Relent (Sydney Storm MC 1)

Was she shitting me? I eyed the woman who was blocking my access. Uptight, middle-aged bitch who probably just needed a good fuck. “I don’t give a flying fuck if he’s not taking visitors. You tell him I’m here to settle a debt, and that he’s gonna want to see me.” I paused and then added, “Tell him it’s about Michael.”

She scowled. “I’m not interrupting him. You’ll need to make an appointment like everyone else.”

I slammed my hand down on her desk, causing her to jump in her seat. “Go and fucking tell him I want to see him and that it’s about Michael!” I roared.

She glared at me and continued to argue. “I don’t know who Michael is - ”

Rage blinded me and I struggled with my kneejerk reaction to inflict pain in order to get what I wanted. Instead, I placed both hands on her desk and bent my face close to hers. “Bitch, I’m about two seconds away from doing some major damage here. Go and tell your boss he’s got a fuckin’ visitor.”

Her eyes widened, and then she stood and walked into Gambarro’s office. A minute later, they both came out, and Jonathon Gambarro glared at me. I eyed him and took in one of the most feared men in Sydney. He’d had his hand in dirty shit for over twenty years, and at only forty-one I figured he had many more years of it left in him.

“Who the fuck are you?” he barked.

“I’m here to settle Peter Bishop’s debt.”

He scowled. “Why isn’t Peter here to take care of that?”

I walked towards him and threw out the one weapon I had in my arsenal. “I’ve actually come to talk more about Michael than about Peter.”

The asshole knew exactly who I was talking about by the look that flitted across his face.

I’d brought fear to Jonathon Gambarro. A feat not many managed to do. And I hoped like hell it would be enough to save Peter.

He motioned for me to enter his office.

Time to negotiate.

Shutting the door behind him, a more subdued Gambarro took a seat at this desk while I stood on the other side. “What about Michael?” he asked as his gaze swept over me with distaste.

“What do you think, asshole?”

“I’m not sure what to think unless you lay it all out for me.” His voice remained calm but the sweat beading on his forehead gave him away.

I slowly placed my hands on the edge of his desk and bent slightly towards him. “It seems you’ve got a thing for young boys, Jonathon, and I happen to know one of them didn’t make it out of your home alive. That information remains with me, and me only, as long as you wipe Peter’s debt and forget you ever met him. And before your brain starts to tick over and contemplate ways to take me or Peter out for this, you need to know I’ve made arrangements for this information to be passed onto the cops if either of us end up dead.”

He weighed my words, and I watched the hatred form in his eyes. “How the fuck do you know about this?” he sneered.

“Knowing shit that no one else knows is my specialty.”

“That shit is likely to get you killed one day. You do realise that, don’t you?”

“I’m not concerned about that. I’ve lasted seventeen years in this shithole city with the knowledge I have. I don’t think anything’s about to change just because I’ve got something on you.”

His brows shot up. “Well, then you’ve got no fucking idea how I work.”

I bent lower to look him right in the eyes. “No, motherfucker, you’ve got no idea how I fuckin’ work. You don’t want to take me on because I’ve got reach in this city that you can only fuckin’ dream of.”

“I don’t even fucking know who you are, so excuse me if I don’t buy a word of what you’re saying.”

Time to pull out the big guns. I started rattling off names he would know. “Justin Sutherland, Billy Jones, Max James, Eric Bones, Calvin Ryan, Stu Davy... you know any of those names? And I promise you that’s just the tip of the iceberg. You wanna fuck with me, you’ll be fucking with them, too.” I intentionally left out King’s name just like I’d intentionally not worn my cut this morning.

He sat back in his chair and I knew I had him.

Silence filled the room as we glared at each other, and while he contemplated his next move.

I should have felt anxiety, worry, concern ... anything.

I felt nothing.