Crossing his arms on his chest, he educated, “See, you got a vagina or not, this is how we deal with wannabe G on our payroll who come up way short during performance evaluations. Hawk’s got a place you do not want to go. We take you there and keep you there until we think we’re even. And after, we decide how severance is gonna go down. Whether you gotta expend the effort to rebuild somewhere that is very much not here but we give you one last thing, a ride to that new location. Or we dismantle you in Denver in a way you’ll never fuckin’ rebuild, and you gotta make your own way to a new location. Now, we got shit to do so, you got ten seconds to make your decision. You feel like taking a ride today?”

She sat her throne with an expression that was half glare, half pout.

In that ten seconds, Axl considered the fact he knew she was thirty-nine, but she looked fifty-nine.

Thank fuck, after years of his father fucking with his head, when there was a decision to make about his future, he took the route to healthy living.

“Time’s up,” Auggie said.

They both started to move her way.

“Motherfuckers!” she snapped, shifting in her seat. “Right, fuck you and just to say, you and Nightingale and Chaos and fucking Sebring are all on radar. Do not think you’re not.”

Both men stilled.

They’d heard this.

From Kevin Bogart, dead dirty cop.

He’d made this same threat against certain players in town, including Knight Sebring, who ran a clean nightclub, but it was debatable, according to your personal philosophies, if his side business was the same.

“They are goddamn itching for you to fuck up, one of you, all of you, they don’t give a fuck,” she went on.

Both men remained silent.

“You think you own Denver,” she continued, warming to her theme something that was Brandi’s MO.

She pictured herself a gangster, but she was on Hawk’s payroll as an informant for a reason.

That reason was why she was in this shitty apartment with a strung-out cult following.

Small-time dealer, also, when she decided not to be lazy, small-time hustler, but she was shit at both. So it was highly likely Hawk, Lee Nightingale, or some cop who had her on his CI list paid for her Balenciaga sneaks.

That reason was also because she liked to know shit you did not and then make you pay for that shit, but when she stared singing, she got off on it, so she was hella useful.

“Nightingale especially,” she carried on. “That Rock Chick bullshit in those books that everyone thinks is cool?” She shook her head and dreads dragged her Gucci. “Not so much.”

“We really don’t give a fuck what people think of our operations,” Axl remarked.