Page 5
Chapter Five
Henley
T he two applications sit side by side on my desk. The one with the bold letters “ SUBMISSIVE APPLICATION ”, taunts me. It’s been months since I had a match good enough to be brought to my attention. Months since the matching service even had any potential matches for me at all. Now that I said something, a fucking application drops from thin air? Scoffing, I lift my booted feet on my desk and lean backward, eyes closing on their own accord.
It’s been a really long month, one full of paper pushing and barely getting any club rides in. We have all been busy with our own stuff, Hael had to cancel the last big ride. Four of the guys went out on paternity leave, two of them on medical leave due to an accident, and one guy apparently needed to ‘find himself again’. It’s just been picking up mess after mess and the stress is finally getting to me. The one way I know how to relieve it is potentially sitting in an application form right in front of me, yet I have no idea what to do. My previous contract is set to expire at the end of the month. If I let it go, then I could miss this opportunity. If I reapply and it turns out to be a shit show, then it’s just another letdown that I have to go through.
Fuck, I might as well draw lips on my fist and call it an evening.
A knock on my office startles me, and I shove the packets back into a drawer. They can be glared at while they mock me later.
“What?” I bark out as I sign back into my laptop. Lysander, our secretary, pops his head around the corner of the door frame hesitantly. The dude is definitely not an Alpha male, that’s for damn sure.
“Sorry to interrupt you, sir,” he mutters as he fully enters the doorway. I can’t help rolling my eyes when he clasps his hands in front of him timidly.
“How many times do I have to tell you to quit calling me sir?” I grumble and look away from him. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and when I look back at him, he is visibly shaking. Honestly, I don’t know how he ever got patched in. Audibly sighing, I do my best to calm myself. “What’s going on, man?”
“Deimos asked if we could add another round of ammunition to the next shipment,” he says quietly. Another round of irritation goes through my body because I need the dude to speak up. I might feel in my prime, but my hearing isn’t what it used to be. “He said Hiero, Zale, and Cahir were talking about how well they sold last time and the payouts were better.”
“Did you inform them that the last time we upped the shipment for ammo, we almost lost three people?” These fucking men and their big god-damn egos. Lysander shrinks away from me. This time, the eye roll comes out anyway and my mood shrinks even further. “Quit shriveling into yourself, straighten your shoulders, and say what you need to say.” The demand is swift and to the point. He does exactly as I asked.
“No. They did not want to hear me when I said it and practically ordered me to come tell you to add it back onto the shipment.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I shoot out of my chair and march toward the door.
“Firstly, you don’t follow orders from anyone except Hael and I, got it?” He nods quickly, his brows shooting to his hairline. “Secondly, thank you for bringing it to my attention that they obviously also suffer from memory loss. We will not be adding additional ammo to the shipment. Go back to work.” Lysander doesn’t need to be told more than once, he takes off like a fire is on his heels. Standing at the door, I debate on what I want to do with the little shits. Hiero, my road captain, can be a hothead but steady when he needs to be. Zale is our tail gunner and usually pretty quiet, only speaks when spoken to. When he has something to say? Shit, you better be listening because he won’t say it more than once. Cahir is a newer enforcer, having just earned colors not even a few years ago. Another hot-head, but he acts a lot like me after I lost Pop. Nothing bothers him, doesn’t give a shit if he is dead or alive. Another bullet catcher.
My office overlooks the main club area. Almost like a prison setup, I can oversee almost everything from up here. Drenched in Sin, our BDSM club, is about a five-minute walk away from this side of the property. The entrance is on the other side, but we have a walking path we usually use to go over there.
“Listen up!” I bellow out, startling several of the men. They all grumble as they turn in their booths and chairs to figure out where my voice came from. After about a minute or so, all of the attention is trained on me. “Do not be going to lower chains to request changes. If it happens again, you will be stripped of your colors and back to prospect duties, am I clear?” Shock fills some of the faces, but they agree quickly. “No more jumping chains of command. Last warning.” Without another word, I turn on the heel of my boot and go back into the office.
The chatter of the club starts up before my door shuts, and the overwhelming urge to check the paperwork compels me back to the desk. “No,” I mumble, shaking my head to attempt to clear my wandering thoughts. It doesn’t work, but the large stack of shipment paperwork sitting on my desk is enough for me to refocus on what needs to be done for the sake of the club.
Phone ringing, I thank the lords above for another distraction away from the papers. I can’t stand it, and I have no idea why I agreed to do it all.
“Dirty Sinners, Henley speaking,” I answer immediately, my head and shoulder pinching together to hold the phone while I type.
“Henley, this is Scotty DuClaire, from DuClaire and Associates,” the nasally male says from the other end of the line. I quickly type his name and practice into the search bar and find a business. Clicking the website, he is the owner of an accounting practice an hour south of here. My hackles immediately raise.
“What can I do for you, Mr. DuClaire?” Tone even, I don’t want to tip him off to my suspicions. There’s no reason for a businessman of that sort to call unless he has something needing to be moved.
“I would like to set up a business meeting with you sometime next week if you’re free?” He asks, and before I can ask him for more information, he continues. “There have been a few hiccups on my side and your…club comes recommended.”
“Agreeable. Text me the information and we can come up with a time and date. I will let my president know.” His intake of air says he wants to argue, but I don’t give him the time as I hang up the call. At least I have something to focus on now.