Page 9
The door opens, and every head turns to see who it is, as a woman walks in.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
She's not dressed like one of the club bunnies. She’s wearing cuffed black jeans, with brown Doc Martens, and a fitted white T-shirt, everything is tightly covered. Which makes every single curve of her body that much more noticeable.
Especially the outlines of her nipple piercings pressed against her T-shirt.
Fuck me.
Adjusting myself, she sits in the empty chair at the end of the table, tossing her purple hair over her shoulder, and nods at our President as if she and Lennox are on a first name basis.
Like they are equals, and she’s never been nervous a day in her life before.
She’s the goddamn family friend.
“Who the fu—”
“This is Tatum. She was part of Redline, a—”
The room goes absolutely feral.
"What the fuck is this?"
"Why is she here?"
"Is this a joke?"
"Get her out."
Lennox tries to speak. Nobody lets him. It seems like I am the only one Pres shared anything with. Marcus is red in the face, when the woman stands up.
“Can you all please shut the fuck up?” she says loudly.
Every mouth clamps shut, more from shock than respect. She makes eye contact with each of us, confidence radiating off her.
“My name is Tatum. I was the one who single handedly burned Redline to the ground. On top of that sweet treat for you, I was also the one who found your rat and took care of it—you’re welcome. So, while I think gratitude is a much better way to approach this, maybe just save the insults for after introductions, at the very least?”
And just like that, every officer in the room is staring at her. Not because she's beautiful or bold, but because she's either incredibly brave...or completely insane.
She drops back into her chair like she didn't just walk into a room full of hostile bikers and tell them to shut up. I can't help but admire her.
Most people would've folded under the pressure.
Lennox speaks finally. “I’d like to propose a vote for Tatum to pledge to the Iron Wraiths to become a patched member.”
Marcus speaks first, arms crossed over his chest. "We don't initiate women. It's not our way, and we don't know Tatum."
A grin tugs at her lips. “You’re right. You don’t know me.” She looks around the table. "But I know every one of you."
We keep our eyes locked on her as Tatum nods across the table. "Lennox. President. Cleanest record in the club." She points at Marcus. "Vice President. Attorney. Lewis & Clark Law. That's where the Judge nickname came from."
Marcus's expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes. Then she keeps going. One by one. Diesel: Road Captain. Ledger: Treasury. Fuse: Enforcer. Names. Jobs. Histories. Details nobody outside the club should know.
By the time she's finished, nobody looks amused anymore. They're unsettled.
Hell, so am I.
Then her eyes pin me to the chair. "And you." Something dangerous flashes behind that smile. "Corbin."
