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Unease trickles through me. Serena warned me about her instinct to run. I can already feel her slipping through my fingers.
I should’ve punched Pants harder.
“That’s not true, Serena.” How can I say that with a straight face, though? I thought nothing would happen and it did. The whole fucking world seems to be spinning upside down since I got out.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Grinder
I’m pulled from sleep by my phone alerting me to a text.
By the constant beeping, it must be several texts.
“Mmm.” Serena sighs and turns over, burying her head under her pillow.
I yank the phone off the nightstand and check.
Z: Church in ten. Officers only.
Z: And you, G.
Z: About last night.
What the fuck more is there to say about last night?
But Z’s the president of this clubhouse. I can’t yap about showing my brothers respect and then ignore his request.
Me: I’ll be there.
I set the phone down and turn toward Serena, molding myself against her back. She’s so soft and warm, I hate leaving her. Especially after last night.
Fear settles in my gut. That she’ll be gone when I return.
“Serena?” I press a kiss against her shoulder, then behind her ear.
“That tickles.” She giggles and reaches behind her, plunging her fingers into my hair. “Good morning.”
Laughter. Good sign after last night’s events. “Good morning, my beautiful buttercup.”
“Aww.” She sighs and turns, blinking up at me. “You’re the sweetest.”
“Sweet, huh? Only to you.”
“That’s okay.”
I kiss her forehead. “I love you.”
She snuggles up against my chest. “I love you too.”
The fear that she might run recedes.
“Baby, do you have any idea how hard it is to get out of bed right now?”
She peers up at me, mischief playing over her lips. “Then don’t go.”
“I have to. Z summoned me to church.”
“Oh.” It all must come crashing back. An avalanche of memories from last night slide over her face, obliterating our happy moment.
“It’s nothing bad,” I reassure her, running my knuckles over her cheek. “Promise me you’ll be here when I get back?”
“It’s not like I can go anywhere. I rode down with you.”
That’s not exactly reassuring.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” she promises.
“Thank you.” I kiss her forehead again. “Get some more sleep.”
“All right,” Z announces, starting the meeting. “Most of you know we had an issue at last night’s party. Grinder dealt with it in the manner allowed in our by-laws.”
Z’s reminder to everyone that I didn’t do anything wrong is nice and all. But why? Is Ice planning to ask that I be disciplined?
“Our code is what makes our way of life, our club, and our brotherhood, different from the way civilians live,” Z continues.
Jesus Christ, I never expected Z to be one for long speeches.
“Their laws say violence is the wrong solution to a problem. Ours say, in certain circumstances, violence is not only our right, but our duty, in order to protect our loved ones. This is the code we live by.”
“Amen, brother!” someone farther down the table shouts.
“Preach!”
“I’ve invited Ice to sit down with us and discuss.” Z sweeps his hand in Ice’s direction. “After today, I expect this matter will be closed.” Z glances my way and raises an eyebrow.
“I’m willing to listen.” After that speech, I don’t think I have a choice.
Ice sits forward, placing his elbows on the table. “First, I want to say that we’re prepared to offer reparations to you, brother.”
“No.” I hold up my hand. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s not necessary. Cash or blood is how we pay our debts and penalties. I took blood last night. My only concern is that this never happens again.” I shoot a look Z’s way. Not that I blame him, but it did happen in his clubhouse.
Ice nods at me. “I’ve spoken with my SAA and gotten his side—”
“What side was there to get, Ice?” Wrath asks. “A patched brother put his hands on another brother’s patched ol’ lady. There’s no defending that.”
“No, there isn’t,” Ice agrees. “If it’s all right with you, Grinder, I’ll have him join us and explain.”
“Is that okay?” Z asks me.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Like I said, I’m done. Puttin’ it behind me.” It’s working my last fucking nerve that they keep acting like I’m an out-of-control wild animal about to attack without cause.
Ice stands and opens the war room door, calling for Pants to join us.
Pants shuffles into the room with his head down and arms tucked close to his sides. I don’t take pride or shame in his beat-to-hell face or stiff posture.
It had to happen. And it’s his own damn fault.
As he slowly eases his big frame into a chair, a trickle of guilt slides over me. I guess that means prison didn’t fully strip me of my humanity. Good to know.
Pants doesn’t shy away. He’s not a coward. He never would’ve made it to sergeant-at-arms of any motorcycle club if he was. He faces me—two black eyes, cut cheek, split lip, cracked ribs and all—head-on and looks me in the eye. “I’m sorry, brother.”
