Page 25 of Property of Rattler

I shake my head.

“It’s a man’s world,” Paint states.

Winchester places both palms on the table. “Way I see it? Six years is far too fuckin’ long to provide protection. Especiallywhen doing so pits the club against the fuckin’ Russians. I’m sorry to say, let’s cut her loose. Let her make the best of it.”

“And lose the club the chance of five million?” Saint asks. “That’s a hell of a chunk of change that we could do a lot with.”

“There’s another option,” Prez reminds us. “In order to get the money in a reasonable time frame, someone could step up, wife her and give her a child.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then Paint asks, “You obviously spent some time with her, Rat.” He chuckles. “She fuckable?”

I raise and lower my shoulders, and for a second, seriously consider his question. The answer I come up with is only a qualified, “Probably. If she keeps her mouth shut, and you close your eyes.” Perhaps I’m being unfair with the last comment. She had given me a woody in that closet.

Tempest gets to the heart of the matter. “As I see it, we’ve got a couple of options. One, we cut her loose and forget about her and the money. Two, we provide her with protection and try not to cramp her style until she meets a man who wants to breed with her. The cons? We might have to fight off the Bratva, and there’s no guarantee she’ll live long enough to pay for our services. Three? One of us steps up and marries her, puts a kid in her belly, and keeps them both alive until the rugrat’s born, when her brother will have no legal claim to her money. Cut and dried. The club gets half of her fortune, and possibly doable in less than a couple of years.”

“Whoa,” Words states sharply. “A marriage on paper is one thing. A baby? Fuck, Brothers, that’s for life. The brother would need to step up and take responsibility.”

“Plenty of kids are raised with a single mom and a hands-off dad. And she wouldn’t exactly be hurting for money.” Tempest shrugs.

Prez stares at his sergeant-at-arms, then raises both hands as if in defeat. He casts his eyes around the table. “Hands up for option one. We send her out on her own.”

Winchester’s hand goes up immediately. I start to raise mine, but for some reason I just can’t do it.

Prez nods. “Option two, we keep watch over her until she finds someone to bed her.” He winces and adds, “That means manpower tied up in protecting her, with only a promised payday sometime in the future. And, of course, not being too visible in case we chase any potential suitor off.”

Put that way, I can’t vote for that. I, for one, don’t want to spend a chunk of my life in close proximity to the bitch.

“An alternative is passing her off onto another chapter,” Stalker suggests.

“But that means we’d also pass on the money, except for a minimal finder’s fee. Can’t expect another chapter to take on such a long-term task without getting the benefit.” Prez glances around. As he’s made a fair point, all he gets are chin lifts or nods. “Option three.” He sighs. Then, before continuing, he scrubs his hands over his face. “Let me add a sweetener. She’s offered five million. Woody made a good point. There should be a reward for sacrifice. I propose that four comes to the club. The brother who agrees to wife and impregnate her gets the other million for himself.”

“I like that option.” Saint grins. “But obviously, I’m already married.”

Short chuckles. “I, too, have no skin in this game.”

Freak starts to open his mouth, but Prez interrupts. “Only single brothers have a vote here. And anyone who votes aye has to be prepared to step up and take one for the club.”

I’m not really surprised when no one volunteers.

Maybe Winchester was right, cut her loose. But if she leaves, Satin will go with her. And I have my doubts about whose sidethe dancer is on. And with the Bratva backing Stone? I doubt she’ll last long.

“Fuck,” Prez breathes out with feeling. Then, again scrubbing his hands through his hair, adds, “Can’t say I’m surprised. That’s one fuck of an ask.”

Stalker clears his throat. “She’s pretty enough. I could bed her. As long as a divorce is on the cards, and she gets sole custody of any child, I might?—”

“I’ll do it.” I can’t fuckin’ believe those words have come out of my mouth. I never saw myself tied down in a relationship, let alone having a wife. As to kids? I always believed the world was already overpopulated, and you can be sure I wrapped my shit up tight in order not to add to it. So what has changed my mind? The thought of Stalker, twenty years her elder, fucking her and making her belly swell with his child? That’s fucking twisted.Hang on one damn minute.I don’t want her. No, he can have her. But by the time I’ve thought better of the words I’ve just spouted, Prez bangs the gavel down.

He breathes out, “Rat, thank you. You’ve just agreed to bring the club a fuckin’ good payday.” He leans forward and adds sincerely, “I can fuckin’ guarantee you have the respect and gratitude of everyone around this table.” His mouth quirks. “And it’s not forever. Quicker you get started, the faster you can get a bun in that oven. And then you can come home.”

Yeah. A year tops should do it. Wait.Come home?

“What do you fuckin’ mean, come home?”

Prez shrugs as if it’s a foregone conclusion. “You’ll have to go off-grid. Malachi will redouble his efforts to find her as soon as he knows she’s married, as his time will be limited. If you’re here at the club, he’ll bring the Bratva down on us. And that’s a fuckin’ war we might not win.”

“Genie’s found a cabin for sale up in the mountains. Club will buy it under an alias. Not luxury, but good enough. You’ll both live there until…”

“You fuckin’ set me up!” I yell. Realising, while the rest of the table looks confused, the officers sport smug grins. They’d planned this all along.