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“Whatever you say.” Golden Boy shrugged off his concern, but his eyes were filled with worry and worse, doubt. When the club meeting began, I had to present Savannah Rhymer as new business because that was just how it was. My men had made their feelings clear.
“Send that bitch back to where she came from.” That was Stitch’s position, plain and simple, and he wasn’t alone in that opinion.
“What if she’s giving them intel on the Bastards business?” Jameson was a thinker, an intellectual who’s mind was always five steps ahead.
But it didn’t stop me from glaring at my own damn brother. “What the fuck kind of club business do you think I’ve been sharing with her?”
Jameson’s mouth opened and shut a few times before he shrugged and fell back against his chair. “I’m not saying that.”
I knew that, but it pissed me off that everyone felt so fucking free to criticize me and tell me how I was already failing as Prez.
“She’s safe, and she’s doesn’t know shit about our business, but I won’t send her back to that hell. I can’t.”
My dad nodded and did his quiet, thoughtful thing. “Okay, we all get that. We do.” Max looked around the room until every man at the table, even the second generation Bastards, like Dallas and Wilder, Jag’s oldest kid, nodded their agreement.
“But what the fuck makes her so special? She had no problem with her father and brother trafficking girls. Hell, she clearly doesn’t even have a problem with that fucking Mueller doing it.”
“Yeah well, it’s all fucking different until it’s you, isn’t it?” I didn’t want to go there, but it was important. “You mean you wouldn’t have a problem if Mom wanted to work one of the Bungalows? Or Moon? Or Teddy?”
Anger erupted around the room, just as I knew it would. “That’s not the same, Charlie, and you know it,” Max replied.
“It’s the same to me. And I know it’s hypocritical, but I won’t do that to her. I’m not asking your permission. I’ll keep her safe, on my own time, so accept it. Or don’t. It’s done.”
Wilder nodded and spoke up. He was a few years younger than me, but was smart as fuck, tough as nails, and lacked all social skills. “Okay, no permission, but just let me run another check on her just to make sure she’s no threat, yeah?”
I nodded because it was the smart move. “Sure. Come to me first with what you find.”
“Got it, Boss.” Wilder nodded and buried his head in his tablet, probably making notes of who and where to hack to find the information he needed, just like his dad beside him did.
I cleared my throat, hoping it would clear the room of the tension that still hung in the air. “All right. Moving on to new club business.”
I looked around to see if anyone would speak. When everyone but Cross avoided my gaze, I nodded, the signal to move on.
“All right. We all need to be out in pairs, always together for a while. And we need to do more frequent checks on the Bungalows. After that shit Rhymer and the Jacks pulled at Virgil’s bachelor party, we need to be vigilant.”
Golden Boy raised his hand in agreement beside me. “What the fuck was he thinking, charging into an Ashby-owned business like that?” He huffed out a laugh. “Fucker must’ve had a death wish or something.”
“Yeah, Jasper took care of that wish. No more Brendan Rhymer.”
Since not all the Reckless Bastards had gone to the bachelor party, it was news to them and cheers went up around the table.
“No shit?” Dallas Junior’s eyes widened in surprise.
“No shit,” I replied with a satisfied smile. “Brendan Rhymer is one less thing the club has to worry about.”
“You think this will be the end of the Jacks?”
I looked at Stitch and shrugged. “Fuck no. Those fuckers are scrappy. They’re survivors and the ones not in jail yet, are now on Ronan Rhymer’s payroll, at least according to Jasper. I still can’t fully trust Ashby’s intel, but for now, I have no choice until we can confirm it.”
Golden Boy sighed beside me, his gaze worried as he and Max did the silent brother communication thing. Then he turned to me as if they’d decided he’d be the spokesperson.
“That doesn’t seem like too big of a coincidence to you? Old man Rhymer is now working with the men who allegedly kidnapped his daughter and whored her out?”
“Nah. If you would’ve seen her, you’d know the truth. I’m sure Ma told you about Sunday.”
Max nodded. “She did.”
“Then you know that no one would go through that just to pull off some long con.” Max nodded again, but it was reluctant.
“Look,” I said, realizing I was in salesman mode, “the old man made no effort to find her. As far as Savannah is concerned, she’s on her own.”
