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Chapter 22

Leverage

Titus

H ere’s the thing about Seventeen: she makes me uncomfortable as fuck. Always appearing out of thin air, quiet as a ghost. She’s like a mouse . . . ghost, a ghost mouse. But , I need a favor.

So, I put on my big boy panties and suck it up. I only have so much time before our meeting later.

I wanted to meet with her alone, and she’s practically trembling in my presence. She can’t look me in the eyes, hers are glued to her shoes.

“Hey, so, I was wondering if you could help me with something,” I start awkwardly for other reasons that don’t have anything to do with her. My question gets all tangled in my throat. I feel like a goddamn teenager about to ask some chick to prom.

By the time I finally get it out, she has apparently gained the courage to unglue her gaze from her feet. She meets my eyes with the hint of a timid smile on her face.

“Of course, Alpha, sir. I would be honored to help you.”

Ecker connected with an old client who got us a conference room at her country club. The whole room smells like orange furniture polish, the grand table gleaming. Landscape oil paintings in ornate frames hang on the cream walls. Just the kind of a place for a good ol’ boys club meeting like this.

Which is why Sinclair felt like her presence might ruffle their feathers, so she stayed home despite all of us wanting her here.

My brothers and I are not waiting long before our guests arrive. We asked the club hostess to have them wait until they all get here to bring them to us. It felt like a small but important power move, making it clear this is our meeting and we will be running it.

A light rap on the room’s door precedes the hostess poking her head in to say, “Sirs, your guests have arrived.”

“Let them in, thank you,” I instruct, channeling a lifetime of anger, betrayal, and injustice into a calm and controlled facade. We have one shot to pull this off.

Three middle-aged white men enter, weighing my brothers and me at the other end of the long table, up and down.

I address each one of them. “Counselor. Chief Hartwell. Mr. Mayor.”

The district attorney and Cape Aurelia mayor take a seat immediately, but the police chief remains standing with a hardened scowl.

“I know you’re all very busy men. Please, have a seat and this won’t be long,” I say firmly but diplomatically.

The chief clasps his hands together and narrows his eyes. “I don’t take kindly to being threatened, young man.”

It’s a challenge to keep my tone even. “I simply asked you to sit, sir. Once you hear what we have to say, I think you’ll agree there will be no need for threats. In fact, we are doing you all an invaluable favor.”

He huffs, incredulous, but finally sits his wrinkly ass down.

My brothers and I follow suit. “Let’s begin.”

After we finish detailing our plan, the chief and mayor both seem significantly more at ease, almost like they’ve won the lottery. In a way, I guess they have.

But the district attorney remains suspicious. “And that’s all you want from us?”

“That is what we want most immediately,” Bishop responds.

The attorney scoffs. “I knew there was more.”

“Our last request is simple, but we understand it might take more time,” I explain. “We know it was the Echelon that pushed for the ban on unsuppressed nobles. It is an unnecessary law that they use as just another means of control. We want it gone.”

“The people won’t go for it.” The mayor shakes his head.

“Then don’t tell them. Take it off the books quietly. It will make no difference to the public,” I argue.

Ecker adds, “You know as well as we do that the law has only been enforced once in the last ten years.”

The mayor considers this before agreeing. “We’ll make arrangements.”

“Good. Now—” I stand and slide three thumb drives across the table. “As a gesture of good faith, here are the original copies of everything that was sent with your invitation to this meeting.”

The men each quickly grab the one with their initials on it, like they are snatching up a pair of underwear they dropped.

“We don’t have to tell you that there’s more where that came from. But if everything goes as planned, it will all be turned over to you,” I promise.

The chief’s earlier cynicism returns. “And if it doesn’t?”

Ecker chuckles darkly. “Then instead of being given to you for safekeeping, it will be sent to every major news outlet in the city.”

Bishop smiles and adds, charmingly polite, “But I’m sure we won’t have to worry about that, right?”

“Oh, and one more thing,” I say as they leave. “When it comes to Baron Cyan, he’s ours.”

“Do whatever you want with him.” The chief waves his hand. “Saves us the trouble.”