Unwritten Rules (Filthy Florida Alphas 3)

“Get out!” I yell, and it’s probably the loudest my voice has been since my father hurt me.

“Damn it, Toi!”

“Get out!” I cry, and my voice cracks and I hate him—but I hate myself even more in that moment.

“Fucking hell, woman! I’m just trying to—”

“I think maybe it’s best if you leave. I’ll see to Toi,” the doctor breaks in. Marcum starts to argue, but looks at me. I see the disgust on his face. That’s one look I’m really familiar with.

“Fine,” he growls and stomps out, and I’m glad even if that does leave me alone with a doctor who I didn’t want to see in the first place.21Marcum“Where in the fuck is my money?” I demand. I barrel into the room letting my anger fuel me. I grab Weasel by the collar of the dingy beige T-shirt he’s wearing and slam him against the wall. The motherfucker has the nerve to walk into my club and demand anything from me? I’m going to cut his nuts off one small piece at a time.

Weasel’s head bangs against the wall, and he throws his hands up as if in surrender. His bloodshot eyes widen with fear, and they should. I’m going to kill him. He’s the reason Toi is under my roof, torturing me—for that alone he should die.

“I don’t have it!” he cries.

“Well, motherfucker, you should have tried running because you won’t walk out of here alive,” I growl.

“Marcum you’re choking him, we can’t hear him beg if you do that,” String says.

“I don’t want to hear anything the fucker has to say.”

“I think I’d let him talk. He was saying something really interesting before you came in here,” Dusty responds.

I know my men well enough to know that I’m not going to like what the motherfucker has to say. But there’s a reason they brought it up so I ease up on my grip before I completely crush his larynx. I haul him to a chair that’s in the center of the room and all but throw him into it.

“You’ve got two minutes to talk. I’ll warn you now, Weasel, if I don’t like what I hear, you won’t live to see another minute go by.”

“I don’t have the money right now—”

“Motherfucker—”

“Wait! I have it under control.”

“Shit dude you don’t have nothing under control.” This comes from Ride and I couldn’t agree more. Still, something about the look on Dusty’s face makes me decide to let Weasel finish.

“You’re running out of time,” I warn him when he doesn’t finish.

“I made a deal with the Garcias.”

That stops me cold. I know the Garcias. They’re part of the Cuban crime family that we’ve had to deal with from time to time. They have a big pipeline that runs through Miami and occasionally they push their shit up my way. I don’t like it, but they keep out of my way and I sure as fuck keep out of theirs. My club has a reputation and no one fucks with us and lives, but I’m not stupid. It doesn’t matter how big you are, if you tangle with the wrong people, you can fall. Don’t get me wrong. I can handle the Garcias, but I’m not getting into a my-dick-is-bigger-than-yours contest with them. I have reach, but their reach is possibly bigger. The men in this room pledged their lives to me and the club. In return, I’d like to fucking keep them breathing.

“You’ve been talking to the Garcias?” I ask, highly doubting they’d give this piss-ant the time of day.

“Yeah, man. I’m in tight with them.”

“I just bet,” Ride mutters.

“The only way the Garcias would give you the time of day is if you were doing something for them. You laundering money for them too, Weasel?” String asks.

Me…I’m remaining silent. This entire thing stinks. The fact that Toi’s father has any dealings with the Garcias is bad fucking news. I got her out of this fucker’s reach just in time—even if she doesn’t appreciate it.

“Nah, man, they got a man for that. I help them find local talent.”

“Local talent?” I ask, but fuck I know. I feel like cold steel is being poured down my back. Jesus fucking Christ, does this asshole not know who he’s dealing with? Of course that’s a stupid question since he thought he could fuck with my club and still live.

“Yeah. I help find them some girls here and there. They trust my judgment,” Weasel says, and he might be trying to act like the big man on campus, but I can hear the panic in his voice and it’s good he’s panicking. He needs to panic. If this is going where I think it is, he’s ensuring his death is going to be fucking painful.

“What the fuck does this have to do with my money, Weasel?”