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"Sir, we don't want to keep them waiting," the guard says, clearing his throat as his gaze bounces between us.
"We certainly don't. I have quite a few things I'd like to discuss with them," I sneer as I look Grant up and down.
He flushes again, Adam's apple bouncing as he steps back. When he spins, he almost takes out another patron, and Grant snarls at the man. I use the distraction to tug Aelia along after the guard. I'm lost by the third set of stairs, but Aelia's hand brushes against my side when we need to turn.
No matter what she said in her room, she seems willing to help me not get lost. Maybe I can still convince her to help me bring the Guild to its knees. I don't know how true it is, but my gut says she's the one.
I shake my head, swallowing the chuckle in my throat. Thinking of her as "the one" makes it seem like I'm going to whisk her away and marry her—live happily ever after. In reality, she might be the only one who's capable of infiltrating the upper echelons of the Guild enough to destroy them. Everyone else is either too scared or too entrenched. Aelia is the perfect mole.
"In here, Mr. Cruz." He gestures to a closed set of wide double doors, but holds out a hand when I step forward. "The bit has to stay out, sir. They don't allow them into any meetings."
He has the good grace to wince when I turn my glare to him. Aelia tugs, but I keep hold of her wrist. Like hell am I leaving her in a random hallway, especially with Grant lurking around. He's probably hidden in a stairwell, waiting until I disappear so he can snatch her. He doesn't strike me as the smartest man. Or maybe he merely doesn't have any self-preservation. He probably assumes he's untouchable, no matter what he does.
"Who do you suppose will stop me?" I ask, and he blanches.
"It's the rules, Mr. Cruz," he whispers as if afraid to dispute me. Good.
"You'll find I rarely follow the rules. Open the door."
He scrambles to obey, and the tension in my shoulders eases. I'm still strung tight, though. It didn't escape me he never said who I was meeting with. When he pulls on the door, he bows. Aelia snorts quietly, but I don't have time to scold her.
The room easily holds two dozen people, double the size of the Kings' conference room. Only five seats are occupied, though. They're clustered on the opposite side, leaving a massive span of wood between us. Jenkins leans back in his seat, folding his hands over his stomach as he eyes Aelia.
Striding for a chair, I sink down, unbuttoning my jacket as I do. I'd rather Aelia be seated next to me, but I'm sure this is another one of their many tests. I point to the floor next to me and she sinks to her knees, keeping her eyes downcast.
"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at Jenkins.
It's harder than I thought to ignore the other four, especially since one is Anders, though he's looking a little worse for wear. His eyes are fixed on Aelia, and I make a note to ask her why he seems to be obsessed with her. Maybe Jenkins rejected him only to turn around and give her to me. I'd rather not have him as an adversary, but since everyone in here is technically my enemy, it doesn't really matter.
"Cruz, I've been doing a little research on you," Jenkins says, tapping the manilla folder sitting in front of him. "Based on what we've found, I have a new proposition for you."
"Is that so?"
I hide my tension behind a mask so thick I can barely breathe. I'll suffocate before I give away my identity. I'd not only be putting my life in danger, but my club's, my family, and all those running Synd. My only hope is that Nemesis did her job and did it well.
Glancing down at Aelia, head still bowed, I wonder if she was the one to run the checks on me. Unlikely. They seem to keep her drowning in numbers, though why they give her access to their financials is beyond me. I'll have to ask her about it next time I'm able to get her alone.
"I'm sure you'll find it advantageous to both parties," Jenkins states, then slides a piece of paper toward me.
On it is a number, that's all, with a helluva lot of zeros behind it. I have the money, especially with the funds Nemesis siphoned from fuck knows where. She merely said the ones she fucked over didn't deserve such wealth. Apparently, they were just as bad as the men seated in front of me. The question is whether I want to hand over more to these people—to help fund an operation actively destroying people's lives.
I'm no saint, but we don't use what we earn to sell flesh, to break people beyond repair, to decimate cities before moving on. When we were teenagers, Helms and I agreed we would run our clubs differently than our fathers. They ruled through fear, flooding the streets of Synd, and eventually Rima, with hate and destruction. They didn't care if innocents were harmed in their quest to hold their territories. Helms and I may still run guns and drugs, but we also protect those under us. If we control the supply, we control whose hands those things fall into. It's a balanced system carefully curated to benefit everyone. Most would still label us criminals, but that's fine. I'll gladly wear the label of bad guy if that means keeping nasty shit out of other's control.
"How exactly do I benefit from infusing the Guild with this much capital?" I murmur, setting the paper down.
Jenkins grins, nodding. "While I won't offer you a seat at the head table, I will allow you access to the VIP areas and services. You've already experienced the exclusive rooms. Those are just the tip of the iceberg for our more elite members. Once we've established your commitment to the Guild, we can discuss giving you access to the business side of things. I'm sure we could use your business acumen in some capacity."
He waits while I pretend to consider his offer. I already know I have to accept. It's the only way to gain more access. This doesn't strike me as the way they usually run things, though. Based on Anders’s stony expression, I'm sure he's against adding me to their ranks. The other three men at the table have spent the last ten minutes shifting in their chairs, as if this is as uncomfortable for them as it is for me.
An older man to Jenkins's right clears his throat. "It's a generous offer, Mr. Cruz. Not one we make lightly."
And there it is, confirmation that they're making an exception for me. Why, though? Why would they bend the rules for someone they don't know other than what they could dig up on the internet? They're desperate for something, and I intend to find out what, then exploit that weakness.
"Anything else?" I raise my eyebrow at the man, tilting my head when he coughs, eyes practically bugging out of his head.
"Why you little—" Anders snarls and Jenkins hand slashes out.
"You are here as a courtesy, Drake. Nothing more. If you'd like to continue in your current capacity, I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself. Otherwise, we'll see what you can fetch at the Trade." The threat Jenkins spouts is spoken with a calmness I've experienced before.
