Page 88 of Brox Boar

I hate these people. Not out of fear. Out of experience.

They allow nothing to pass. Rules are sacred. Guidelines become weapons. Their pride lives in refusal. Their power feeds on restriction. Men who measure worth by how much they deny.

The mayor warned us about them. All stiff-backed enforcement and zero flexibility. He tried to get them in here so we can get leverage, but failed every time.

My cell buzzes again. ‘What the fuck they’re doing in here?’

It’s Rio. Sol must have texted him, too. I exhale through my nose. Fuck knows. Still, this isn’t about panic. It’s about control. I turn and start toward the entrance, replying to him.

‘Keep Alessio away. Give him something to do, then come to the boardroom.’ I press send and type a message to Sol.

‘Find Lana and Alina. Get them into the waitress uniform. Black short skirt. White crop tops. Bow tie. Headband. Twelve-inch stilettos. I want them to serve drinks in the boardroom.’

Morales was an asshole, but at least she knew how to prep the girls for the clients. With her gone, it feels as though I’m covering three roles at once. It grinds. We’ll need a replacement, someone who understands the operation and doesn’t flinch at the pace. The pets need someone to tell them what to do, and when to do it.

Sol replies instantly. ‘On it.’

I reach the entrance and lift my head from my cell just in time to lock eyes with Sol. We nod at each other, and he heads off to find the girls.

The mayor notices me, and his expression flickers–panic briefly surfacing before he smooths it back under a layer of professionalism. I ignore it. Having him on our side has helped the Boarpit more than once, and I have no intention of turning on him now. I extend my hand.

“Mr. Mayor,” I say evenly.

He shakes it in a firm grip. “Mr. Boar. Thank you for accommodating us.”

I nod, and greet the rest of the team, exchanging hands in turn. Their palms are damp. Their eyes never stop moving.

“Gentlemen. Ladies.” I gesture inward. “Shall we?”

Lucky for us, it’s early. The club breathes but doesn’t roar. No packed bodies. Plenty of space to move. To observe. That works in our favor.

I guide them through the main floor, past the bar, along the steel staircase tucked to the side. Their shoes echo as we climb. They follow me up to the boardroom.

“Right this way,” I say, holding the door open.

Through the glass wall inside the boardroom, I catch Rio on the floor below. He’s coming this way. Moments later, he enters.

He introduces himself smoothly, his presence steady as if we have absolutely nothing to hide. Officially. He outlines who’s who without embellishment.

Seven of them in total. The mayor, two from health and safety, two from the fire authority, and two women from noise and nuisance control. Both of them rigid, unimpressed, lips pursed as if the air itself offends.

They sit at the same time Rio does at the head of the table. I take the opposite end. One of the men clears his throat. The fire safety officer with a red face.

“My daughter’s having her bachelorette party in here,” he says, leaning back slightly. “Thought I’d see the place myself.”

I keep my expression neutral.

“Not sure Henriette’s booked yet,” he continues, talking in a lower tone to the person with a thick neck next to him, “but from what I’ve seen,” he glances around, “she won’t be happy when we close this place down.”

My fingers curl slowly against the chair arm. Maybe I will close his mouth instead. Forever.

I lean back, composed, eyes steady, and let Rio handle the moment.

For now, we play the game.

RIO

Assholes. Showing up at the Boarpit at this hour. Whatever happens next isn’t on me–it’s on them. This is what they wanted. So I don’t wait, I slide my hand under the table and press the discreet button built into the armrest of my chair.