Page 50 of Sunny Undone

One sound that’s enough to show he understands.

“Who owns the ass-mobile?”

“The guy you, Knox, and Lock are, apparently, meeting with. He has a deal for us.”

“Can’t fucking wait,” I say, my voice loaded with sarcasm.

“You go in. I’m supposed to wait here until Lord Jerk-Off is ready to get out of his Batmobile, then bring him in.”

I head into the clubhouse and find Havoc behind the bar eating cereal straight from the box. There are also three weapons laid out on the counter in front of him.

The clubhouse furniture has been shifted, two tables pulled together in front of the room we use for church. Knox and Lock are sitting there waiting, but the rest of the leaders of the club are perched casually around the room.

I mean, casual to an outside observer. But each man is armed to the teeth, and North is sharpening his knives.

Ridge walks in with the stranger, who holds a black leather folio beneath his arm. He’s probably early fifties. Expensive navy suit with a crisp white shirt whose sleeves evenly poke out beyond the jacket. His hair has a suspiciously precise look that says he probably pays someone more than I spend on groceries to maintain it.

His eyes flick over my cut, my jeans, and my boots, and while I’m sure he thinks his poker face is perfect, I see the slight downward curl at one corner of his mouth before he rectifies it into a wide smile.

“Knox,” he says, stepping toward me, his hand out.

But I shake it anyway. “Nope. Sunny.” I point at the name on my cut, then incline my head toward our prez. “That’s Knox.”

Three men, large men, who I doubt came out of the sports car, stand behind him with no weapons visible.

Ballsy move, if I’m honest.

We sit, and then the guy looks to Havoc and says, “Whiskey?”

Havoc looks back at the bar, then slow claps. “Yeah. Ten out of ten. That’s a bottle of whiskey.”

But Knox tips his head. “Bring it over. Shouldn’t be rude to our guests.”

The man smiles. “As I said on the phone, I’m Claude Bennett, and I’m here representing a client who wants to discuss the purchase of your property.”

My heart rate spikes a little, but I continue to rub my thumb over the edge of the table.

“Our property?” Knox says.

Bennett smiles like he’s explaining something to a child. “Your land, primarily. We’ll raze everything else that stands on it.”

Knox huffs. “Yeah. I know what property means. Just wondering what you want with it.”

Reaper smiles wryly and North shoulder checks him gently.

“What my client is willing to offer is extremely generous,” Bennett continues. “It’s well above market value.”

“And who is your client?” I ask.

“I’m afraid the information is confidential.”

Havoc chooses that moment to land four glasses of whiskey on the table, but I notice the one he gives to Bennett is generously poured.

“Ah, Tennessee,” Bennett says, picking up the glass as he looks at the bottle. “I prefer a Scottish single malt, myself.”

Pompous shitbag.

“Don’t fucking drink it, then,” Lock says, but Bennett picks it up.