The Bratva Biker Girl

I lean back in my expensive, custom-made leather chair, steepling my fingers, narrowing my eyes at the man facing me. Pavel Khushanov is the Bratva Pakhan, and my MC has worked with them for decades. My father with his father, and my Grandfather with his Grandfather, the last two started things as immigrants fresh off the boats from Ireland and Russia. 

I, however, do not trust the man sitting opposite me.

'You want us to transport the goods to Mexico?'

I ask now, and the older man nods,  his accent thick when he replies.

'Da, Killian. They must get their before they close this border. You understand, I am sure.'

The current President has been giving orders to close checkpoints randomly, and we never know if the one we choose will be open. It's a massive risk, but he knows that, so he will pay handsomely for the privilege of having my men transport his goods for him. 

'You know it'll cost you, don't you?'

I tell him, and it's his turn to narrow his eyes and then nod his head.

'I know this, Killian. We have worked together since we both took over from our fathers. Do not insult me with this nonsense.'

He pushes to his feet and glares at me angrily.

'The Bratva always pays its debts.'

He slams down his fists hard on my hand-carved mahogany desk, then turns and storms out, leaving only the scent of his expensive cologne. 

'Sure, methinks, he was not a happy man, was he not?'

My father. Cieran wandered into my office; his Irish accent was prominent, although he had been born and bred in Texas.

'He's up to something, Pa.'

I say, as he sits on the chair facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the ocean.

'Have you put out any feelers, Son?'

He asks me, and I nod, 

'Yes, I have people watching him and his son, and Rory is tracking their every move, every call, every transaction, you know the score.' 

'Aye, I do, lad. He's a clever one,  your cousin Rory. quite the whizzkid with all this new-fangled technology.'

I smile back at him. Pa can barely use his cell phone, so the kind of technology we have in our security room is way beyond him. I have the kind of technology that NASA would love to have; we can trace people, track people, look into accounts, government computers, even the FBI or CIA, and we can find out everything about you within an hour.  We both turned at the knock on my office door.

'Come in.'

I say when I see it is Cormack, my number two,

'Why, good day to you, young Cormack and how's ye parents doin' this fine day?'

My father says, before either of us can get a word in edgeways.

'Hello, Mr O'Hara, they are doing very well, thank you. Pa says thanks for the whisky from the old country, says it sure hits just the right spot.'

Cormack grins at my Pa and is about to turn to me when Pa chimes in again,

'Sure, now you tell him anytime he wants a good whisky he's to let me know. Sure, and haven't I got cratefuls of the stuff just lying around in my house!'

That makes me grimace. The reason he has 'cratefuls' is that it costs me a fortune to import the stuff through legal channels, so I can piggyback the drugs and guns I import/export on the shipments without anyone knowing any different. 

'Pa, I'm sure you have things to do. Cormack and I will be going into a meeting real soon.'

I shooed him out of my office. Ever since he had retired and let me take over, he has found an excuse to come into my office every single day. The only time I get any peace is when he and Ma go on their beloved cruises. He protested mildly,

'Ah, son, isn't your Ma in full-blown packing mode, so she is. I should never have suggested going back to the old country to look up the cousins, so I shouldn't.'

I give him a wide grin.

'Now, Pa, that's not true. You've been planning this trip for more than a decade. It's all you've talked about and the reason you retired.'

He chuckles and pats my arm,

'Ye are not wrong, Son, and we've been planning on becoming Grandparents just as long, but ye are still keeping us waiting.'

I sigh heavily and shut the door behind him. My Ma and he use every opportunity to remind me I need to produce an heir to keep the continuity of our family running our MC club, The Oasis Blues. Turning back into my office, I sink back into my chair and look across at Cormack, who is chuckling darkly.

'You'd better find yourself a woman real quick, Bro, or they will find one for you.'

'Fuck off, Cormack. There's no way I'm getting married any time soon; I'm too busy enjoying myself.'

'You're speaking to the converted brother. Still plenty of fresh pussy out there for us to have fun with.'

We laugh, and then I say more seriously,

'So, what brought you to my office?'

'Pavel Khushanov.'

All trace of laughter leaves me, and I sit up straighter.

'Speak.'

I say my eyes are narrowing as he expands on the information he has gathered.

'He's talking to the Mexican Cartel and the Colombian Cartel, neither knows he is talking to the other.'

I go very still in my chair, staring out at the skyline as the sun sets, the great orange ball seeming to slip into the ocean.

'Now then, what is that fucker planning?'

I say my mind is working like crazy, as ideas crash against each other, and Cameron continues.

'Intel say he's setting us up, Boss.'

'What does Rory say?'

I ask, frowning and sitting back in my chair and shifting my gaze to his.

'He's looking into it and will report to you soon.'