“That’s me. Conrad St. Pierre.” I paused. Shit, should I give them my road name? “Four Leaf, as the club knows me.”
“We’re aware of both of your names, don’t worry.”
They glared at me and my skin tingled uncomfortably under the attention. I was an alpha, but they had many years on me. They knew how to use their designation to make themselves bigger, more intimidating, and impossible to fuck with.
Maybe I should just flee to the meeting room where I wouldn’t be the sole focus of their scrutiny.
“Do you know which direction to the meeting room? I can lead the way. I’m familiar with the facility.”
“So are we.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Alrighty then. Well, uh, I’ll just see you in there, then.”
“Wait.” The first man spoke up again.
I froze.
“Tell me, what kind of first impression were you trying to make just now?”
That was not a good sign.
I’d fucked up, massively.
Not sure when or how, but I must have, right? That was why he was asking. Damn it, I missed when my four leaf luck had actually helped me out of messes like this.
“I wanted to be helpful and polite,” I said. “So you don’t murder me. I want to make sure Benjamin is dead before you murder me. Needed to buy some time.”
That earned me a few chuckles, but I couldn’t tell from which of her fathers. I certainly wasn’t making eye contact now.
That must have been where I fucked up. The eye contact wasn’t demure enough, or something.
“Duly noted. Let’s head to the meeting room. There’s lots to discuss about your motorcycle club and poisoned bullets.”
At the onset of the meeting, I learned that the angry one was Nico Alfieri, and the one curious about my intentions was Jurah Alfieri, pack lead and head of the mafia.
The others were Hart and Penn, but they were watchers more than they were talkers.
Jurah led the conversation with a sense of intense purpose. “Who did you make deliveries to?”
“The first delivery of the bullets was to an alpha named Malice,” I said.
“Did you make that delivery?”
“I did.”
“Do you know who Malice is? Who he works for?”
My gut clenched. I was probably supposed to know. “No, sir.”
“He recently switched sides from the Windsors to the O’Connors.”
Of course he did. We were selling merchandise to the O’Connors on Windsor territory, which would piss off two of the three major crime families. Including the family the love of my life was a part of.
“That’s why I couldn’t find any fucking proof that he was working with the O’Connors,” Mercer muttered under his breath.
He’d done his research, but Grave was smart. Any drops that were obviously not within our bounds, he must have been doing himself. The ones that weren’t as clearly wrong, he’d sent us on.
And then he’d framed us for being the ones to start selling to the wrong side in the first place.
