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“Yeah, you want it all,” Judge said, “but at whose expense? Who’s gonna pay in the end havin’ five-o among us? It’s just fuckin’ crazy and dangerous as all fuck. Not anythin’ the Originals would’ve allowed.”
Trip agreed. “Yeah, she would’ve been dead and buried before even makin’ it inside their church. Your pop wasn’t playin’ and neither was mine. Their hatred of the local pigs ran deep.”
“Yeah, it did.” Judge blew out a breath. “Trip wants to protect his future family, but I got one now. Got two kids who need me. Wanna have another…”
“I get it,” Rook answered.
“You sure?” Trip asked. “You know this could cause shit between us and the chief, right? Between us and all those Brysons. Don’t matter that Levi’s now a Bryson. You’re fuckin’ Adam’s damn sister. Not sure he’s gonna take that well. Neither will her cousins. Wanted to keep a good relationship with the PD so they don’t fuck with us. But, hell, this could fuck that up. Don’t need all those fuckers breathin’ down our necks.
“Can tell you this, though, if everybody—and I mean everybody—votes okay with you claimin’ her at the table, then she can’t be wearin’ any of that shit here. She’s gotta leave her job behind before she steps even a toe on this property. Every fuckin’ time. ‘Cause the minute she’s in pig mode and sees somethin’ she feels the need to report? It’s over for her. It’s over for you. Gonna need to keep her on a very short fuckin’ leash.”
Christ. Claiming her at the table? Keeping her on a short leash? Did they have any idea who they were talking about?
“First of all, ain’t sure she’s willin’ to be claimed. She ain’t that type of woman. Second, don’t think she’ll let me snap on any kind of leash. Without me goin’ into detail… She don’t mind me bein’ bossy in the bedroom, but the second we’re out of it?” Rook finished with a shake of his head.
Trip’s lips thinned out. “Yeah, don’t need details on that shit, but if she ain’t gonna let you keep a short leash on her, that could be a problem.”
“Would Stella?” Rook asked Trip. His gaze slid to Judge. “How ‘bout Cassie?”
“Here’s the problem, brother,” Judge began. “A pig without its skin is still a pig. That stink starts at their very fuckin’ center. Our women don’t have that stink clingin’ to them. That’s the difference ‘tween our women and yours.”
Trip grabbed his ball cap from the center of the table and slapped it back on his head, tucking his longer hair under it like he normally did. “Fuck. So done talkin’ about this shit right now. Let’s see what she brings back to us from the pig pen. Let her prove herself and prove how loyal she’s gonna be to you. That right there may determine the direction we need to take with her.” Trip tipped his head. “And with you.” He shoved the president’s chair back from the end of the table and stood. “Well, this whole fuckin’ night turned into a damn shit show.”
“Yeah,” Judge agreed. “Woulda rather have had those fuckers die than be snared by the feds. Every breath they still take freely means they remain a threat.”
Rook, relieved they were done talking about his damn sex life and how it might fuck up his non-sex life, asked, “What’s stoppin’ them from comin’ back if they make bail, or the charges are dropped or reduced?”
“Nothing,” Judge answered.
Trip tapped his index finger on the table. “Unless the feds seize their property.”
“Expectin’ they will. Don’t mean they won’t try to reclaim it. They don’t give a fuck about what the government says. They only recognize their own sovereign nation. You know they’re gonna blame us for siccin’ the feds on them. Still gonna wanna make us pay,” Judge warned.
“Then we got no choice how to handle them. We’ll just finish out our plan,” Trip said.
“Guess who ain’t bailin’ their asses out?” Judge grumbled as he got to his feet. “Gonna put the word out to all the local bondsman, too. Those inbred hillbillies are gonna have a tough time buyin’ their freedom.”
Trip came around the table and stopped in front of Rook. “Report back as soon as she’s got somethin’ to report. If she don’t, then we’re gonna assume she’s hidin’ shit from us. And, I’m tellin’ you now, that ain’t gonna work. For me,” he pointed at Judge, “for him. Or for you. Now, get the fuck outta here. Had enough of this never-endin’ fuckin’ night.”
“I could lose my job because of this, Rook.” Jet was sitting on the edge of her bed with Cujo in her lap, gnawing on her bottom lip.
Normally that would make his dick pay attention. Tonight it didn’t. He was fucking exhausted and drained. He wanted to climb into bed—whether here or back at the bunkhouse—and forget tonight ever happened.
