selling fucking drugs--”
“And it’s our earnings that keep your asses floating, you stupid hick. You act like you ain’t got blood on your hands either. May I fucking remind you of what your men did to our town three years ago? Burning shit down, threatening all them fucking businesses, monopolizing this town like a fucking game –”
“We cleaned up the fucking streets while your police bought monkeys kicked back –”
“And you’re only here because of our mercy, you thieving piece of shit! Laundering our fucking money to keep your boat floating clean –”
“And we got more business than your punk asses, so don’t think for a second we rely on you –”
“Is that so? Might as well cut that supply off for you, then, and watch how that goes, huh?”
Jaxon didn’t respond. Remy had trapped him. Man was bluffing. Most of their income was coming from the Jackals, but Remy was bluffing too. The business arrangement between the two clubs was essential because the Scorpions owned most businesses in town now. Whatever they didn’t own, the Jackals did, but what they did own wasn’t enough to launder even a tenth of their illegal earnings.
“Now this is how it’s going to go,” Remy said, returning to his calm authoritative self. “You killed my brother, and if I retaliated like any other Jackal, your supply woulda been cut straight off and you’da been sinking in heavy waters. I woulda come for your ass, killed you and your fucking mother. That’s what any other man would have done. I’m showing your ass some undeserved mercy. You’re gonna leave her alone. She’s a part of us, always has been, and she’s gonna be mine--”
“Like hell she is! I saved her ass from your prick of a brother. He woulda put her in the ground and you know it!”
An uneasy feeling swarmed Remy’s chest at the thought of his birdy in the hands of his brother. Douchebag was right.
“If anyone’s in debt, it’s you,” Jaxon growled. “And if you were man enough, you’d be on this side of the fucking wall settling this like men. So come on, then! Get over here and we’ll see who has this!”
Remy smiled. “I don’t want to get covered in bruises. I got a lady to impress now.”
Yeah, that about did it. Jaxon detonated. Kicked the gates like a little kid, screaming his insults all the while knowing there was nothing he could do. Remy won this.
“She’ll be well taken care,” Remy said as he watched the douchebag get dragged away by his men.
Jaxon Barlow was officially broken. Mission accomplished. Remy smiled because he knew exactly what this would lead to.
*****
He hadn’t slept at all the rest of the night. He was in Rita’s room, packing a few outfits for Sara. Fuck, he’d be having a word to Rita about some of the shit she wore when she got back. Slut.
He’d grabbed some essentials in the supply closet: toothbrush, soap, a girly looking bottle of shampoo, tampons and pads with wings on them or some bullshit like that. He went through Rita’s cupboards, packed away a comb, a straightener, some hair decorative shit that girls wore.
Sara was in her twenties. Girls in their twenties like pop music and romance movies, right? He went through his sister’s movies, pulling out ones that had kissing couples on the front. He read a few storylines as he went, and boy did they range from all kinds of ridiculous shit: rich, gorgeous men falling for poor, average girls; bad boys falling for good girls; fuck buddies that became more; crap about fate and star crossed lovers. Yada-too-good-to-be-true-shit-yada. No wonder women were never happy...
And music? He hadn’t a goddamn clue! He looked at all the names, not knowing where to even begin. After five homicidal minutes, he stuffed a handful of CDs that were vaguely familiar. Surely Sara listened to shit like Miley Papyrus and Lady Moomoo – or whatever the fuck they were called. Good enough for him.
It was eight in the morning when he finally headed out.
“You really serious about this?” asked Fritz just before he reached the door.