Jax (Titan #9)(14)
"You had a big ask, sweet pea."
Right, right. "And the final decision is…" She bit her lip and clung to the handset, feeling the drying, sticky dough squished between her fingers.
"Then I talked to Jax."
Ugh. No telling how that had gone. "You know you have a thing for drawing out suspense?"
Tick, tock. He laughed. Boss Man was one for theatrics, wasn't he?
"They all agree with you," he finally said. "We'll help. You can let Mayhem know that I'll be in touch."
She opened her mouth to thank him, but the call clicked in her ear as Jared disconnected. Seven dropped the scone-dough-covered phone and spun with her hands in the air, squealing in delight.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The row of motorcycles in front of the Mayhem compound made Jax uneasy. This entire job wasn't what he was cut out for, given his disdain for gangs in general, even if they went by club and had pretty girls that fascinated him as a distractible decoy.
Jax was semi-convinced Jared had assigned him to partner on this project as punishment, and it had nothing to do with sharpening his skills or his ability to establish a working relationship with Seven.
Boss Man wasn't wrong, though. Diplomatic relations weren't his strong suit. Diplomacy with the criminal sect only served to irritate the piss out of him and grate his bad attitude from generally unfriendly to watchfully distrustful.
"You ready, brother?" Jared glanced his way before he dropped his fist against the door.
The setting sun beat down on Jax's back as the faint odor of motor oil and stale beer promised what was in store inside. "Yeah."
Whether he was or not didn't matter since Boss Man had already pounded on Mayhem's door and security cameras had them on lock since the moment they'd pulled into the parking lot.
Mayhem supposedly did custom auto and bike work and some repairs for locals. Jax was sure it was a front, though. Mayhem's reputation for turning out custom stunners had attracted big money normally spent in New York, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas. At least that was what Jax had read. He didn't know or care, mostly because he didn't believe it was their source of income as much as they purported, simply a cover for everything illegal.
Plus, half the auto body shop seemed filled with MC bikes, not moneymaking repairs. There wasn't a row of minivans waiting for oil changes or sedans needing to have dings buffed out. No soccer mom would schedule an appointment there after a drive-by glance of the chain-link fences with barbed wire and skulls marking the entrance.
"A lot of bikes lined up." Jax squinted over his shoulder, counting the Harleys by twos.
He and Jared were supposed to have a two-on-two meeting to discuss a sit-down in Colombia, South America, at the source of the cocaine and Mayhem's money, the home base of Hernán Suarez's cartel. Jax had walked away from the first phone discussion with Mayhem, believing there would be only the four of them on the grounds, not just in the room. Mayhem wasn't playing by the rules. Why wasn't he surprised?
The door opened, and a gruff man mirrored Jared in too many ways. Eerie as hell as Jax took in the guy's dark hair and dark eyes. Jared Gone Wrong had a salt-and-pepper five o'clock shadow and wore his leather vest that the bikers called their "cut" with the Mayhem insignia on the chest. The title of president was stitched high on his right side, and he held his hand out to Jared. "Welcome to Mayhem. Hawke."
"Jared." Boss Man met Hawke's grip. They shook, and Jared stepped aside and gestured toward Jax. "That's Jax."
Jax stepped into the cool shadow of the compound's front entryway and shook Hawke's hand as well, expecting a challenging fight in the grip, but the honest handshake was steadfast. "Nice to meet you."
"Before you're invited in, respectfully, I'd like you to unload your clips and barrels. Don't care if you keep them on you. But the bullets go in the bucket."
Out of the corner of Jax's eye, he caught Jared's jaw flexing.
Boss Man shook his head. "Your house, your rules. I'm always clear, but maybe you didn't understand when we spoke before. There's a lot of bikes out here, and the only ones involved today are me and my guy, you and your guy."
Hawke crossed his arms and took a step back. "There's three others here. And no, I didn't take that away from our conversation. Don't take that as any disrespect. My vice president, my sergeant at arms, and my treasurer. They're here. I want them here. It will go a long way. The rest of them are watching the ball game back in the garage. They have no idea what's happening, and I don't want them to yet. Take that for what it's worth. My head is on a platter if this comes out before it should."
Jared seemed to like Hawke's honesty, and he stepped forward. "We're not unloading."
Hell, they weren't going to make it in the hall. Maybe Jax wouldn't have to worry about dealing with this job. Unarmed and outnumbered in a gang compound? Seems to Jax that they should've brought their own backup. Not that Parker didn't have a tracker on their vehicle and know their exact moves, and there was a team waiting close by if anything went wrong. Still, outnumbered was outnumbered, and this was lesson number one in diplomatic relations: You don't always fucking get what you want.
"Don't shoot anyone." Hawke turned down the dark hall, and they followed as the heavy door slammed and locked behind Jax.