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The Shirley clan believed women had their “place.” Bear and raise the children, and, of course, take care of their men. Most of the men had more than one wife, too.
Red didn’t understand why her mother, Alice, would be brought to Pennsylvania. Because by now, she had to be getting to the age where she shouldn’t have any more babies. She had to be in her late-forties.
But Alice Haas’s age wasn’t Whip’s problem. Or even where her husband Jeb Haas or his other children were.
None of them gave a shit about that.
What Sig cared about was what Red cared about. First, to make sure they weren’t there to force Red into reliving her nightmare. Especially after she’d been kidnapped twice by the Shirleys already. Second, her three half-siblings.
Understandably, Red did not want them growing up in that fucked-up environment. She did not want them becoming just like the Shirleys. Even though she didn’t know those kids, she still cared about them.
And because Red cared about them, and everyone in The Barn cared about Red, that meant they all cared about those three vulnerable kids, too.
Now the pressure was on Trip to finally make a move. They couldn’t wait any longer to see if the feds stepped in or even if they were still keeping their eyes on the clan. They also couldn’t wait to see if Manning Grove PD would get involved.
The Fury had no choice but to stomp up that mountain wearing their boots and take action.
Now it wouldn’t only be a war to end the Shirleys so they were no longer a threat against the club and Fury family. It would be a “rescue” effort first, then a complete annihilation after.
Where Whip stood in the middle of his restless brothers, nobody surrounding him disagreed with that.
It was time. No more fucking around. The stakes were so high now, they’d hit the fucking moon.
But Trip and Judge were all about doing it right and not doing it recklessly. That was always the fucking sticky part. It would be difficult to decimate the Shirley clan when their numbers were quickly growing and the Fury’s were not.
They also were back to the dilemma of what the fuck to do with the women and children. Could everyone in that damn clubhouse live with women and children being collateral damage?
Sig, maybe. The rest? Probably not.
Before the feds had stepped in and cleared out that mountain, the Fury had been slowly taking out their men. But that method had only been a temporary fix since they bred like redneck rabbits. There seemed to be an endless source. Maybe not on that mountain, but elsewhere. Pockets of them. And those pockets were deep.
This was no longer a “wait and see” situation.
Whip was willing to go along with whatever was decided. He might not have an ol’ lady or kids to protect but the sisterhood and the Fury kids belonged to the club as a whole. It was the Fury’s responsibility to protect them all.
Once he earned his colors, he did not hesitate to get them tattooed onto his back. That meant protecting Fury property also fell on his shoulders, just as much as it did Trip, Judge or Deacon. Anyone who had their own family to protect.
Because when it came down to it, they were all family. Real family.
Every damn one of them.
It was the goal Trip had worked for. It was what Trip achieved.
And Whip felt damn lucky to be a part of it.
He never once questioned becoming a prospect. He never once wondered if he should accept his full set of patches.
All of it felt right. From the day Trip walked into Dutch’s Garage to inform the Original he was rebuilding the Blood Fury MC down to this very damn second.
Whip belonged.
Sig’s loud rant pulled him from his thoughts. “We gotta get those kids. Red wants them out of their fucked-up hands. So, with or without you all, that’s gonna happen.”
“Jesus, brother, you can’t go off all fuckin’ half-cocked. Gonna risk yourself, those kids and don’t forget how Red’s gonna take it if somethin’ happens to you,” Trip said with a shake of his head. His signature baseball cap was pulled back in place.
How the man had any hair left when he always wore it, with the way he was always raking his fingers through his hair and with all the stress of being the club president, Whip didn’t know. He only knew he wouldn’t want to be in the man’s boots right now. Or ever.
Whip was a man who could follow orders but wasn’t up for being a leader. Not everybody was built for that. He wasn’t.
It was probably why he’d hooked up with Billie for a while. They were so damn opposite, they should’ve been on separate planets.
But Billie was what he needed for a little bit. And, luckily, neither suffered hard feelings once Whip decided he’d had enough, or even after she went from being only in his bed to becoming a sweet butt.
