The truck started up and followed the Harleys down the road. Soon as we were alone, the whole world shifted.
Tank picked me up like a measly branch and slammed me into the brick wall next to the gate. My torso hit so fucking hard it sucked the wind outta my lungs. I grinned and tried to laugh, but nothing would come out. Grinning and baring it was all I could do to avoid signing my death warrant, swinging around and throwing my fist into his thick jaw.
His fat hands thumped hard down my back, then rounded my sides. When he got to my boot, I remembered I'd forgot to take out my blade.
Shit!
“Hey, big guy, there's a –“
Tank practically tore my leg off. I hit the ground and he was still pulling on it, growling as he undid the strap with the holster.
He held it up, drawing out the knife, smiling in the faint evening sun. “Figured as much. Looks like it's just this knife, boss. Wouldn't have done us no harm.”
Blaze nodded, satisfied. He stared at me on the ground, stepping closer. Finally, he extended a hand.
Shaking his hand like this brought the whole fucked up reality home. I had to swallow all the bitter rivalry as he helped me up. I was used to venom and bullets from Devils, but fucking handshakes?
“Come on.” He gave me a rough shove as soon as I was on my feet. “I'll give you a minute to say hello to your sis, and then you don't step one foot outside the meeting room 'til I say so.”
I nodded. There. That felt a lot more like the Devils I knew, and I could relate to it a lot more than that alien nice guy shit.
“Jordan!” Shelly came running toward me before I got two steps into the clubhouse.
She was working at the bar, and she threw herself at me, practically bowling me over on the floor for the second time that day. I couldn't resist locking my arms around her.
Hard to believe so much shit happened in just a couple months since the wedding.
“Hey, sis. It's Brass here around these boys,” I reminded her.
She quirked an eyebrow. “Oh? Just like you're gonna suck it up and call me Saffron?”
Damn. Hearing that fucking stripper name was always like a shot in the chest, but right now we had more important things. I hugged her one more time and then stepped back, nodding.
“Whatever you wanna be called, it's damned good to see you again. We'll catch up later when business is done.”
“We'll be the judge of that,” Blaze growled, slamming a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Let's go. You've said your piece.”
Shelly gave him a disapproving look. Blaze shrugged.
“Club business, baby. You know that.” He paused, flashing my sis a knowing smile. “Don't worry. We won't scratch a hair on his head unless he gives us a damned good reason to. All the boys are under orders not to. Even Tank.”
She nodded, relief shining in her face. “Make sure you bring him back here when you're finished. We barely got to talk at the wedding.”
Great. More drama for later. Didn't have a fucking clue how to tell her I'd picked up an old lady who almost killed my ass at first, plus a little girl.
Being marched into the large Devils' meeting room with Blaze behind me was almost a relief. Everybody was there waiting for me, a buncha guys I'd seen before, sans Stinger and Moose.
Blaze filed in behind me and pointed to a chair in the middle of the table. I sat, watching as he took his place. Typical Prairie Pussy bravado. The other guys looked like they'd suck his dick, all except Tank, who seemed like such a heavy bastard in his own right he didn't need to fawn over anybody.
Still, there was something in their eyes I'd never seen with Fang. True respect. Brotherhood.
They looked at their Prez like a worthy leader, not a man they ran favors for on fear alone.
“All right, bros, let's get this shit started,” he said, picking up a small gavel at the head of the table and slamming it down. “Church is in session, and we have a guest. Never thought I'd see a motherfucking bear at this table.”
He shook his head. I snorted. The disbelief was mutual. It was surreal as shit being here, staring at the faces of these men and their devil emblems, everything I'd been trained to destroy.
“Seems there's a power struggle in the Grizzlies MC,” Blaze continued. “Worse than the shit we've been hearing about their brush fire war with the cartel. Fang's reached his limit, and that's pretty fucking serious news for our club, seeing as we've always been on edge since Throttle sealed the truce with the bears.”
The two national Presidents putting blood aside seemed like eons ago – right here in Montana, no less. But it was really less than a year and a half ago, back when easy * and pushing sweet fire in my veins was all I had to worry about.
“Fang's a fucking idiot,” I growled. “Traitor to his own club.”