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Elden’s eyes lit up. “You’ve made your feelings about that known since the moment you arrived here.”
“And I won’t give up on the crusade to let women patch in,” I informed him. “Especially if we have a daughter.”
Elden’s hand went to my stomach, as it tended to do a lot these days. “I expect nothing less.”
I stared into the eyes of the man I loved. The father of my baby. “What is the club involved in?” I whispered.
“We run guns,” he answered without hesitation. “On occasion, we provide protection. Don’t kill for hire. Have legitimate businesses too. Garage earns enough. As does the bar. But majority of the club’s capital comes from—”
“Running guns,” I finished for him.
He nodded.
“I’m for gun control,” I informed him.
“I’m aware,” he replied evenly.
“I’ve protested about it.”
“I’m also aware.”
I scratched my cheek. “Does the club have any plans to … I don’t know, go legit or whatever?” I knew there were plenty of motorcycle clubs around the country that didn’t break the law. The term one percenter existed for a reason. The other 99 percent of motorcyclists were law abiding citizens, according to the American Motorcyclist Association.
Elden’s lips flattened into a thin line. “Not that I know of.”
I regarded him. “Can’t you make that happen?”
“Above my pay grade, baby,” he shook his head, stroking my jaw.
I considered this. The club ran guns. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. They were an outlaw motorcycle club. The outlaw part communicated the fact that they lived outside the law. They had really nice appliances, they had top shelf booze, an impressive compound, fancy motorcycles, and each member who owned a house owned a really kickass house.
They earned good money from their various criminal and noncriminal enterprises.
Those enterprises were also responsible for almost the entire club getting murdered one Christmas.
An icy chill slithered over my skin.
I clutched at Elden’s cut. “You’re not allowed to die.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, gaze turning hard. “I don’t plan on it, Violet.”
“Of course, you don’tplanon it,” I frowned. “But you’re involved in things that put you in danger on a daily basis. I know you’re tough and strong and badass, but as far as I know, you’re not bulletproof. And you run guns. Which contain bullets. Which likely pisses off rival people who are in possession of guns. With bullets.”
“Take a breath, baby,” Elden pressed the palm of his hand against my cheek.
I scowled at him, though I had been ready to rant much longer without breathing and might’ve passed out.
“And you’re breaking the law,” I added once said breath was had.
“Aware of that,” he murmured.
“You’re breaking the law, and the new sheriff is intent on bringing down the Sons of Templar,” I babbled. “He wants to put you in prison again. You don’t like small places. I’m not going to let you go to prison again.”
A vein pulsated in his forehead. “How do you know the new sheriff is targeting the club?”
“Ollie hacked the department’s computers,” I replied, too deep in my spiral to worry about the change in Elden’s tone.
I was not too deep to see his reaction to my words, though. His body stiffened, and he got all broody and dangerous once more, looking at me through heavy lids.
