I jumped on the silence to steer the conversation around. “Let’s take it into your office to talk shop.”
“Sure thing.” Dash directed us to his office, down the hall, first on the left, like mine. “Take a seat.” He gestured.
Pretty cramped space. DA desk and a two-seater sofa dominated the room. Spare photos of the club on rides. Medals they won for recreation rides. I was glad they didn’t have posters on the wall of women with their tits and pussy hanging out. No disrespectful shit like that in front of my old lady.
Aaliyah and I took the two-seater but not before I tested the springs. Zethan took the wooden chair that looked like it was rescued from a dining set being tossed out.
Dash noticed my assessment. “We’ll get nicer stuff once we’re more established.”
He didn’t have to worry. “We had ratty old shit that we took from the garbage dump when Dad started the club.”
Dash grunted his appreciation and relaxed.
I reclined in the seat, throwing an arm over my woman, drawing her close, and she snuggled to my body. “What are your plans for the Lithgow chapter?”
Castor, Zethan, and I drew up a business plan as part of the contract for the Lithgow chapter, which Dash and Steele agreed upon before signing. This included a loan from us for two hundred thousand for six months to cover wages, upkeep and repairs to bikes, clubhouse, and to get them started on business loans and the like. It wouldn’t stretch far, and it was all we could afford right now, but if they invested right, worked hard, we’d build on this. If we got Pharaoh back to market without any problems, we’d get there faster than budgeted.
Dash collected a set of whisky tumblers and poured us each a finger. The amber-colored liquid roused my spirits as the malty scent hit my nose.
“Start small and grow exponentially.” His business acumen impressed me. I didn’t want some dickhead who dove into ambitious plans and ran the new chapter into the ground. “The pack has pooled money and we’ve bought the local pub. We’ll have members run it and funnel money into the club.”
“Good.” He was already thinking like a leader. I had high hopes and even higher expectations, but I didn’t throw them all on the table. Didn’t want to give the guy a heart attack in his first week as a Jackal.
Dash recapped the whisky and set it on the side of his desk. “Dad owns a body shop down the road that brings in some serious money since we’re the only one in town. He’s hiring two of my men.”
Dash set the first tumbler in front of me, respecting the chain of command. Another thing I liked about him. This man had a good head on him and reassured me I made the right damn choice.
“Dad’s selling off one of his units and we’ll invest in a junkyard.” He threw back his finger. “There’s good money in it and we can use it to chop shop any vehicles we use in runs.”
Smart. Thinking like a real outlaw. Call me impressed.
When I didn’t ask any more questions, Dash threw some at me. “How many runs are you anticipating of your product per month? I need to do some calculations. Ensure my men are free.”
Excellent question. “One batch a month for the next three months.”
Proceeds from this would fund additional batches and we’d scale up. Dash didn’t need to know the particulars or the strife we ran into that paused our efforts for months on end. I didn’t want to give him any doubts about us.
“Then twice a month from thereon out,” I added.
“Okay.” Dash jotted down notes on his tablet. “We can handle that.”
That was exactly what I wanted to hear. Dash sounded like a capable man. The next few months would determine exactly how capable.
In the meantime, I could afford to spare sending Zethan or Castor a few days a week to get the new chapter through the first few months. Ease back and review how they operated as a club. Reassess and adjust our plans if necessary and take it from there.
While I anticipated the chapter would require some assistance, I didn’t want to have to baby them through everything when my time was limited.
Either way, the future looked fucking bright for once. A lot brighter than it did. This deserved more than one fucking whisky. It called for a damn bottle!
CHAPTER10
Alaric
Meetup time with one of our informants. Seven months almost to the day since our last meeting. Going cold on our contacts and cutting off their cash encouraged their silence. Those inside the force went quiet as their seniors looked into the club. Reaching out might have blown their cover or identified them to Marcus, our double-crossing snitch.
Slade killed that asshole, inciting a heart attack, disguised as stress when the police raided our bar, Bangers. Couldn’t think of a more fitting end for a rat.
Not quite as spectacular as how my falcon dealt with the rest of the cops hounding us. Transferring the trafficked women’s demons into the cop’s minds was pure genius and dealt with our second pressing problem. Only one to go.
