Read Online Mobbed By Him #2 (Mobbed By Him Romance Series - Book #2) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) by Alycia Taylor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alycia Taylor
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be a list.
There were three names on the list, names I didn't recognize.
“What is this?” I set the paper on my desk and looked
up at him.
“Right, you probably aren't used to seeing these. You
will be seeing a lot of them throughout your career as the leader I am sure.
It's a list of people who have three strikes.”
I groaned and started rubbing my forehead with my
hand. Nope, I definitely wasn't in the mood for this shit. The list was the
last thing I wanted to deal with, and to be honest, I wasn't sure why I had to
deal with it at all. Seeing those names on the list sent chills up my spine.
Being on that list was never good for anyone; in fact it was the last place you
wanted to be. For the people who were on the list, it meant you had done three
things to piss the MOB off and now we were coming for payback. People were so
stupid that it often surprised and saddened me. Anyone that had three strikes
usually meant that the MOB was going to kill them off. You know...three strikes
and you're out. Well it worked the same for the MOB. It always amazed me how
people actually managed to screw up not once or twice but three times, as if
they thought the MOB wasn't notorious for killing people off. It was all we did
sometimes. If we didn't get our way then we killed people. But yet there were
still people out there that thought they could get away with skimming from the
top.
I always hated stuff like that. It usually was the lowliest people that did
the screwing over too; you would think it wouldn't be. But maybe it was all the
drugs they took that gave them courage. The people that feared the MOB the most
would usually be the ones to screw them over. We did, after all, give them
three strikes. Why did they always have to go for three? Sometimes it was a
drug dealer that screwed up by using the drugs for himself or his friends and
not paying for them. Or a prostitute that didn't give her pimp all the money
and kept more of it for herself. I couldn't count how many times it had
happened over the years. I also couldn't imagine why they took the risk, but
there were three on the list that had done just that. And now Gord wanted me to deal with them.
“I really hate this shit. Thanks for shitting on my
day, Gord .”
Gord was still smirking and I hoped he wasn't just testing me. I wasn't in the mood
for any type of amateur shit today.
“Well, you're up, Damon.”
“What does that mean?” I looked at him confused.
“You are the boss after all. There are three people on
that list with three strikes on them. It is up to you to decide how we are
going to go about getting rid of them.”
“Are you kidding me? Why me? You're telling me my
father handled shit like this?”
“Your father insisted on it. He hated people that
weren't grateful for the help that the MOB gave them. He wanted to be the one
to decide how the axe would be dropped, so to speak. It is your job now to do
the same.”
“I would rather you do it, or give the job to the guy
that is out punching these tickets. I'm not interested. I have enough shit to
deal with, I don't need to decide how someone dies too.”
“Do you feel sorry for them, is that it?”
“Are you shitting me? I don't feel a damn thing for
them.”
“Then do your job, the same job that your father did.”
My stomach turned at the thought. I had no idea that
my father had handled the killings himself. It made me start to wonder what had
been really wrong with him. I had obviously never been in this position before
since my father was the head of the company before he died and he certainly
never mentioned any of this to me. I wondered if my mother knew about the
strike list and my father’s involvement in it. If she did, was she okay with
it? Did she ever weep over the many lives that were lost or did she barely
think of them at all? How would she feel knowing that I was deciding the fate
of others? I knew that I didn't like the idea, that was for sure.
I had always just run
There were three names on the list, names I didn't recognize.
“What is this?” I set the paper on my desk and looked
up at him.
“Right, you probably aren't used to seeing these. You
will be seeing a lot of them throughout your career as the leader I am sure.
It's a list of people who have three strikes.”
I groaned and started rubbing my forehead with my
hand. Nope, I definitely wasn't in the mood for this shit. The list was the
last thing I wanted to deal with, and to be honest, I wasn't sure why I had to
deal with it at all. Seeing those names on the list sent chills up my spine.
Being on that list was never good for anyone; in fact it was the last place you
wanted to be. For the people who were on the list, it meant you had done three
things to piss the MOB off and now we were coming for payback. People were so
stupid that it often surprised and saddened me. Anyone that had three strikes
usually meant that the MOB was going to kill them off. You know...three strikes
and you're out. Well it worked the same for the MOB. It always amazed me how
people actually managed to screw up not once or twice but three times, as if
they thought the MOB wasn't notorious for killing people off. It was all we did
sometimes. If we didn't get our way then we killed people. But yet there were
still people out there that thought they could get away with skimming from the
top.
I always hated stuff like that. It usually was the lowliest people that did
the screwing over too; you would think it wouldn't be. But maybe it was all the
drugs they took that gave them courage. The people that feared the MOB the most
would usually be the ones to screw them over. We did, after all, give them
three strikes. Why did they always have to go for three? Sometimes it was a
drug dealer that screwed up by using the drugs for himself or his friends and
not paying for them. Or a prostitute that didn't give her pimp all the money
and kept more of it for herself. I couldn't count how many times it had
happened over the years. I also couldn't imagine why they took the risk, but
there were three on the list that had done just that. And now Gord wanted me to deal with them.
“I really hate this shit. Thanks for shitting on my
day, Gord .”
Gord was still smirking and I hoped he wasn't just testing me. I wasn't in the mood
for any type of amateur shit today.
“Well, you're up, Damon.”
“What does that mean?” I looked at him confused.
“You are the boss after all. There are three people on
that list with three strikes on them. It is up to you to decide how we are
going to go about getting rid of them.”
“Are you kidding me? Why me? You're telling me my
father handled shit like this?”
“Your father insisted on it. He hated people that
weren't grateful for the help that the MOB gave them. He wanted to be the one
to decide how the axe would be dropped, so to speak. It is your job now to do
the same.”
“I would rather you do it, or give the job to the guy
that is out punching these tickets. I'm not interested. I have enough shit to
deal with, I don't need to decide how someone dies too.”
“Do you feel sorry for them, is that it?”
“Are you shitting me? I don't feel a damn thing for
them.”
“Then do your job, the same job that your father did.”
My stomach turned at the thought. I had no idea that
my father had handled the killings himself. It made me start to wonder what had
been really wrong with him. I had obviously never been in this position before
since my father was the head of the company before he died and he certainly
never mentioned any of this to me. I wondered if my mother knew about the
strike list and my father’s involvement in it. If she did, was she okay with
it? Did she ever weep over the many lives that were lost or did she barely
think of them at all? How would she feel knowing that I was deciding the fate
of others? I knew that I didn't like the idea, that was for sure.
I had always just run
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