Charley was still in a daze walking through the house when her phone rang.

She raced back to her bedroom. It was the only room that hadn’t been trashed.

She grabbed the phone from her dresser and read the screen.

Oh shit! She considered not answering but he’d inevitably call back.

Charley tapped the screen and brought the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“I want you and your fucking delinquent brother out of my house!”

“Mr. Pearson, I know…”

“I get a call from the neighbors telling me there’s shit breaking and yelling at midnight.

Then the cops showed up, and they hauled his ass away.

You two have been nothing but a pain in the ass since you moved in.

I’ll give ’til the end of the month to pack your shit and get the fuck out.

” He paused. “And don’t even think of asking for your security deposit back. ”

Her mind was spinning. This was the last thing she needed right now.

He was giving her ten days’ notice to find a new place to live?

They’d been on a month-to-month basis for the last six months.

After an altercation with one of the neighbors, the landlord refused to let them sign a lease but allowed a second chance.

Charley drove her hand through her hair. She wouldn’t argue about the short notice, but she had to push for the security deposit.

“By law, you have to give me back my security deposit.”

He scoffed. “You’re lucky that’s all I’m doing and not taking you to court for not paying your goddamn rent for last month.”

What?

She scrunched her brows. “I paid the rent. Cash just like you asked. My brother dropped…”

Oh God, no.

“He didn’t drop shit off. Was willing to give you some time, but this month’s didn’t show up either. Still wanna fight me on the security deposit?”

She clamped her lips and dropped her chin to her chest. Charley should’ve known better than to trust her brother with cash.

But it seemed like he’d gotten so much better in the last few months.

When he complained about having no responsibility and her treating him like a child, she’d figured it was a way of showing her faith in him.

“Ten days!” The line went dead.

“I will not cry,” she muttered, dropping to her bed. “I will not cry.”

Then she cried.

****

I could think of a hundred things better suited for my time than this meeting.

Nash grabbed his glass of scotch, taking a slow sip, feeling the burn down his throat.

This had gone on far too long. They’d been in the private room of the restaurant for well over two hours.

It was good to build a rapport with associates, a semi-friendship in the mind of the prospective partners, during any deal.

But this motherfucker is wasting too much of our time.

Nash rarely took a seat at the table. He’d always preferred standing off to the side.

It gave him a vantage point of the room and everyone in it.

Tonight, he was next to Oz and seated across from a new buyer, Brock Anders.

He’d been in the gun business for years, but Anders wanted to branch out into the drug transport market.

With stipulations. It wasn’t often someone came to the table with a list of demands for the Underground.

Fucking moron!

Anders clasped his hands, resting his elbows on the table and addressing Oz. “The way I see it, you’re the person in charge of the state. Why go through a middleman? We work out the deal between the two of us and pay you directly. You can disperse it how you see fit.”

On paper, it would’ve been a convincing strategy.

After all, Oz ruled the entire state. His word was the only one that mattered in the end.

Being King had its privileges. But that’s not how the organization operated, and Anders knew it.

While Oz ran, and essentially owned, all the distribution in the state, he didn’t step in and barter deals.

On rare occasions, a member running a territory would ask for assistance, but never a buyer.

“What do you say, Oz? We got a deal?” Anders asked.

Nash steeled his features. Laughing in the face of Anders would be unprofessional though warranted. This was one for the books. He may have worked his way up and built a reputation and business that couldn’t be dismissed, but he was no match for Oz. And Inez.

Oz tapped his finger on the table but remained silent.

An even stroke, two seconds apart. It was reminiscent of a clock ticking.

The mindfuck. The longer Oz stayed quiet, the more tension grew in the room.

They’d all try to figure out what direction he’d lean toward, or if they should’ve played it differently in their presentation.

Nash settled back in his chair, eyeing all the men.

When the tapping stopped, Nash turned to Oz. They shared a look but nothing else. No words, no gestures. It was unnecessary. Nash worked under Oz for so long, he was completely in tune with what his boss wanted done.

Nash turned to Anders, stone faced. “What you’re saying is you’d like to avoid dealing with Inez?”

Wouldn’t we all?

Anders sighed and spread out his hands. “In order to get to Inez, we have to go through Killcreek.”

It was standard practice. After all, anyone wanting to get to Oz had to go through him.

However, there was a vast difference between the way Nash conducted meetings versus how Killcreek did.

And there lay the issue. Dealing with any given member in the Underground was usually conducted in a professional setting.

There was a protocol set years ago by Sal Caruso.

They may be living on the other side of the law, but it didn’t mean professionalism was spared.

Meetings were set up, respect was given, possibly out of fear, and deals were made fairly.

Killcreek didn’t adhere to any of that. They made deals on their terms, timelines, and best interests. Everyone else could fuck off.

Nash arched his brow. “So Killcreek is the problem?”

“They’re both a fucking problem, Nash,” Anders snapped, allowing his anger to get the best of him.

He’d caught himself, but it was already too late.

He’d exposed the truth. While Nash could sympathize with anyone who had to deal directly with Inez, it was how the Underground was run.

And no one, including the man seated across from them, could change that.

Anders inched up to the edge of his seat, resting his elbows on the table, sighing heavily. “Look, I have a lot of respect for both the club and Inez, but they make negotiations difficult. In fact, there are no negotiations. They dictate.”

“They have something you want, not the other way around. Of course there will be concessions,” Oz said.

Anders’s brows spiked to his hairline. “Concessions, Oz? Last time she took a meeting, she had her cut at seventy-five percent. That’s unheard of, not to mention bullshit.”

Nash smirked. “As I recall, you took that deal.”

His jaw squared. “Well, I didn’t have much of a choice, now did I?”

It was a copout. Rules were set in place. If Anders didn’t want what he deemed an unfair deal, he was under no obligation to take it.

“We always have a choice,” Nash countered.

The man scowled and grabbed his drink, finishing it off in one mouthful before wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.

The glass came down on the table with a little too much force.

Anders was showing his anger, and in turn, all his cards.

He would take any deal with Inez, because in the end, if he wanted the product, she’d supply it.

“You think you have a better chance at making a deal through me?” Oz asked.

“A reasonable and fair one, yes.” Anders snorted. “Not to mention a sane deal.”

It was always interesting, and entertaining to see how others viewed Inez.

None of them had the balls to say it to her, but somehow they felt at ease around Oz.

Little did they realize Oz and Inez were on the same page about most deals.

When they weren’t in agreement, neither interfered with the other’s business.

“They’re impossible to work with,” Anthony said. He’d been Anders’ second for quite some time but rarely spoke during meetings.

“Exactly!” Anders said, slamming his hand on the table.

“I tried reaching out to Ace several times during the last deal. Took weeks to get a call back, and when I tried to schedule the transport, he gave me one day and a six-hour window. I run a large operation, and that asshole thinks he can call the shots?”

“Did you follow through with the deal?” Oz asked.

Anders furrowed his brows, but before he could answer, Oz held up his hand.

“You did, which means that asshole —” Oz’s gaze darkened “—does call the shots.”

Touche!

“I had no choice, Oz.”

Again with that statement. Nash smiled and arched his brow. Anders’s lips twisted in a sneer, and he pushed back in his chair, grasping the edge of the table. His knuckles whitened, making it clear Oz had struck a nerve. “Ace is nothing more than Inez’s lackey. Riding her fucking coattails.”

Nash caught himself before giving any type of reaction to that statement.

Rarely did he lose composure. But this was a direct hit.

It was an insulting dig to every second-in-command.

Including me. Nash had made a name for himself, working up the ranks to his position.

It wasn’t without a lot of blood, sweat, and sacrifices.

He’d essentially given up his own life for the Underground.

And never once did he ride coattails to get to where he was in this life.

He knew firsthand the same could be said for Ace.

That comment took a lot of balls. And stupidity. Nash grabbed his glass of scotch, taking a slow sip. Top shelf. He wasn’t sure if he’d finish it by the end of the meeting, but he’d order another. On principle. Anders called the meeting, therefore he’d be picking up the tab.

The comment may as well have been aimed at Nash in Oz’s mind, as well.

His position, much like Killcreek, was as a second-in-command.

Neither called the shots when it came to direct deals.

They were more of a support system and often disregarded.

Nash may have had an upper hand by outward appearances.

He dressed the part and acted accordingly. Killcreek didn’t.

“That’s a rather bold statement.” Oz’s tone reflected everything Nash was feeling.

“It’s the truth.”

Son of a bitch is doubling down.

Nash settled in his chair and lifted his hand to the waitress. He pointed to his glass, and she nodded, rushing to the bar. The next few minutes were tense without Oz saying a word. As soon as the waitress dropped off Nash’s drink, Oz stood buttoning his jacket. Nash followed suit.

“If you want distribution from my state, you will work with Inez.”

“But Oz—”

Oz narrowed his gaze, and Anders immediately tightened his lips.

“I will facilitate a meeting. How you choose to move forward with Inez is up to you. We’ll be in touch.” Oz didn’t bother shaking hands. He turned, and Nash followed close behind. As they got closer to the door, security fell in line.

Nash wasn’t sure which approach Oz would take, but he certainly wouldn’t barter a deal between Anders and Inez.

He had too much respect for her. And little did Anders realize, an equal respect for Killcreek.

However, this was business that no one wanted moving out of state.

It would be a loss for everyone. Nash knew which way Oz would lean.

Because in the end, it always came down to keeping the Underground strong, in control, and lucrative.

They walked out to the back lot. The SUVs were lined up, waiting. Nash had driven over on his own, but he walked Oz to his vehicle.

“Thoughts?” Oz asked.

Nash was being tested. Oz had already decided what he was going to do, but occasionally he’d ask for Nash’s input. The real test was whether they were on the same page. Nash never failed.

“As much as I despise Anders, it’d be a missed opportunity not to strike this deal with him. He goes out of state, that only increases our competition. I think it’s best to approach Inez in person to discuss and get her on board for taking the meeting with him.”

Oz slowly nodded. “Agreed.”

“Should I pick up a carton of cigarettes and schedule a meeting for you with Inez?” Nash asked, fighting against his amusement.

She was the only person he knew that required some type of gift before taking a meeting. Inez was what Sal often referred to as ol’ school. A handshake meant more than a written contract. And if a deal fell through, there were no second chances.

Oz stopped at the open back door, glancing over his shoulder.

“She’s requested a nice bottle. Pick it up and schedule to your availability.” Oz smirked. “ You’re meeting with Inez. I’ve met my quota for the quarter.”

Fuck!

Nash tucked his hands in his pockets, stepping back and watching the SUV drive away. He stretched his neck, looking up at the sky and sighing heavily. There were many aspects of his position he enjoyed. This is not one of them.

“Is that a promotion or a demotion?” Ridge asked.

“Sounds like a punishment.” Caine chimed in.

Nash snorted, circling to face his men. Technically they were Oz’s security, but he’d been in charge of all of them.

The elite three, Caine, Ridge, and Cyrus, had been with the Underground the longest, and they were the most loyal.

It was unusual for anyone in his position to get close with security, but Nash had an unconventional friendship with them that very few knew of.

“It’ll definitely be interesting.” Nash gestured to the lot. “I’ll let you know when I have it scheduled.”

“Think she’ll let us inside this time or make us stand in the hall again?” Ridge joked.

Inez was strange, to say the least, and you never knew what kind of mood she’d be in. Their last visit had Nash, along with security, banished to the hall while Oz met with her.

“We shall see.” Nash waved to the men and started to his car.