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My temper explodes. I climb to my feet, plant my fists on my hips, and go full sass. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who hired him, so you’re the one who has to deal with him.”
He gives me a flat look, and his voice is just as flat as his eyes. “He’s been dealt with already.”
Trixie stands, too, and looks back and forth between Fist and me while I lick my suddenly dry lips.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Fist runs his fingers through his hair. “It means that Tyler’s dead, Mindi.”
I look him right in the eyes even as Trixie sucks in a breath. “I’m shocked you didn’t do it earlier. Like, I don’t know, when you caught him beating the shit out of me.”
“Goddamn it, Mindi! You know I couldn’t. The bastard worked for us.”
I go nose to nose, matching his shout with a shout of my own. “That’s bullshit, and you know it! You can do whatever you want!” I’m not an idiot here. I know exactly the power he has being Boone’s son. Being the son of the Prez. He’s practically untouchable.
Just then, Boone steps outside and gently nudges Fist and me apart. “What’s going on?” he asks wearily.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Fist told me Tyler is dead. I told him that he should’ve been dead a long time ago.”
Boone nods. “That’s right, he should’ve been. It’s our fault he wasn’t. When you lost the baby, the entire club was focused on making sure that you were okay, Mindi. That Fist was okay. I’ll be the first one to admit that we should have sent people after Tyler, but we didn’t, and he hurt the club too. That’s a mistake I’ll never make again.”
My stance softens, and I reach out to lay a hand on Boone’s arm. “I’m so, so sorry he hurt the club, Boone. I honestly care about everyone here. I hope you know that. Is there anything I can do to help?”
He smiles at me. “You can try and not let my idiot son’s hot-headed temper push you away.”
My eyes skitter to Fist, then back down to the ground. Boone gives a little chuckle. “Boy, you need to stop being an asshole and make things right here,” he admonishes Fist before offering Trixie his arm. “Come on, Trix. I’ll buy you a beer.”
She gives me an encouraging smile and walks back into the clubhouse with Boone. I shove my hands in my pockets and walk down the steps.
“Where are you going?” Fist grunts out.
“I’m taking a little walk,” I snap. “I need some fresh air.”
I make my way to the side of the clubhouse where a few picnic tables are scattered around. I drop onto one and tilt my head up to look at the sky. It’s clear, and thousands of stars twinkle merrily. There’s a kicky little breeze that caresses my face, and I inhale the scent of Montana at night: crisp air and juniper pines. It soothes me, and I begin to calm down after a few minutes.
Fist wanders over to me and sits down so close to me that our thighs are brushing. We sit in silence for a few minutes before he heaves a heavy sigh.
“I’m sorry.”
Those two words hang in the air between us for ten humming seconds.
“I don’t know if you’re really sorry or if you’re apologizing to me because your father told you to.” I’m honest with him. That’s the only way our relationship can work: we both have to be honest with each other.
Fist swivels his head around to look at me, an astonished expression on his face. “Dad doesn’t control me like that.”
I stare at him, unblinking and unwilling to back down. “Your Prez controls you like that.”
His eyes narrow for a moment, then he slowly nods. “You’re right to an extent. I do what my dad says because he’s my father, but mostly I do what my Prez tells me to. It’s the lifestyle. It’s just how it is. I have to follow the rules.”
I nod back at him. “I get that. I respect that, Fist. But I deserve respect too.”
He stands suddenly and holds out a hand to me. “Let’s go for a ride.”
“It’s late,” I object.
“I don’t care. Let’s get out of here for a while, just you and me.”
I follow my heart and place my hand in his. “Okay,” I say simply.
