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He looked to Brock. “Keltan and his crew comin’ in?”
Brock nodded. “Yep. They’ll be here early hours.” He paused. Something moved on his best friend’s face.
Cade didn’t even need to hear him say it.
His fucking sister.
“For fuck’s sake. Crawford didn’t put a stop to this shit? Keep her home, safe?”
Brock grinned. “You even met Rosie, brother? You think Crawford’s gonna let her sit out on this fight. This is her fight.”
Cade clenched his fists. “No, it’s ours. Her fight is to be a fuckin’ mother to her kid. An aunt to mine.” He was glad that his wife wasn’t here to hear him say this shit, because he guessed she’d have a lot to say about that statement in regards to feminism.
He fully supported women’s rights. Celebrated them, in fact, seeing what his wife had done, he knew women were stronger, smarter and fuck of a lot more capable than men in every way.
Except this way.
It was his job to protect his family. And he was gonna do it.
“Luke’s coming earlier, got a meeting with the sheriff to run him down,” Brock added, reading his mind.
Despite his wife’s opinions on the men of the Sons of Templar and their supernatural abilities, none of them could read minds. If they could, their respective courtships would’ve gone a fuck of a lot smoother.
But Brock was his brother. Best friend. Second. He’d only been on his right-hand VP seat for a short time, but they’d rode together since they got their first bikes. They knew each other.
“Good,” Cade said. “I want a prospect and a patch on Rosie. Lock her down, any means necessary.”
Brock raised his brow. “Just two? That’s seriously underestimating your sister.”
Cade leaned back in his chair. “I’m not underestimating her. I just need to slow her down.” He glanced around the table. “I need volunteers.”
Silence.
“Jesus, you would honestly rather walk into a battle blind tomorrow than deal with my fuckin’ sister?” he asked.
Nods around the table.
Lucky actually fucking shuddered. “She’s scary, man. I’m also attached to my balls. And dick. I’ve got a wife to fuck. And we all know Rosie’s gonna go straight for the crown jewels as soon as she gets savvy to what’s happening.”
More nods.
“For fuck’s sake,” Cade muttered.
Gage leaned forward. “Let her fight.”
All eyes went to their most depraved brother. It was not a secret him and Rosie had a weird connection. Cade didn’t want to think too hard on it, because he knew Gage’s demons were fucking deepest level of hell type shit. And if he thought about their connection, he had to entertain the thought that his sister had some of those same demons.
“Say again,” Cade challenged.
“She’s a better shot than half the men here,” Gage said, not heeding the warning in Cade’s tone, or at least not giving a shit. Gage never met a warning he didn’t plow right through. “And she’s got more cause than any to be here.”
“She’s not fuckin’ going anywhere near the fight,” Cade gritted out.
Gage eyed him for a long time.
“How would you feel if I gave Lauren a fuckin’ gun and sent her into a situation where we don’t know what we’re up against?” he challenged.
Gage’s normally cold face morphed with the mention of his wife’s name. The only woman that he turned fully human with. Which was fuckin’ funny, considering the bitch looked like a librarian and he looked like—he was—a fucking serial killer. But it made sense.
And it would be a stretch to say that Gage had changed since being married and being a father—he still killed with the same ruthless coldness, but he’d calmed some.
Which wasn’t saying much with Gage.
“Lauren’s different than Rosie, you fuckin’ know that,” he hissed. “But if the occasion called, I know my wife would be able to bear arms. That she would protect herself. Our child. This club. But that’s not gonna happen. I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”
Cade looked to Gage for a beat longer. “So it’s settled. Someone volunteer for Rosie duty before I pick one of you motherfuckers myself.”
“I’ll do it,” Swiss, from the New Mexico charter, piped in. He looked to Hansen. “If that’s cool with you, prez?”
Hansen chuckled. “Yeah, it’s cool with me. Just don’t think you’ll be smiling when she cuts your balls off.”
There were some chuckles around the table, a breaking of the tension. But it still hung in the air. The eerie promise that the table would never be this full after tomorrow. That after tomorrow, there would be empty seats at this table.
But that didn’t matter.
It couldn’t matter.
All that mattered was there was a table left, and someone to hold the gavel. Hold whatever remained of his club together. Cade was not a praying man, but he sent one up anyway, that he would be able to hold the gavel in twenty-four hours. More importantly, that he would be able to hold his wife and children in twenty-four hours.
