RIDING DIRTY (Steel Titans MC Book 4) by Franca Storm (ebook voice reader .txt) 📕

because he was with the club until his last breath. He had a heart attack.”

She grinned. “Thank you for the compliment.”

Realization hit me. “Jesus. Made it look natural. Damn, that was fucking good.”

“It’s what I do, how good I am. You would’ve experienced that firsthand if you hadn’t ridden roughshod over me with your own conflicting strategy against our target back then.”

“You gonna move past that and the… other thing, or are we dead in the water here?”

The seconds ticked on by, stretching like a bitch of a thing.

Then she steepled her fingers, eyeing me. “Fill me in. What’s this all about?”

“The Strikers.”

She cursed under her breath.

Yeah, I figured it wouldn’t go over well.

“Lovely,” she groused.

2

~Willa~

 

LIFE AND DEATH.

Those were the stakes of my business.

I accepted it, respected it, and I had measures in place to protect myself and my clients from succumbing to the latter.

I played it smart.

I had the codename, Shadow, for a reason. I stayed in the dark and kept my clients’ involvement rooted there too, so that neither party’s involvement was detected. There was also a deeper meaning to it. I worked in darkness, committed dark acts, but all for the greater good, for the purpose of unveiling the light. I cast out evil with darkness, to bring in the light, to make the world a better place. Unfortunately, only darkness could conquer darkness. You had to get down to that level and mix around in the dirt in order to plant the seeds that would breed life and a better day for all.

Basically, my role was to broker peace between enemies. Just not via diplomatic means. No, I was the one who was called in when all attempts at the peaceable route had failed, when there was no reconciliation, or resolution through natural means. I took out the problematic elements to force a peace. I selected my kills in a very logical and safe way, in order to protect my clients and myself.

Mine was a dangerous business, I had to ensure I employed safeguards.

One of those safeguards meant avoiding unruly, reckless elements.

Another was forgoing emotional involvement and never making a decision, or a mission, personal.

Right away, that put two strikes against Slade Mitchell.

Informing me that the job he wanted me to take on involved the Strikers Motorcycle Club made it all a hell of a lot worse.

Because of what he’d done recently.

He’d taken down a club, committed a massacre. Going anywhere near that right now was dangerous. The situation was still hot. He’d managed to cover up his involvement due to his impressive resources and calling in a ton of favors that he’d earned over the years. But he could only maintain that state by lying low and ensuring he and his club remained on their best behavior for a long time to come.

“The Strikers MC is decimated. The war is won.”

“They ain’t all gone, darlin'.”

“They went their separate ways with no intention of reviving the Strikers. You’re monitoring them as well, as I understand it.”

“I don’t wanna be monitoring them.”

“Why not?”

“Why’d you think? I don’t want any threats out there, nobody who’s gonna make a comeback a few years down the road. I want it done.”

Something wasn’t right here.

It just didn’t make sense, not from what I knew of Slade.

“You’ve never shied away from trouble coming your way before. What’s changed?”

I could see him starting to get agitated again by my probing. He was a leader, he didn’t like having his decisions and reasoning questioned, especially not to such an extent. Unfortunately, he’d have to suck it up if he wanted my help, because it was the cost of doing business with me.

Blowing out a breath, he looked me right in the eye and revealed, “I’m tired, darlin'.”

Oh.

I hadn’t expected that.

The guy was a machine, nothing seemed to slow him down, to stop him. He steamrolled over any and all obstacles that stood in his way. Besides, he was still young, especially for a MC president, only forty-seven, just ten years my senior. The shape he was in, I would have pegged him as at least a decade younger, if I hadn’t already known a great deal about him. He was tall, standing a few inches over six feet. His black leather jacket stretched across his linebacker shoulders. His broad chest and pecs filled out his black tee in an impressive way, the outline of his six-pack visible through the thin material. I could see some of his ink peeking out from the right side of the tee, stretching up to just below his neck. He gave off quite the intimidating edge.

Fortunately, I wasn’t someone easily intimidated, and it actually had the opposite effect on me. It intrigued me.

“Tired?”

“Yeah.”

It took me a moment, but the pieces fell into place quickly enough. “You want out? From the club?”

“I’ve had a good run.”

“So, you think taking out the few stragglers from the Strikers MC will facilitate that?”

“That and one more thing I’m taking care of.”

“One more thing?”

He grinned slyly. “Nah. That ain’t a part of this. That stays with me.”

“If this thing you’re talking about involves assassination, it sure as hell involves me. We can’t both be launching strikes at the same time. You are the common denominator. It will obviously lead back to you and—”

“And what?” he asked, sitting forward in his chair and grasping my desk. “That’s where it’s gonna stop. It ain’t gonna come back on you, because there won’t be a trace of this deal between us. I know you hide your shit well. And I don’t give people up.” He rolled his eyes. “If you’re still worried, know that I ain’t gonna be around for it to even come back on me, so it ain’t gonna have no hope of touching you anyway.”

“What does that mean? You’re going to ground, is that it?”

He ran a hand through his thick head of hair, mostly black, with a smattering of dark-gray here and there. “Yeah. That’s what it fucking means.”

Color me