Page 113 of Property of Rattler

Stalker plants both his fists on the table, it seems he’s focused on the main point. “I respect Big Daddy, but he can’t tell us to give up a brother’s ol’ lady.”

“But is that what she is?” Prez asks, his eyes fixed firmly on me. “Is she part of the club? If so she’s under our protection. If she’s going to get up and go…”

“She’s mine,” I snarl. “She ain’t going nowhere.” I force my temper down. “I’d like to put it to an official vote, and ask permission to claim her as my ol’ lady.”

“Never thought I’d see the fuckin’ day…” Piston snorts.

“Am I hallucinating? Woody, does my forehead seem hot?” Paint leans toward the road captain who shoves him away.

“Simmer the fuck down.” Bullseye snarls. “Brother’s asked. Gotta take it seriously and give him his answer. Going take a quick vote. Anyone against?”

Anxiously I look around, but all hands stay down.

“So carried,” Bullseye shakes his head. “And another brother goes down.”

Brothers start banging their hands on the table and stomping their feet. The two sitting beside me, Words and Paint, slap my back. Fucking hard. Lancelot gets out of his chair and comes around to shake my hand.

When the racket starts to die down, I notice Tempest is looking serious. “Now she’s one of ours, we just got to figure out how to keep her alive.”

Words suddenly straightens. “I got an idea, but we’d need to run it by Ames. It would be a fuck of a lot to ask of her. But it should work, it has before.”

“What the fuck you rambling on about, Brother?” Piston asks.

“Yeah, you got a plan, spit it out,” Woody demands.

I fix my eyes on him. There are only two options as far as I can tell, give up Ames to the Bratva — which would literally have to happen over my dead body. Or go to war. Possibly on our own, if Big Daddy refused to let the other clubs support us.

Prez simply raises a brow toward Words. And that’s all he needs to start talking.

“I’ve got Satin’s body in my freezer. Haven’t cremated her yet, was waiting to put her in with another. What if we did another Pippa?”

My brow creases, and so do a number of others around the table.

Words looks frustrated that we’re not already inside his head, as Prez demands, “Spell it out, Brother.”

After a heavy sigh, he does. “We tell the Pakhan that Satin, who Volkov sent into the club for that very purpose, succeeded in killing Ames — from the way she spoke neither of them knew Stone was no longer breathing and wasn’t around to claim her inheritance.” When he pauses for breath, Prez makes a give me more gesture. Words grins. “We get Pippa to swap out the details like Ace did for her. Change Satin’s DNA to hers, blood group, dental records. Hell, if a teenager can do it, Pippa can.”

“Wouldn’t work if Stone had showed Volkov a photo of her. Which he surely would have done for Volkov to commit to marriage,” Paint observes.

Freak suddenly grins, and his nostrils flare. “Satin and Ames presented themselves to me as sisters. I didn’t query it. They’re both blondes, though Satin is a few inches taller.”

“And if they demand to see her, I got a cosmetologist who can work fucking miracles. Or, maybe to make it easier, maybe shoot her in the face,” Words suggests. “And that’s what everyone looks at for identity purposes. They don’t bring a fuckin’ tape measure.”

“What happens to her inheritance?” Predictably it’s Stalker who asks.

Tempest grins. “With Stone dead, it would go to Rat, he’s her legal husband after all. Same with the insurance payout.”

“Wouldn’t that cause issues? Would the insurance pay out at all?” Saint queries.

Tempest inclines his head toward the VP. “I’m sure your old lady can close all the loopholes. Make it airtight.”

Genie raises his hand. “Been keeping an ear to the ground. Cops found the car, they’re still in the process of identifying the burned out corpse. But they’ve got a head start as it was Stone’s car. They just need to prove it was him driving, and that the death was accidental.”

“No doubt of that,” Freak grins. “I made sure of it. Just a fuck of a time for his brakes to fail.” And there’s no one brave or stupid enough to question the enforcer’s expertise.

Genie continues, “Ames would need to step forward and deal with Stone’s lawyer, the executor of his will. But say Ames was to ‘die’, her next of kin,” he inclines his head toward me, “Would have to do it all.”

I frown. Legalese and dealing with lawyers isn’t my forte. “I’d need help.”