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I can’t help but feel this doesn’t bode well for me. My stomach is knotted as I follow after him, Blackjack, and Terror. I’ve never been in the room where the club holds the meeting that decides every single thing that happens, and as I approach it, Blackjack nudges me. “Phone, keys, and wallet need to be left in the box.”
I fumble in my jeans pocket for those things and follow behind the others, depositing my shit in a large wooden box on a table before the doors.
My heart is hammering in my chest. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Is Howler going to ask for my kutte right away? Or will he give me a chance to explain?
I pause before the box and close my eyes as I duck my head. I’ve fucked up a lot in my life, but this? I don’t know that there’s any coming back from it. I’ve put everyone in a dangerous position because I’m a fucking impulsive prick.
I want to lose my shit. I want to scream and yell and show exactly why I’m called Rage, but it won’t solve anything. Maybe Hawk’s mentorship is having a good influence on me. Before I came here, I would’ve lost it. I would have gone straight on the defensive, falling back into those familiar patterns of behaviour that have enabled me to survive over the years.
That ain’t gonna wash here.
Opening my eyes, I dump my stuff in the box, and once I’m clean, I step through the door. The room is surprisingly small, just big enough to fit a long table with several chairs around it. There’s a sideboard and mini fridge pushed against the far wall, and the Untamed Sons insignia is directly in front of me, painted on the white wall.
I take in the skull with a crown on it, wings poking out from behind it, without a word. This is what I’ve fought so hard to be a part of for years. The Sons was always my end game, and it still is. I want to be a part of this club so badly, but… Skye’s having my baby, and that changes everything.
Howler is already seated at the head of the table, a wooden gavel clutched between his fingers as he settles in. Blackjack and Terror are either side of him—his right and left hands. I don’t know which seats are reserved for who, but I know better than to claim one. I move to the back of the room and lean against the wall, trying to ignore the blossoming unease.
No one speaks as we wait for the other officers to arrive. Socket comes first, taking his place at the table. He doesn’t ask why I’m in church, but I see the curiosity in his eyes. Brewer and Hawk walk in at the same time. I don’t expect to see him, and I can tell Hawk is as unsure about this invitation by how his eyes narrow in question. I don’t say anything. No one does as the door is shut and locked.
Howler gestures to the only remaining empty seat. “Sit.”
I push off the wall and drag the chair out, taking my place around the table. I’ve never felt like more of an imposter than I do in this moment.
I can feel Hawk’s eyes burning into me, but he doesn’t ask the questions I know he must be desperate to fire at me. I’ve never cared about pissing people off, but for some reason, the thought I might have disappointed Hawk leaves a foul taste in my mouth.
“We have a problem,” Howler starts with a monumental understatement.
“What kind of problem?” Brewer glances at me, and I can see he’s confused why I’m here.
“Rage impregnated the enemy,” Terror says.
The glibness of his statement takes a moment for the others to realise what he’s said.
Hawk’s gaze snaps to me, and I force myself to meet it. I fucked up, but the only way to get through this is to brazen it out. I’m not working with the enemy, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that. Knowing the damage my actions are going to cause is the worst feeling. I wish Howler had called this meeting without me present.
“I’m confused.” Brewer leans forwards on the table, his brows knitted together. “He impregnated… the enemy? You mean, Desmond Richardson?”
Terror side-eyes the brother. “Too much fucking is rotting your brain.”
“Richardson’s daughter,” Howler says before Terror can add more insults.
The air is so heavy, it’s suffocating.
“Did you know?” I don’t miss the accusation in Hawk’s tone as he glares at me.
This is going to hit him hardest. He lost someone he considered a daughter to the Pioneers, and I’ve put a baby in the most high-ranking female in that organisation.
“No,” I say, my voice quiet. “Not until about five minutes ago.”
“What does it mean for the club?” Socket interlaces his fingers on top of the table, getting to the root of the problem.
“I don’t know,” Howler admits. “It depends on her intentions in coming here.”
“She came here for help,” I say. “She ain’t involved in her father’s business.”
“And you know that for certain, do you?” Blackjack leans forwards to peer up the table at me, and I force myself to remain steel under his scrutiny.
“No, but do you really think Richardson would send in his own daughter to spy, knowing if she got caught, she could be killed?”
