Page 23 of Down & Dirty: Rage

Except she was just about to turn twenty-four and she’d never met another man she wanted as much as Ashton Dougherty.

If nothing changed, she might be doomed to a lifetime of being single.

As well as a virgin.

Chapter Five

Rage studiedthe patch carved into the center of the wood table. Four generations of Dirty Angels’ blood ran through his veins.

Four.

The club couldn’t end with their generation. Fuck that. His ancestors would come back to haunt him if that happened, so it fell on his shoulders to do something about it.

He lifted his head. “Been thinkin’ about this shit.”

Next to him, Zeke sucked on his teeth. “Thank fuck someone has.”

“Know we talked about pickin’ off those fuckin’ Souls one-by-one. Not sayin’ that ain’t the way to go, but think it’s better if we go after the main players. The motherfuckers controllin’ the purse strings.”

Tension crackled in the air around him. The same way it shot down his spine when he thought about this plan.

Across from him, Chill stated the obvious. “The Russos.”

Rage’s gaze sliced from the president to Zeke’s younger brother, the VP. “Yeah. They’re the reason the Souls wannause our territory as a fuckin’ pathway to a fuckload of scratch. Eliminate the Mafia and the Souls ain’t gonna have a reason to come close to Shadow Valley.”

“So you fuckin’ hope,” Chaos muttered.

Wheels spoke up from the other end of the table. “Thinkin’ the Souls are gonna get pissed if we fuck with their windfall, though.”

“Could be,” Rage answered.

Cruz almost launched from his chair when he yelled, “Are you fucking crazy? How the fuck do we eliminate the goddamn Mafia?”

“And survive it,” Chill tacked on. “If we hit them, they ain’t gonna hesitate to hit us back. And let’s be real, their hits are gonna be so much fuckin’ worse than ours. Even if we somehow succeed, who’s to say, like the Souls takin’ over the Demons’ territory, some other Mafia family—or another branch of the Russos in this case—won’t take over Pittsburgh and just continue on with business as usual?”

Chill was right, but they couldn’t sit on their fucking hands and do nothing. Especially after the Russos took Zeke’s son, Ledger, and the Souls injured some of their women. The first one was done as a warning. The second was an actual attack.

“No guarantee that ain’t gonna happen, but nobody’s comin’ up with any fuckin’ ideas how to deal with it,” he answered. “And the fuck if we can let it go unchecked.”

Cruz countered with, “We could.”

The thought of simply letting that shit slide pissed him the fuck off. “Sure,” Rage responded, “and other clubs are gonna see us as weak for not defendin’ our patch. Could end up fightin’ other clubs to hang on to what we built, like the OGs did with those goddamn Warriors.”

Zeke sighed and clawed his fingers through his hair. “We’re fucked either way.”

“Yeah. So, we need to take the path that ain’t gonna fuck us the hardest.”

“Cut the head off the snake and the rest of the snake dies,” Chaos mumbled.

If it was only that fucking simple. “That’s what I’m thinkin’.”

“Thinking is different from actually fucking doing it, though” Cruz bit off.

Wheels leaned forward. “Dunno ‘bout you all, but just the thought of goin’ after the…god…damn…Mafiamakes my asshole pucker.”

“Better check for hemorrhoids, brother,” Chaos told him.

“Would rather have a fuckin’ hemorrhoid the size of the goddamn moon than take pot shots at the fuckin’ Mafia,” Wheels muttered. “Never heard of anyone dyin’ from an itchy asshole.”