Page 111 of Marcus

“I have other things to do.”

“Yes, like your twice weekly visit to the previous president’s old lady, right? That’s what you all call those women you keep close. Does she know you fuck her stepdaughter on the weekend, too?”

Glen’s jaw clenched.

Marcus shrugged. “Just curious.”

“Leave.”

“No can do,” Marcus replied, “because we still haven’t had the chance to chat after that little mistake of yours with the maple farm in eastern Ontario. See, I know you all weren’t aware I was there that day, but I was. With people I cared about, too, and when you put them in danger for your cause … well, I had to draw a line, Glen. I’m sure you understand, or shit, maybe you don’t. I really don’t give a fuck anymore.”

“What does that mean?”

“Are you going to sit down?”

“No.”

Marcus nodded. “Didn’t figure you would. See, that’s where your problems first started with me. You couldn’t give me respect, Glen. You thought you were going to take respect from me like I just owed it to you. My only debt is to God and Cosa Nostra. Before you try to play with the big guns, you really should learn a bit about men like me.”

Before the asshole across the table could say anything, Marcus stood up. He still hadn’t drunk a drop from the coffee, but he left it on the table, unconcerned. Pushing in the chair, he then fixed his blazer and gave Glen a nod.

“Currently,” Marcus explained as he figured it was time to just get this over with, “your clubhouse is being attacked by a group of assassins my brother called in that he works with. I hear your people like to meet up every morning, and only a couple stay at the clubhouse, right? They were dead before the others arrived. And no worries, Corrado promised to make it fast for the rest of the bastards that came in this morning.”

Clearing his throat, Marcus smiled thinly, continuing with, “As for the other chapters of the Riders who came into town over the last month … each one is being approached today, and they’ll all be given a reason not to stay here to help you or your club. For that, you can thank the last thirty years of my father helping to supply the majority of cocaine to organized crime across Canada through his contacts. Because here’s the thing, Glen—the bottom line is all anybody cares about in this business, and nobody fucks with someone who can fuck with that. I’m sure you understand.”

“You can’t possibly—”

“Oh, it’s not time for you to talk,” Marcus interjected calmly, “as I gave you plenty of chances to do that with me, and each time, you shit all over it.”

“You little cocksucker.”

Marcus frowned. “The better man always knows when the lesser one no longer feels valid because insults are all he can afford. And as for you … well, I had a couple of choices. I could have killed you myself. Possibly had someone do it for me while you rushed back to your clubhouse to find out if everything I said here today was true, but that didn’t feel good to me. It wasn’t enough. So instead, we made a few calls. See, we’ve been watching you for a while and given our reach, nothing is off limits to the Guzzis when we can make anything happen.”

“I will fucking kill you, Guzzi.”

A smile curved Marcus’s lips. “But will you? Or is the better question, can you?”

“I—”

“You haven’t asked what my plans are for you, Glen. Don’t you care to know? See, the shipment of illegal cigarettes you have coming across the border this morning? Oh, it was picked up by the Canadian officials. I know your supplier because he works with us, too. Thing is, the Guzzis can make it worth his while to lose your business, and so we did just that. By the time you get home, RCMP will be waiting to arrest you for smuggling contraband into Canada. Your freedom will only last you as long as it takes you to finish your coffee on the way home. Have a good day; we won’t be seeing each other again.”

Marcus might have taken the time to revel in Glen’s distraught expression, but he couldn’t be bothered. He had other things to do, now. Before the asshole across the table could react, Marcus slipped out and headed for the door. Glen was fast on his heels, but by the time Marcus exited the café, Chris was already waiting with the back door open.

And a gun pointed at Glen.

Chris kept the gun pointed at the biker as Marcus climbed in the back seat. Never lowering his weapon or looking away from the biker, his brother rounded the front of the car and slipped into the driver’s seat. Tires screeched against the pavement as they pulled away from the café.

“Did he fall for it?” Marcus asked, never looking away from the blank screen of his phone that he’d pulled out after getting in the car. The lack of calls or messages mocked him. This emptiness was not something he would ever become used to feeling, but that’s all he was now without Cella, it seemed. Entirely fucking empty. “Did he?”

Marcus looked up to see Chris peer in the rearview. The sound of a motorcycle’s engine gunned behind them, muffled from the distance they had already put between themselves and the bomb that a friend of a friend had been paid good money to place on Glen’s motorcycle while Marcus kept him distracted.

Everything else he said in the café?

All true.

The clubhouse would be gone.

The other chapters would leave soon.