Page 38 of Iggy

So let him believe it worked.

If he had Olive, Neela would buy the meeting and take control of what Olive owned. If he had killed her, then Luca might hold proof, papers, or some other path to the rights. Either way, Terry had called with leverage, and Neela intended to leave with it.

The line went dead before she could answer. Neela held the phone against her ear until the silence became a roar. A moment later the market closed, freezing her losses on the screen.

Her breath came too fast, and she pressed both palms to the desk, not with grief but with fury at being cornered by a man who understood exactly what Olive was worth. Twenty-five thousand dollars. One hour.

Risk and opportunity twisted together until they felt like the same hunger. She opened the drawer again—not because she had decided whom the pistol was for, but because Luca had reminded her that Terry was still alive, Olive was still useful, and power belonged to whoever reached the meeting prepared to take it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Okay. What now?” asked Luca. They all noticed his hands were shaking slightly and stared at him.

“Luca, you don’t have to go,” said Ham.

“No. No, I need to face her again. I’ve been running from this woman for more than half my life. Terrified. Terrified that she would find me or Olive. I can’t let that happen. Do you have a vest or something, just in case?”

The room chuckled, nodding their heads.

“Or something,” smirked Christian. “You don’t have to worry about that. We want to keep her alive. Give her false hope. She has to believe that you’re turning over Olive.”

“Why aren’t we just calling the feds to pick her up?” asked Rowe. Iggy turned to his friend.

“Because the feds have been benefiting from her little stock market games,” said Iggy.

“Give the boy a blue ribbon,” smiled Rose. “He’s right. The feds, at least a few, have been feeding her insider information. That’s how she made all that money. We’re going to ensure they know nothing about what we’re doing. Neela is about to find herself in a pickle she can’t get out of.”

“The market left her broke. All of it. Her vendors are calling her about now. And we know for damn sure that the Swamp Rats are calling her,” said Jean.

“Then it’s time for the next step,” said Iggy. He turned to Skull, Gunner, and Razor and smiled. “Ready for another ride?”

“Brother, we are always ready for a ride. It’s wet as fuck out there and is most likely going to get a helluva lot worse. Wear your rain gear and put that fucking stealth netting on. The Rats might get a little antsy before we can explain everything but it won’t matter. They love us.” Gunner, Razor and Skull chuckled but Iggy found nothing funny about the matter.

Gunner wasn’t wrong. It was fucking miserable outside. The rain that had subsided earlier in the day had come back with a vengeance and everything they’d feared about the storm had come true.

The first tropical storm had teased them. It came ashore, spun around, dropped a shit ton of rain, blew debris everywhere and then decided to head back out into the gulf for a second wind.

The second storm was already sitting out there like a fat fucking cat waiting for its’ dinner. When the two storms collided, they became one massive hurricane. Some said before it finally came ashore, it would be wider than Katrina.

All of New Orleans was preparing. They vowed to not allow it to happen again. Businesses were boarding their doors and windows, sandbags were lining the river and roads, and levees were being check and re-checked.

Water bottles couldn’t be found anywhere. Every case, every gallon jug had been purchased, waiting for disaster. Non-perishables disappeared from store shelves, gas tanks were filled, leaving gas stations to close their doors due to empty pumps.

Looking at the road ahead, the four men groaned realizing that cars were already attempting to make their way north, away from the gulf, away from the Mississippi, and away from New Orleans.

They didn’t have that luxury. Just outside of Houma they pulled into a restaurant and killed their bikes. They were soaked to the skin but bikers didn’t bitch about being wet. They embraced it.

Iggy looked around the parking lot, silently counting the number of other motorcycles. He stared at Skull who smirked.

“Relax, brother. They’re not fucking stupid. They don’t want a war with us and they won’t start one. They’re being cautious and they should be. We could have wiped them out years ago.”

“Why didn’t you?” asked Iggy. “If they’re a one-percenter, why not?”

“Because like many things, they are not what they seem,” said Gunner. “Come on, kid. Let’s get inside.”

Skull stepped into the restaurant and bar first, his head ducking as he walked through the doorway. Gunner and Razor followed, Iggy taking up the rear.

The sudden quietness and stillness made Iggy very nervous but as he looked around, no one was reaching for a weapon. No one was standing. No one was posturing as if to say, ‘I dare you’. They all just smirked at Skull.