This shit with Princess is turning the club sideways. The guys haven’t said too much to Trigger because they’re still trying to figure him out. Plus, it’s not like he’s ever been Mary fucking Sunshine. We’ve just never had something like this happen before—a member hooking up with a chick the club doesn’t approve of. I mean, Grady’s wife’s got a bad meth problem that’s fucking up his life royal right now. The club hasn’t said shit about her. Nor have they said a goddamn word about any of the fucked up bitches Diesel brings into the fold—and he’s got those hoes on rotation. They’re not even permanent.
But what Alex did? That shit is something else. Princess sold her dad out like he was nothing to her, and maybe he was, but still. She ratted on her fucking family. I get the situation she was in—having to choose her brother or her father—and I get why she chose her brother, but fuck. No amount of shared breakfasts and snarky conversation is going to let me forget that. She’s a rat, and as much as I wish she wasn’t, it’s the way the club defines her now. Silence is a big fucking deal around here, and she couldn’t manage it. And seeing how twisted up Trigger is over her makes us all nervous.
We have to be able to trust a guy’s judgment because he’s the guy next to any one of us, fighting for us. His head being fucked like this, and he could start justifying that shit she pulled. Then we lose a brother, and that kind of fracture can pull a charter under. At this point, I couldn’t give a shit about Trigger being with Princess. Not really, anyway. I’m just tired of talking about it, and as much as I think it’s a bad fucking idea, it’s not my choice to make. Besides, with the way Princess tunes into his every move, I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to keep her away from him.
Sitting down in my seat across from Ian, the club’s treasurer, I survey the room. Ever since we voted on the trip to Brooklyn, Jim’s made it mandatory to be armed at all times, even in church. Being at the table with my piece is odd as hell, and I can’t say I’m not on edge because of it. Every single one of our guys looks grouchy as fuck. This is going to be fun. Slowly, the guys filter in. When Ryan drops his moody ass into the seat beside Ian, I turn away. The tension in the room is high, and we all know what we’re here to talk about: Princess.
It’s total bullshit that Grady’s making this a fucking thing, but he is. He worries what kind of heat Princess is going to bring the club. If he weren’t a senior officer, I’d tell him to suck his own dick. We’re already in deep where Princess is concerned, so what does it fucking matter if Trigger gets in deeper? It fucking doesn’t, that’s what. If he thinks Ryan is going to wait for his approval to talk club business with Princess, he’s dead wrong. It’s the way shit goes, and any motherfucker who says he doesn’t talk club business with his woman is a bitch ass liar. Shit was different before she got here, but now that she’s here and making friends, it’s time to let this crap go.
It feels like it takes for fucking ever for the guys to get their sorry fucking asses in their seats. When Jim finally slams the gavel into the wooden table, I’m tense as all get out. Jim clears his throat and leans forward in his chair. “We’ve never had a situation like this before—this shit we’re dealing with about Alex. I thank you again for doing what you do for this club and for each other. I’m just sorry that we feel we have to do this.”
Jim ain’t even that old, but he sounds just like his old man when he gets going like this. Back in the day when Ryan and I were kids and Rage ran things, we would find a corner to hide in and listen in on Church. It was a big deal that we never got caught—which brings up concerns over lack of adequate security—but back then we thought we were the shit for pulling it off. Rage used to speak with the same slow manner during Church that Jim does now. That family has some seriously strong genes. When Jim was my age, he looked almost exactly like Ryan, and Rage looked how Jim does now. Come to think of it, maybe if we just showed Alex a picture of what awaits her years down the road, she’d pack up her little crush for good and we could call it a day.