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But he also needed a strong woman at his side, something each and every one of those Angels had.
They were not treated as lessors, but almost as equals. They held more power in their hands than anyone would admit to out loud.
But it was there. Unmistakable.
What was shown to the world and what happened behind closed doors were two different things. But they were all better and stronger for it.
And that was what he wanted.
He watched how women were treated by the Originals. How they were used and abused. One could argue that those women chose that life. That they knew the way. What was to be expected.
It still didn’t make it right.
And it helped erode what should’ve been a strong club, a power to be reckoned with. It wasn’t the only reason, but Trip was pretty sure it was part of it.
It was one thing to have sweet butts, women who want to be used for whatever reason, it was another to disrespect an ol’ lady. Trip determined right there and then not to have any of that shit poisoning his club.
The woman in his arms, though...
This woman was going to be his ol’ lady, his goddamn queen. She was going to stand next to him while he rebuilt what the past destroyed.
She just didn’t know it yet.
He waited long enough to make sure sleep had pulled her deep. That she wouldn’t be restless.
And once he was assured of that, he decided to give her space.
It wasn’t a good idea for him to stay, as much as he wanted to. It was better he be gone when she woke up. Give her time to digest everything that went down.
The bar.
The sex.
Her meltdown.
Which seemed to be a long time coming and badly needed.
You could only be a fortress for so long, eventually those walls were going to crack from the constant battles. And once they did, when there was a lull in the war, you stepped back, evaluated the damage and then worked on getting those cracks repaired before the next onslaught.
He hoped when morning came and she faced a new day, she’d see things more clearly.
That she was no longer alone in that fight.
She’d have help repairing those cracks and rebuilding her father’s bar.
No, not Pete’s bar, her bar.
He shook his head.
Their bar.
He was now determined more than ever to turn it around. To make it work, to make it successful once again. Like Buck and Pete had wanted.
She might not like it, but in the end, she’d see it was for the best.
Hopefully, he could convince Sig of the same. His brother might not like what Trip was doing, but in the end, maybe he’d see Trip was doing his best to help him out.
He only fucking hoped Sig would accept that olive branch. If not, at least he’d given it a shot.
Trip slipped carefully from the old, lumpy mattress, tugged on his boots and his cut and locked her apartment door behind him as he left.
He made a mental note that her locks were a joke and needed to be upgraded if she was going to remain living there.
He half-jogged down the steps and back out into the bar area. Heading immediately toward the front door, he secured it for the night, then went behind the bar. He found where she’d tucked the bulging checkbook binder and grabbed it, shaking his head with how many bills she was behind on.
It wasn’t one month’s worth or even two. It was many. He didn’t bother to look at the balance of her checking account, because he knew it wasn’t enough.
Tucking it under his arm, he turned out all the lights except for the ones lighting up the back bar and then slipped out of the rear emergency exit.
Tomorrow was a new day.
And he had a lot of fucking work to do.
Chapter Seven
He was running on gas fumes since he couldn’t sleep after leaving Stella last night. When he finally gave up trying, he headed back downstairs to the kitchen and sat at the farmhouse table his grandfather had built with his own hands, sorting through all the invoices and bills for Crazy Pete’s.
If he couldn’t sleep before, the grand total of what was owed, the amount in which both Stella and the bar were behind, might keep him up for a week straight. He had a hard time wrapping his tired brain around it. And now he understood one reason for Stella’s meltdown, but he was pretty fucking sure that wasn’t the only reason.
He also found the property tax bill tucked into the back of the checkbook. Hiding it wasn’t going to make it go away, but at least it wasn’t due for a couple of months yet. Plus, he could pay it late without too much of a penalty, if needed.
