Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(5)
“Fuck the Diamond Devils for a second,” Priest cuts in. “What about Ivan St. James?”
“What about him?” I ask.
“He’s been undercutting our business, snaking clients from us.”
“How do you know that?”
“Heard it from one of the clients themselves,” Knox answers for him, trading a look with Priest. “I went to go collect on them and they said they were moving on. Don’t worry, I left them a little reminder of why brand loyalty matters.”
“What does that mean?” Ash asks.
Knox just grins, looking even more unhinged than usual. “He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re worried about. I wouldn’t kill anyone without running it by you guys first. I just made sure he knew it’s bad manners to cheat on your money launderers. Especially with a slimy bitch like Ivan St. James.”
My jaw clenches. Every time someone says that name, it’s like another layer of anger rises in me. I narrow my eyes and take a controlled breath. I fucking hate Ivan St. James, the smug motherfucker. He walks around like he owns the whole damn city, just because he’s head of one of the more powerful mafia organizations that operate here. No one else has been able to take him down a peg, so he just does what he wants, no matter who it fucks over. And apparently, he’s now decided it’s a good idea to fuck with our business.
“Did he say why he went with Ivan?” I ask Knox. “The client?”
He shakes his head. “I asked, too. He just said he felt better with Ivan, which is bullshit because who the fuck would?”
“Good question,” Ash replies. “Do you think Ivan’s giving him a better deal? Or has something on him that made him switch? Blackmail? Threats?”
Knox shrugs. “No clue. But he’d have to have something on everybody who he’s snaking if that’s the case.”
That’s a good point. Most likely he’s just straight undercutting us, stealing clients because he can. I’m tempted to do something about it, to finally put him in his place and teach him a lesson about fucking with us, but in the long run, I know it’s not worth starting a war over. Because that’s what would happen. It would get bloody and ugly, and while Knox would be into that for sure, it’s not something I want to deal with. The three men in this office with me might not be my actual brothers, but they’re the only family I’ve got, and I make it a point to look out for them. To look out for our little organization, keeping the money rolling in and increasing our power in Detroit slowly but steadily.
Priest said it best. We don’t need the extra drama.
“We’ll table the shit with the Diamond Devils for now,” I tell the others, making an executive decision and ending the debate. “And I’ll deal with the St. James issue.”
Knox pouts a little, either because he was excited to keep discussing the guns and the Diamond Devils or because he wants to be the one to deal with St. James, but either way, he nods and stretches, cracking his neck and rolling his broad shoulders.
Priest doesn’t go anywhere, keeping his post on the wall. Out of all of us, he’s the one who seems the most out of place in the club. He’s not the type for drinking or dancing or grinding up on random women in the dark. Whenever he happens to be on the floor, he stands out like a sore thumb, and people usually give him a wide berth, even if they are intrigued by his looks. He’s got a sharp jaw and high cheekbones, and he could probably pass for a model if it weren’t for the dangerous edge that lingers around him at all times.
Ash leaves with me as I head out of the office. We walk partway down the hall together, then split apart. He heads toward the main part of the club with a grin on his face, ready to drink and flirt and get his dick sucked or whatever it is he plans to do. Probably all three, knowing him. The dancers love the attention, and it keeps them working for us and loyal so whatever. He can do what he wants as long as nothing he does fucks up our business. That’s always been the rule.
I don’t feel like being around people, so I leave the back way, stepping out into the alley that runs around the back of the club.
It’s dimly lit by the glow of a streetlamp from the mouth of the alley, and I come out here when I need to clear my head sometimes because it’s usually empty.
Except that’s not the case tonight.
As I let the door close behind me, I turn to see two figures standing farther down the alley, away from the light and shrouded in darkness.
At first, I think it’s just some drunk patrons from the club who’ve ducked outside to grope each other or fuck up against the wall. It wouldn’t be the first time, and if they want to suck each other off by the dumpster, then that’s on them. We already have their cover charge and money they spent buying drinks.
But then I hear the familiar telltale whisper of a gun firing through a silencer, and as I watch, one of the bodies falls.
There’s no question about what just happened.
Oh, fuck no.
Not at my goddamn club. This isn’t the shit that goes down here. Especially not in the fucking alley where anyone could stumble onto the scene and think this has something to do with us. We run illegal businesses out of our club, using it as a front for money laundering and trafficking in illegal goods, but because of that, we keep our legit business squeaky clean.
We don’t give the cops reason to come sniffing around. Ever.