Page 9 of Forbidden

Chapter Four

Layla

The hum of television and Alfie’s latest video game was in my one ear while my other ear was having metal blasted into it from my headphones. I was trying my best to work on the homework I had been given. I was behind because it was already halfway through the semester.

“Layla?”

Cyrus. I hadn’t seen him today. He had been in the garage when I got home. I swear he was avoiding the inside because Mum was still unpacking.

“Yeah, Dad?” I called back, not taking my eyes off the math work I was doing.

“Can you come outside for a bit?” He was speaking from the back door. I got up, slipping my heels back on. What did he want?

I hadn’t gotten in trouble at school. I was going to do my best at school, like they wanted. I had to. They were expecting it.

I walked out the back door and saw the garage door open. Cyrus always lived in his garage. It only made sense he was moving into his new one.

I frowned while walking and realized Cyrus wasn’t by himself. I took in the two rather large guys… nah, screw that, they weren’t rather large, they were fucking huge! Especially the one to Cyrus’s right. He was standing looking dominant in the unpacked garage.

I glanced at the patch on his chest. ‘President’ was proudly emblazoned on his chest and under that was his mother charter. Looks like I was looking at the Reaper.

“This is Reaper and Brad.” Cyrus introduced us. “And this is my daughter, Layla.”

I stood awkwardly in the doorway. I didn’t want to get an inch closer to them. They looked like they could snap my neck with the least bit of effort.

“Thought you only had a son?” Reaper looked at Cyrus.

“I’m Dad’s adoptive daughter,” I answered his question.

“So much for your speech on never getting tied down.” Reaper looked at Cyrus who shrugged his shoulders. Reaper then looked at me. “So, start explaining why I am having a conversation with you?” He said that like he would snap my neck for wasting his time.

“I don’t know.” I looked at Cyrus for answers.

“Talking figures, Layla.” Cyrus said that as if it should answer all my questions. My mind slowly clicked over what he said. I repeated it in my head.

My mind slowly ticked. “You’re talking percentages.” I clicked together what he was asking me. “What’s the question?”

Cyrus didn’t do numbers. Cyrus had Dyslexia. He didn’t like people knowing. So he just handed anything to do with numbers and writing to me.

At the age of eighteen, I was laundering the club’s money.

“So, what are they offering?” I asked Cyrus.

“You pay us twenty-five percent,” Reaper answered my question, sounding as rude and as unfriendly as he looked.

I scoffed. “That’s rich, what is your second offer?” Twenty-five percent of the deadly dozen’s income was rude! Like him! Rude!

“No second offer. You are in my town. My rules,” Reaper coldly reminded me of the facts.

He was speaking like he was dealing with the junkies that lived off the crap he sold. I crossed my arms. “That would be an acceptable offer if you were dealing with a gang or another one of your associates.”

“What makes you different?” the man called Brad barked at me. Most women, hell, even men, would flinch at that tone. But I was used to Cyrus barking at me with a nastier tone when he was in a bad mood.

“The clubs are at peace, right?” I kept my voice free from nerves. I would not let them shake me. Cyrus was counting on me making this deal. I knew that now as he stayed quiet.

Reaper glanced at Cyrus and then nodded his head.

“Clubs at peace means you’re basically like brother charters. Brother charters don’t profit. Only cover losses. You will only lose ten percent. Which means what we pay is ten percent.” I put down the facts and both the men seemed rattled by my understanding of their world. “I suggest fifteen percent. Ten to cover losses plus five out of respect.” I gave them a much more reasonable offer.