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“Yes, it does,” he says solemnly. “Knowing that you haven’t been forgotten and left to rot helps too.”
“It does.” Helped me hang on to my sanity.
He sighs and sits back, lacing his fingers over his stomach. “My preference is for brothers to never see the inside of a cell. But when that can’t be avoided, it’s important we pay respect to our loyal brothers when they find themselves incarcerated.”
Meaning, had I ratted on the club, they would’ve found a way to end me inside. Pay another inmate to knife me on the way to the dining hall. Find someone to hang me from my bedsheets. Something painful and unpleasant.
“Never had any hard feelings toward the club.” Ruger, our old president, sure. But not my club.
As if he’d heard that last thought, the corners of his mouth quirk. “No one’s heard from Ruger in over ten years. Can’t be the government hiding him or they would’ve come down on us by now.”
“Huh. Surprised he’s been able to lay low for such a long time.” I keep my expression disinterested and my tone neutral. “He always was a flashy motherfucker.” Priest won’t buy my act if I don’t reveal some bitterness.
“Upstate never reported that they took a vote to put him to ground. So, I guess you’re right.” He drills me with his piercing stare, as if he’ll strip the information from my brain with the power of his dark eyes. “He must be living off the grid in humble conditions. We’ll find him eventually,” he adds with a casual shrug.
No wonder Priest maintains a healthy fear of Rock, Wrath, and Z. He may push when he needs something—like Z taking over this charter in an emergency. But otherwise, he seems to stay hands-off New York.
Inside, I suppress my laughter. “I ain’t losing sleep over Ruger’s whereabouts.” Feel free to waste time searching ‘til your dying day, brother.
“Regardless, the club should compensate you for the time lost.” Priest reaches into his cut and pulls out several thick, rectangular envelopes a bit larger than the size of a dollar bill. He reaches into the other side of his cut and pulls out another handful of envelopes. Seems to be ten envelopes total.
“What’d you do, ride by the bank and close out an account on your way here?” I ask.
“Something like that.” He pushes the envelopes across the desk at me. “It will never make up for the time you’ve lost, but the whole organization owes you for your loyalty.”
“Rock’s already—”
“That’s up to the discretion of each charter. This is from National. It’s what should be done.”
“No one owes me shit.” I collect the envelopes and stack them into two neat piles in front of me. “But thank you for this.” I don’t want to act like a greedy, entitled fuck, but I know better than to turn down a gift from Priest. He’ll take it as an insult. I don’t bother opening and counting the money, either. The amount doesn’t matter. It’s the intent behind the gesture that counts.
Serena
Every few seconds my gaze strays toward the hallway where Gray and Priest disappeared.
The intimidating old biker didn’t seem too impressed with me. I want Gray to be proud I’m his ol’ lady, not embarrass him. Obviously, as the national president, he’s someone whose opinion matters around here.
Hope touches my shoulder and I tear my gaze away from the empty hallway. “Serena, have you had a chance to meet Priest’s wife Valentina yet?”
The tall, older woman looks like something out of one of those housewives of somewhere snooty reality TV shows. Flawless makeup, long shiny hair—that’s probably extensions—tight outfit, sharp, glittering nails, huge sparkling diamonds on her fingers, and a glass of wine in her hand.
“No, I haven’t.” I flash my most confident smile while Hope makes the introductions.
Valentina runs her gaze over me and doesn’t seem any more impressed than her husband was. “So, Gray’s been busy since he got out. Good for him.”
Hearing another woman use his real name instead of his road name fires up my jealousy. Here’s one more woman closer to Gray’s age who knew him before he went to prison.
“Nice to meet you, Serena.” Valentina gathers up Lilly and Hope and pulls them away.
“It’s okay. I wasn’t invited to the first lady pep rally either.” Shelby slides up next to me and bumps my shoulder.
Her gentle southern twang erases the negative cloud left by Valentina’s dismissal. “Well, at least I’m not alone.”
“Nope. We newbies will form our own club.” She pulls out her cell phone. “While we’re at it, let’s grab a photo together. I wanted to ask you before but didn’t know if ‘bunker selfie’ was a memory we wanted to keep.”
“We had fun down there.” I shrug. “I’ve never had my cards read before. That alone was worth it.”
