“He won’t,” I say. “She’s protected.”
“We can have a man on her 24/7, and shit can still go sideways,” Pop says, straightening in his leather chair. “I’m calling a vote—yea, we kill the boy on sight; nay, we pull back if we can.” If Ma knew Pop was here, taking this vote, she’d castrate him in his sleep and take out every last one of us who dared hurt one of her kids. Every man at the table looks to Pop, then to Ian, and finally to me. As the vote moves around the table, Wyatt, Fish, Chief, and Grady vote yea. Pop, Duke, Diesel, Bear, Ian, and I vote nay. I breathe a sigh of relief that for the moment, Ma’s boy’s execution is off the table.
Moving onto the game plan to protect Alex, Pop assigns prospects to the roads that lead into town on a rotating basis, and Fish and Diesel and Bear to supervise. We’re probably going to have to pull from a nearby charter for full coverage, though. Wyatt, Ian, Grady, and Duke will be making a run to Nevada for firepower. The rest of us will be working out the in-town logistics.
“I got Cub,” I say, while Pop is working out who’s going to be where.
“Son, I thought we talked about this,” he warns, his voice edgy. I grit my teeth and try to avoid a fight, but the thought of someone else—anyone else—being at her side through this shit makes me want to vomit. “I don’t like that idea. You’re getting fucked up over this girl.”
Tired of denying it and backed into a corner, I shake my head. “Can anyone in this room tell me they care more about Cub’s safety than I do? If any of you bastards can tell me to my fucking face that you give a bigger fuck than I do about her, then I’ll step back. This isn’t about family bullshit, or being a rat, or even protecting the club. This is about keeping Cub alive. Is that okay with you guys?” Nobody protests, and for a moment, I feel victorious. I hadn’t intended to volunteer for the position, but now that I have, I’ll fight any of my brothers who try to take it away from me. They know I’m right. I won’t let anything happen to Cub. I’ll bet my life on it, and I’m the only fucker in this room who will.
I’m not leaving her side until this shit gets squared away.
Chapter 23
My Father had a profound influence on me. He was a lunatic.
Spike Milligan
ON MY WAY out, I try to avoid my brothers and my father. They eye me warily as I pass, unsure how to handle the shit I just pulled. Can’t blame ‘em. I don’t really know how to handle that shit, either. If I didn’t have to be coherent tonight, I’d do a couple lines, drink a few beers, and pass the fuck out while I try to jerk myself off. But that’s not an option tonight. It is something to look forward to, though.
“Trigger,” Pop shouts across the lot. I turn and face him, in the back corner of the lot with Grady and Wyatt flanking his sides. Behind them, painted into the black vinyl slats of the chain link fence in white paint is FORSAKEN.
“Yeah?” I say. He bridges the gap between us and places his hands on his hips.
"That's stunt you pulled in there. I don't like it."
I don't say anything, but don't shy away from him either. I knew he'd have something to say about it. Not that I really give a fuck. We've been through this already.
"I see the way you're looking at her, Son."
"I don't even know what you're going on about."
"You and Alex. Can't happen."
"Why the fuck do you care? Did Ma put you up to this?"
I take a second to look around the shop, making sure nobody's listening in. Pop hasn't talked to me about girls like this since I was a kid. Last thing I need is one of these fuckers overhearing and thinking I'm having feelings and shit. Ma talks about how much the bitches at the salon gossip, but I'd be willing to bet they ain't got nothing on the guys here.
"Ruby thinks it's cute. I—I don't think it's cute. I think it's dangerous."
"Why are you so interested in where I stick my dick?" I huff. Leaning over the pull, I flip the wrench I've been holding in my grease-stained left hand.
“Your dick’s not what I’m worried about. I know that look and I—” he says, but I cut him off.
“Don’t like it, I know,” I say, pushing off the pull and tossing the wrench in its open drawer, turning, and walking away.
I cross my arms over my chest, standing with my legs shoulder-width apart, and level his glare with my own. “We got a problem here?”