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A couple minutes later, we were all filing into the Henchmen clubhouse, and Fallon was giving his men a quick explanation before leading me into his room for some quiet.
He seemed to sense the anxiety that was coursing through me as I put my phone on the charger, realizing I'd let it die since showing up at his place the night before.
"Use mine," Fallon said, pressing it into my hands. "You're just going to make yourself sick with worry if you wait for yours," he reasoned.
That was true.
Grabbing his phone, I took a slow, deep breath, and dialed the club's number.
"Yo?" someone answered, half-distracted.
"Put him on," I demanded, knowing anyone there would recognize my voice.
"Alrighty then," he said, calling out for my father.
I could practically see him hauling himself out of his chair and making his way across the clubhouse.
He was sturdily built—neither heavy nor fit, somewhere in the middle—, tall, with mostly white hair that had once been blond like mine, and the same eyes I saw every time I looked in the mirror.
"Yeah? What?"
"Pops," I said, voice sounding tight in that one word.
"You really shouldn't be calling me," he said, voice low, angry.
So he'd heard.
Of course he had.
Chewy had probably barely waited for the door to slam behind me before he was calling up my father to wax poetic about how this was why women in power never worked, and why he'd said from the beginning that it was a bad idea that I become a president and yadda fucking yadda.
"You should really stop listening to one-sided stories," I shot back, heat slipping into my voice.
I could probably count on my hands the number of times a conversation with my father didn't turn into an argument, if not an outright screaming match.
"You disgraced this club. And me," he growled, voice raising as well.
But I wasn't a little girl anymore. A man with a raised voice didn't intimidate me like it used to.
"Funny you would think I am the one who disgraced the club, and not the man who attempted to murder me twice," I said, going in hot. "Or, you know, attempted to take out a rival MC without permission from you."
There was a long pause. A dramatic one, even. Soap-opera worthy.
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about an eye-witness who saw Chewy talking to a man who was then contracted to kill the Henchmen president. And me," I added. "A contract killer that I put in a grave, mind you. I'm talking about the Henchmen being ambushed in North Carolina. You know what I find funny about that, Dad? The fact that Chewy would have been down your way not long before that."
"What are you trying to say?"
"I'm telling you that I wasn't the only person with a snake in my club. I'm telling you that some of the men you are looking at right now went behind your back to attempt to take out a rival MC without your permission."
"Why the fuck would they do that?"
"That's what you should be asking your men, isn't it? My best guess is Chewy would have offered them a cut of the income he'd get by taking out the Henchmen. Chewy had been with you for a long time. I'm sure he had buddies in your club that weren't pleased that he didn't get his own chapter. And he was just there to visit and rile them up for a couple weeks."
"Weeks?" my father asked, making my blood run cold. "No. No, Chewy was here for two days. He did his drop. He did a little partying and fucking his old favorite clubwhores. Then he was on the road back to you."
"Yeah, no. He didn't show up for a couple weeks."
"And you didn't question him?"
"He said he was with you," I snapped. "And since he and I have never been close—like I told you before you forced me to take him on as a VP—I didn't think anything of it."
"Don't drudge up that shit again," my father grumbled.
"'That shit' being the rampant sexism you allowed to be a part of my life? Oh, gee, how come I can't just get over that shit, huh?"
"Well, you went ahead and proved us all right, didn't you? Letting that Henchmen fuck you. Disgusting."
Beside me, Fallon stiffened, making me acutely aware that his volume must have been loud on his phone because he was hearing every word.
Before I could even realize his intention, his hand was yanking the phone away from my ear, holding it up to his own.
"You will speak to her with some fucking respect, or you don't need to speak to her at all. She's trying to help you, and all you can do is criticize her? No fucking wonder she couldn't wait to get away from you."
"Fallon..." I said, reaching upward. Touched, but knowing that they were both stubborn asses, and that this was only going to escalate.
