“Let it go, son,” Jim says, breaking the silence. His deep baritone reminds me who’s in charge around here. He and I have developed a rapport over the last couple of weeks, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t intimidate the hell out of me.
“Bad move, Pop.” Slowly, Ryan turns his head, facing the opposite direction. Dropping his elbows from the table, he leans back in his chair. “You drag two charters across the country, shoot up fucking Carlo Mancuso’s house, take his kid, and after all of that fucking effort, you’re letting her walk out of this house without having a man on her?” I tense the moment his words register. I try to fight off the panic flaring in my chest, but it’s no use. I lock my jaw, taking deep breaths in order to keep my irrational stupidity from being too obvious. Of course it’s about that. For a brief, ignorant moment, I thought he might possibly be worried about me.
“This sounds like club business,” Ruby says, pushing away from the table. Ian watches guardedly, eyes moving between Ryan and Jim.
“Stay,” Jim orders, pointing his finger at her, then down at her chair. I’ve heard him snap at the guys before, and I’ve heard him cop an attitude with a parts rep over the phone. I’ve never heard him sound as mean as he does in this moment. He sounds so much like Ryan, it’s unnerving. Probably wisely, Ruby sits back in her seat, pushing her hair over her shoulder and folding her arms.
My phone chimes from my back pocket again. I silence it as quickly as I can, fumbling over the buttons in the process. Leaning back in his chair, Jim stretches his arms out and slinks down in his seat. “This isn’t club business, it’s family business.”
“Whatever’s going on between you two,” he says, pointing at me and then Ryan. I find myself unlucky as his eyes travel to mine and stay put. “It ends now. I don’t want you thinking you’re going to be on the back of his bike, or in his bed. You’re not one of them whores like your friend, and you’re not Old Lady material.” Tears well in my eyes, not so much from the order he’s laying down as much as from the humiliation of him saying this in front of everyone else.
Though Jim’s speech feels like it’s gone on forever, it’s really only a few seconds. Just enough time for Ryan to push off from the table.
“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done here.” Jim stands, his voice echoing off every nook and cranny in the house.
“You can consider this family meeting over,” Ryan says. As he stands from his seat, he jabs his index finger into the wooden table. “I fuck who I want, when I want, and how I want. Don’t get going on some power trip, Old Man, and start thinking you own me. I ain’t Ma.”
Disappearing from the kitchen, Ryan leaves the absolute most uncomfortable silence in his wake. I stand awkwardly for a moment before heading toward the front door. Just as I reach out and pull on the knob, Jim walks up behind me. He’s spitting mad from the look on his face, and the set of his shoulders. I turn around to give him my full attention, like I was raised to do for a man in a position of power. In a faux-friendly move, Jim leans against the front door, effectively shutting it.
“I don’t know what you’re doing to him, but that little tantrum he just threw is the kind of shit that’s going to get him killed. You reign in that pussy of yours, or it’s going to end up costing him his patch.”
“I don’t,” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“I don’t want you to think I’m the villain here. I’m just a guy, trying to do what’s best for my family and my club. He’s third generation Forsaken. I’m not going to let a piece of ass fuck that up for him.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, trying desperately to keep the tears in my eyes from falling down my cheek. The words I’m sorry are so played out, I can’t even stand it. My body feels like it’s being covered with slime and dirt as they spill out of my mouth. I feel like it’s all I ever say anymore. I’m sorry for trying to save my brother. I’m sorry for betraying my brother’s trust. I’m sorry for not being pretty enough, or sexy enough, for Ryan. I’m sorry for being too young, or I’m sorry for being too na?ve. I’m always sorry, and I’m sick of it.