Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 56395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Got word.” Judge waited until I signed off on the movement plan before lowering his voice enough that only I heard him. “Otis’s heir arrived at the ranch about forty minutes ago.”
I straightened, passing the tablet back to the analyst before I turned toward the exit. “Why the fuck am I only hearing about it now?”
“Because I heard three fucking minutes ago,” Judge returned, falling into step beside me. I knew him too well to miss the sliver of amusement sitting behind his eyes. “Estate attorney called to confirm they took possession of the property. Drove down from San Jose this morning and plans to stay a few days.”
I glanced down at the black tailored suit I’d worn for a client meeting and felt my patience thin. “I’m heading back to the clubhouse to change. That gives him enough time to unload whatever city-boy shit he brought before we ride over, explain the situation, and help him understand that loading it right back up is the smart choice.”
Judge’s mouth twitched as we crossed through the secured corridor toward the executive exit. “You want me to do the explaining, or are you planning to open with that heartwarming pitch?”
“I’ll make the offer. You’ll lay out the legal and security issues in a way that makes accepting it sound like his idea.” I pushed open the exterior door into the restricted parking area. “You’ve talked worse men into smarter choices.”
“Usually because they were out of better options.”
We reached my truck, and I lifted my chin at him before climbing into the cab. When I drove out, I left the western edge of town behind as I turned northeast into the backcountry. The drive from Black Castle to the compound took us out of the clean corporate edge of Sable Canyon and into the northeastern backcountry.
Rook Holdings and the club controlled thousands of contiguous acres around the clubhouse—buffer land, private roads, natural ridgelines, training areas, and enough monitored approaches to make wandering in by accident nearly impossible. The compound looked like nothing at all until someone reached the gate, and by then every brother on duty already knew who they were, what they drove, and whether they had any business being there.
I kept a room at the clubhouse, so I was able to change out of my suit as soon as I got there, trading polished black fabric for worn jeans, boots, a black T-shirt, and my cut. Judge met me in the hall twenty minutes later with his suit jacket gone and leather over his shoulders, looking far more like the enforcer he was when he wasn’t turning arrogant attorneys into cautionary tales.
We were halfway to the entrance when Hawkeye stepped out of the armory, fastening the cuff of his riding jacket, his gaze moving from Judge to me before settling on the purpose in my stride.
“Jack’s at the ranch,” I explained. “We’re ridin’ out now.”
Hawkeye didn’t ask whether he was invited. “Good. I was starting to think the kid inherited several hundred acres and forgot California continued south of San Jose.”
Ghost was in the private motorcycle garage beside the clubhouse, wiping grease from his hands after adjusting something near the engine of his bike. He lifted his head as we stepped outside, taking in our determined expressions and Judge’s tablet before he tossed the rag onto a scarred wooden bench.
“We buyin’ a ranch?” Ghost asked, pulling his keys from the back pocket of his jeans. As our sergeant at arms and a former SEAL, he had a gift for sounding casual while already preparing for trouble.
“Making an offer,” Judge corrected. “Try to keep up.”
Ghost gave him a lazy look. “Same thing after you start talkin’.”
Hawkeye swung one leg over his bike, the faintest curve touching his mouth. “Judge could talk a man into selling both kidneys, then bill him for explaining dialysis.”
I secured my helmet and looked between them, letting the humor run because they were brothers who had stood beside me through blood and the kind of work that stripped lies off a man fast.
No family functioned without a little bullshit, which was why Hawkeye could needle me and Judge could sit on whatever joke he’d been carrying around lately without either of them forgetting why we were riding out.
“We’re not threatening the kid or leaning on him with the patch.” I kick-started my engine. “We explain that a sale to a developer creates problems nobody wants. Then we make a fair offer that saves him years of repairs, taxes, and headaches.”
Hawkeye glanced toward Judge, then back at me. “And if he says no?”
“Then we secure the ridge another way.” The thought of Otis’s land ending up with anyone who saw it as acreage and not history was enough to piss me off before the conversation started. “But he won’t after Judge walks him through the numbers.”