Page 73 of Cruz

His eyes flick over the women, then me. “Good. Uh. I found litter. Someone had some. Don’t ask me who. Also, there’s a litter box coming.”

“Thank you.”

He nods, lingering like he wants to say more but doesn’t know how with an audience.

Lark gives him a soft smile. “We’ll step out in a minute if you want some time with your mom.”

“No, it’s okay.” Liam looks awkward, young and grown all at once. “I’m glad you’re here with her.”

My heart does that painful mother thing where it swells and cracks in the same beat. “I’m okay,” I tell him again.

He nods, but I know he doesn’t entirely believe me. That’s fine. I don’t entirely believe me either. When he leaves, the room feels different.

“He loves you a lot,” Ella says.

“I know.”

“He’ll find his place,” Lark says. “They all do, if it’s meant for them.”

I think about Liam’s face when he talks about the garage. About Wizard’s office. About the guys. About the room he’s slowly making his own. “I think he already is.”

“Then maybe you can too,” Willa says.

I look at her.

She shrugs. “Not saying you have to. Just saying maybe.”

Prissy pushes her head under my palm again, demanding more attention.

Maybe. The word is not certainty. It’s not safety. It’s not a guarantee that everything will be fine. But it’s not no. But maybe tonight it’s enough.

Chapter 24

Cruz

I push inside what used to be the boardroom, or conference room for the flour factory that the club later renovated. They left it pretty much the same, and I’m not sure if that’s because the room had the right aura and fit, or if the furniture wouldn’t go through the door so it was easier to build and change the place around the room than it was to shape the room around the club.

The massive wooden table in the middle is full, most of the guys seated around it. Generally, only patched in brothers attend church, but this is so personal—with most of our houses and businesses being hit—that even the prospects have been allowed to sit in on this. Tyrant is at the head of the table, and right beside him, Raiden sits in his usual seat. After that, most of the guys don’t have regular chairs.

My eyes slowly scan around the table. The other prospects are standing, holding up the wall with their arms crossed over their chests, so that’s where I am too. I don’t know Elijah, Mont, Shane, and Owen like I know Liam. Elijah is the youngest, while Owen is in his sixties. To get into a club, we all generally start out the same way, no matter what our age. They’re good guys, and right now, they have that same look that most of the guys around the table have—pissed with a little bit of worry around the edges. This is our home, and this gang came here and fucked with us. There’s not a single person in this room who is okay with that.

Tyrant, though, is relaxed at the head of the table. He doesn’t have to give anyone a big pep-talk before the call starts. Wizard has the big screen pulled down and his laptop on the table. When the call goes through, I guess that we’ll be able to watch the video on a grand scale. I wonder how many of us will be displayed in turn. Likely everyone. And I have no doubt that someone on their end is probably running our images through a database. It’s smart that Tyrant didn’t want Liam here. Maybe the gang members never laid eyes on him, but soon enough, the link to the nightclub would show up.

Though we’re all different people in this room, we look like an unmistakable united front with all our leather jackets, vests, patches, and jeans.

When I walked in, Wizard had obviously been briefing the guys about the gang for a good while. I know that the gang doesn’t have an official name, and that they often call themselves Jackals after their leader, William Jackal, though I’m sure that’s not his real name. Liam’s called them small time, a growing force in Seattle that didn’t have too much trouble taking territory and buying up property because there’s a good deal of empty space for criminal enterprises in the city. I don’t know if that’s fully true or not. I only have what Liam’s told me to go on.

I don’t have much time to listen to Wizard before the call comes through and the massive screen lights up at the front of the room. I can tell that a few of the younger guys expected a more gangster looking man than the clean-cut one in the black suit presents. The guy is young, probably not more than thirty, and looks like he’s heading into the office for the day.

Maybe he is.

Although, we’re talking about a gang here and not the true criminals in business and politics, so maybe not. I have no doubt this is William Jackal himself. Despite his youth, he exudes authority. His eyes are deep brown, trending on black, and his dark hair is styled like he’s about to step onto a magazine shoot.

“Satan’s Angels,” Jackal says with derision. “I only have one question to start, and how you answer will determine what follows. Are you looking for a war? Because if the answer is yes then you’ll be finished.”

Tyrant doesn’t rise to the insult. He stays calm. I realize that from the direction Wizard’s laptop is pointing, Tyrant and Raiden are likely the only men that William can see. Maybe Odin too, given that he’s sitting on the other side of Tyrant.

“We’re not lookin’ for a war.” Tyrant’s voice is always so smooth, confident, and reassuring. His face gives little away, but from where I’m standing, it’s surprisingly open and friendly. He appears sincere, a man of honor, because he is.