Page 14 of The Price of Love

“All right, that’s settled. Kickstands up at nine on May 2nd.” Storm glances at her watch. “Appears you wanna get back to the bar. We still got fifteen minutes. Does anyone have anything else?”

Frost, who’s sitting to Storm’s right, stands. Dimples’ eyes widen. Standing while the president is still sitting is a breach of protocol. Movement catches my eye. Nails, the sergeant-at-arms, stands and moves between Storm and Frost.

I brace myself, considering what I’ll do should something blow up. As a prospect, I’m expected to stay neutral, but Dimples will be right beside Storm.

Frost laughs and holds up her hand. “Whoa. Whoa.” She points behind her. “I’m just getting something from my bag.”

Storm nods, giving her permission, and Nails returns to her seat.

My gaze scans the crowd, looking for Frost’s allies. They’re whispering among themselves. I don’t believe for a second that Frost’s action was innocent. By the fire burning in Dimples’ eyes, neither does she. The tension, which was all but gone, returns.

Frost pulls a package from her bag. “I took the liberty of having this crafted for us.”

I relax, feeling guilty for thinking Frost was up to something. But when I see suspicion in Dimples’ eyes, my senses heighten.

“I think it’s about time we declare our territory.” Frost pulls something from the package. “It’d honor Aces.”

From where I’m standing, I can’t tell what it is, but from Dimples and Halo’s expressions, it’s not good. Storm and Nails’ faces remain impassive, giving nothing away.

Frost holds up a patch. It looks like a bottom rocker, which would make sense since she mentioned territory.

“Sit down,” Storm says with authority.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Frost drops to her seat, but she still holds the patch over her head. “This one is my favorite.”

I read: Adirondacks, New York.

“Or how about Cinder Ridge, New York?” Frost says, waving another patch with her other hand.

“Who asked you to commission those?” Storm’s tone gives away her barely contained anger.

“Uh, nobody. I just thought it’d be a nice visual to open the discussion.”

“What makes you think we need this discussion?” Storm says to Frost as if speaking to an unruly child.

“Because some of us are sick of hiding behind our Nomad patch. It’s about time we do our colors proud.”

“You are, huh?” Even from where I’m standing, I see the vein in Storm’s neck throbbing. “So ya decided to break protocol and take matters into your own hands?”

Frost puts her hand against her chest, and her mouth drops open. I’ve never seen a faker gesture.

“My apologies.” Frost waves the patches before she shoves them into her bag, leaving the wrappers on the table. “My intention was to give everyone something fun to see.”

While I understand Nomad means the Thorns have no declared territory, I’m not sure why Frost’s suggestion is being met with so much tension. I sense this goes deeper than Frost breaking protocol. I swear, everyone in the seats in front of me is holding their breath, waiting for Storm to respond.

Storm reaches for the gavel she uses to open and close meetings. Shit. She looks like she wants to pummel Frost with it.

“Frost, you know this is a serious breach of protocol.” Storm slams the gavel head against the table. “Meeting adjourned.”

Nobody moves as they wait for Storm to stand, but the whispers have started. Storm takes her time, gathering the papers in front of her before she rises from her seat. As soon as she is on her feet, chairs scuff against the floor as everyone plans their escape.

Instead of living up to her name and storming from church, Storm surprises me. She walks around the table and starts talking to the patches in the front row. She’s smiling, but I can’t make out what she’s saying.

Prospects are expected to put the room back together, so I have an excuse to linger. As I’m folding up chairs, I overhear a few of the girls talking about how cool the territory patches are. Shit.

I move closer to the front of the room, where Storm’s talking to the old-timers in the front row. Pretending to have trouble folding up one of the chairs, I listen. They’re talking about their bikes. Smooth. What better way to show Frost’s end run didn’t have any impact?

While the chatter in the back of the room scares me, my respect for our president grows.