Chapter 1
“As you can see from these maps, it will be highly profitable for your territory and my company.” Barrett Wilcox sat back against the plush armchair, puffing on his cigar. The smoke permeated his mouth, giving him the sense of calm control he needed.
On the other side of the long wooden table, Governor Bickler eyed the map of Texas while he toyed with the ends of his pointed mustache. “You say you want to buy up all this property?” He pointed toward the jagged red line running down and across the middle of the state.
“I do believe that map is up to date.” Wilcox placed his cigar in the circular tray and rose to walk over to the sideboard where the crystal decanters stood. Taking a generous portion for himself, he then held up a glass, offering one to the governor.
With the shake of his head, he declined. “So good of you to offer my own reserve. But it’s a mite early for me.” Pulling a pocket watch from his pristine white vest, he studied it closely. “Only eleven in the morning.”
After he swirled the contents of his glass, he took a deep sip. The dark liquor burned down his throat. “My dear Governor, business should always be conducted over a good stiff drink and women.” He looked around the lavish, empty room. “Since we appear to be out of women, I insist on the drink.”
When commanding a room, even one as small as this, Barrett Wilcox demanded two things: One—know thy opponent or, in this case, the sap of a governor. And two—always be in control, no matter the circumstances. In his mind, every action had a plan and every plan had an action. He ran his business the same way, laced with intricacies and always according to his strategy.
The governor eyed the glass warily before he wrapped his meaty hand around it. “I can’t say this idea of yours doesn’t intrigue me. It could be very profitable for the state.”
The state? You mean yourself. Wilcox stifled a smirk. “That it can be, and we’ll give you twenty percent of the profits to be made. It would make this state,” he eyed Bickler meaningfully, “very wealthy.”
Governor Bickler took a deep drink then sat down in the armchair beside Wilcox. Drumming his fingers over the glass, he fidgeted in his chair and asked, “How do you plan on relocating all the townsfolk?”
“It’s a simple matter of offering the right price,” Wilcox answered smoothly. In truth only one offer would be made; whether the people accepted it or not was up to them. He’d have his land no matter what.
“And you have the means to do that?” The governor placed his glass on the table between them and steepled his fingers.
Wilcox gave a humorless chuckle and drawled, “By any means necessary.” When the governor’s brow furrowed in concern, he added, “My father, God rest him, was a business man much like myself. He started in a small shop back east and turned his one storefront to five. Now I’ve taken that business and expanded into other areas like what we are discussing now. So, if you’re asking if I have the money to what I’m proposing…?”
The governor sat forward and opened his mouth as if he were about to interrupt. Wilcox held up his hand, silencing him, and called out to his man outside the door, “Mason, we’ll have that package now.”
The door burst open and Mason, a tall, slender man, walked through carrying a leather satchel. Wilcox snapped his fingers, motioning for the bag. Mason gave him a sneer but continued forward, his deep green eyes darting around the room as though looking for a threat.
Wilcox stood and waved for the governor to join him at the table. When he did, Wilcox unwrapped the leather strings holding the satchel closed, then dumped the contents of the bag across the table. Green bills flooded the dark wooden surface.
He motioned to the unkept pile. “The means, Governor Bickler.”
A wide smile spread across the governor’s face. He scooped up a wad and started thumbing through it. “As long as you don’t cross Satan’s Sons, we’ll be just fine.”
“Who?” Wilcox cocked his head to the side.
The governor raised his eyebrows. “You’ve never heard of the Suttons?”
Wilcox shook his head. “Who’re they? A gang?”
Bickler dropped the money back onto the table. “They are the meanest sons o’ bitches this state has ever seen.”
“I don’t think a few common criminals would stop us.” He turned to Mason. “Would it?”
The man shook his head with a dark, cold look flashing across his sharp features.
The governor tittered. “I don’t think you understand me. They aren’t criminals.” He sighed. “Well, not anymore.”
Wilcox waved his comments away. “Won’t be a problem.”
“Mark my words, Barrett.” He wagged a finger at him. “Those men are the reason the banditos think twice about crossing the border. They’re not to be trifled with. I suggest you move your operation around their territory.”
Wilcox stabbed his hands through his thick black hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “How much land do they cover?”
The governor followed the red line across the map then arched his finger as if drawing an imaginary semicircle connecting another point down the road. “That’s the route you should take.”
Turning on his heels, Wilcox began to pace. “This is not the plan we laid out. When I say I want something done the way it’s meant to be, I expect it to be done. I’m putting a lot of money into this, Bickler, and I expect returns. You’ve outlined nearly a hundred miles of territory for me to go around.” He sucked in a deep breath then bellowed, “Unacceptable!”
“Boss.” Mason arched his eyebrow, giving the slightest shake of his head.
A warning Wilcox was loosing control. He picked up the cigar from the tray and took a puff, the smoke billowing out around him while he continued his pacing. He turned and faced the shocked governor once more and plastered a smile on his face. “Not a problem, not a problem. We’ll work it out with these Satan’s Suttons.”
“Satan’s Sons,” Bickler corrected.
“Did you say the last name was Sutton?” Mason crossed his arms and leaned up against the wall.
“That’s right.” The governor nodded.
Mason chuckled. “This should be fun.”
Wilcox whirled on him. “You know these men?”
“Seven of them to be exact. I’ve had some dealings with one of the younger ones in the past. But I hear the older ones are the real twisted ones. Especially the one they call Doctor.”
Bickler tilted his head and smiled. “Oh, he’s come a long way since then. He’s a real doctor now.”
“No matter. We’ll deal with him and the rest however we see fit.” Wilcox chuckled and offered the governor his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
When Bickler took his hand, a thrill went through him. He was about to take over Texas, and not even Satan’s Sons would stop him. “Good choice.”
“But, boss.”
Wilcox shot him a glare. “We’ll take care of it. That’s what I pay you for. To take care of it.”
Bickler held up the empty satchel. “Can I have this?”
“With pleasure.” Wilcox swallowed his annoyance and smiled.
“Much obliged to ya.” Bickler started sweeping the money back into the bag. “Wouldn’t want the state to lose its funds.”
“No, Governor, we wouldn’t want that.” He puffed on his cigar as his plans morphed once more. “You know, I think we’ll start in Sutton territory. Make our presence known in Texas. Why would anyone not take our offer once they see these Satan’s Sons bow down?”
“Mark my words, they may move on. But those brothers bow to no one.” The governor put the last of the bills in his bag.
“We shall see about that.”