I raise my brows at that one.
“Who the fuck is it?”
“A Sully Rentz this time.”
I snort and shake my head. Great. Just what I need. Another Rentz to throw a wrench in my wheel.
“He as hot as his little sister?” I joke, putting two and two together. Youngest of three. Sully ain't the name of the mayor himself. So this has got to be the big brother.
Smoky smiles at that, a facade of good ol' boy America at its best. Only he can bring down a man twice his size in less than thirty seconds. He's a bloody brilliant sergeant-at-arms.
“I'll let you decide that one for yourself. He's inside now, having a drink at the bar.”
As soon as I see Sully, images of his sister flood my brain, my hands clenching into fists at my sides as I try to reign in the urge to hop on my bike and go after her. They have the same green eyes, pale skin, and dark hair, but Sully doesn't have even an ounce of the fire his sister has.
“The hell do you want?” I ask, lighting up a smoke and tapping my hand on the bar for Fauna to pour me a drink. “I've already got your sister on my dick, so why are you here?” I grin at the pun and enjoy watching as Sully's brows furrow together in confusion.
“Mr. McBride?”
“Call me Royal,” I say, grabbing a finger of Jameson from Fauna's outstretched hand and tipping it back in a single swallow. I slide the glass back over to her for a refill. “Didn't even need a nickname because I am what I am.” I shrug my shoulders and keep smiling. “Royalty.”
Sully clears his throat, obviously a little confused and disjointed by my rude welcome. I don't know if he gets it, but that's kind of the point.
“Well, uh, Royal. My name is Sully Rentz and I'm with the—”
“I know who you are and where you come from, Sully. Get to the point and quick. I don't have time to spend all day in meetings with you, your sister, and your goddamn Gram.”
Sully's a quick wit, hardening his face and dropping any pretense of trying to get along with me.
“I need to talk to you,” he says, glancing around conspiratorially. Little does he know that none of my boys give a shit about what he has to say. If it's important, I'll let 'em know. “But we should probably talk in private.”
I sigh and grab my drink, nodding a thanks for Fauna before I gesture at Sully to follow me with a jerk of my chin. He slides off his stool slowly and fixes his tie before bothering to follow, leaving his beer behind.
Once we're outside, I head over to Janae's office and unlock the door, ushering Sully into the warm interior and locking it behind me. It's a Friday evening, so there shouldn't be any customers or staff here right now. I like to let my people leave early on the weekend.
I sip my whiskey, letting the burn block thoughts of Lyric from my mind as I take a seat in Janae's chair, leaning back and crossing my boots on the top of the desk.
“So, how can I help you, Sully Rentz?” I ask as he comes to stand in front of the desk, not bothering to take a seat in any of the chairs lined up against the back wall. I study the man, his perfectly tailored suit and his clean shaven face, his manicured brows and his red tie. Talk about a tool. No wonder poor Lyric's so uptight. Clearly it's a family thing.
“I know my sister's trying to work out some deal between the Wolves and the city,” he begins, sounding like he's rehearsed this speech a time or two before coming over here. “But I don't know if she's mentioned the fact that the FBI's considering opening an investigation into your organization and its business practices.”
I don't respond, letting the man talk at me. But I'm already interested in what he has to say—or how he's going to implicate himself in all of this. Lyric did say he was a friend of Brent's, didn't she? I've been wondering about that for a few days now, trying to decide what to do about it.
“A friend of mine,” he begins, outright admitting his guilt to me, “Brent Gilman, told me he spoke with you a few days ago about a missing club member?” I dig into my pocket for a cig, setting my drink aside and lighting up. I don't usually smoke in the office, but what the hell? Janae can air it out tomorrow.
“Where are you going with all of this, Sully?”
“The thing is,” he begins, his professional smile turning smug, “we know now that Landon isn't just missing.” I crook a brow at that, exhaling like I couldn't give two shits about what Sully's saying. He straightens his tie and squares his shoulders, looking down at me like he's got me right where he wants me.
Poor sap.
What he doesn't know is that he's already dead.
“Mr. McBride, unless you're willing to face charges for the murder of Landon White, I suggest you get in touch with Brent immediately. We've worked out a little deal that I think will be beneficial for all of us.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out a pair of business cards, setting them next to my boots before smiling and turning towards the door. “He's waiting for your call.”