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“Same way we did tonight.” The constant murmur of the clubhouse is an immediate salve for my soul. “Post guard.”
Tyke sighs and makes a beeline for the bar. “Expensive, Digger. You want me to give up man hours so she can maintain routine?” He shakes his head, reaching for the whiskey that’s always ready for him. “I’d rather find work for her here.”
“She’ll go stir crazy.”
“What the fuck do I care?” He levels me with a stare before tipping his head back and downing the entire contents with a groan afterward.
“You should care if you want her compliant,” I point out. Nothing angers a woman more than being denied what she needs. “You want her to confide in you, then you need her trust.”
“And that starts by offering mine in return,” he mumbles, aware of where I head with this thought train.
“Right.” I snatch his refill as it slides across the bar, giving Dolly a cheeky smile for her troubles.
He glares as I drain his drink and then slam the glass to the marble. “Let’s get this bullshit underway.” He raises a hand above his head and spins it in a large circle. “Come on, fuckers! It’s late—or early, dependin’ on how you’re lookin’ at it. Either way, I’m too old for this shit.”
The officers rise from their various positions, waiting around the living area. Minion pockets his phone, Rigs shifting Suzie off his lap and onto the sofa beside him, Hammer and Turnip finishing their drinks at the far end of the bar in perfect synchronicity. The six of us pile into Tyke’s office—where we always hold church—and take up their regular spots on the furniture.
Tyke stands behind his Chesterfield, hands atop the low back as he surveys the room. “Let’s make it official first. Rigs, you takin’ minutes for this?”
He lifts his phone and twists it to show the notes app. “Ready when you are.”
“I’m motioning that we give Maddie’s friend, Rae, safe haven until she can be assured of safety in her civilian life. Notably, from Terry Creed.” His fingers flex. “Aye’s raise their hands.”
Everyone raises a hand except Rigs.
“I counter that we agree on a plan of attack for this before we vote. So that every man is clear on how her place here benefits us.”
Tyke’s nostrils flare.
I scrub the heels of my hands atop my jean-clad knees and exhale heavily. He has a point. There needs to be an expiration date for our assistance. Clear boundaries around what we do and why we do it.
“You fucks want to do that?” Tyke barks.
“Seems reasonable,” Hammer states. “I like her, and I want to help her, but I want to know why the club wants to do this.”
Tyke paces around the sofa, dropping onto the front edge of the cushion with a sigh. “She witnessed Tom Battersley’s murder, right?” All heads nod. “D.A. is after her, by the sounds of things, which means they likely believe they have a case that could lock Terry away.” He bops his eyebrow. “Don’t need to tell any of you how that would benefit us.”
“So, Terry goes away,” Minion asks carefully. “Then what? Connor takes over. You think he’s any better?”
“I think he’s malleable, still.”
“Big word for you,” I mutter under my breath.
I get Tyke’s pen to my head for the trouble.
“Hey.”
“You’ve never been able to whisper for shit, you moron.” Tyke smirks.
“What’s the play then?” Turnip asks, scratching his stubby beard. “We take her in with the intent of convincing her to testify?”
“We take her in so she stays alive andableto testify,” Tyke states. “Once Terry’s incarcerated, she returns to civilian life.”
“Come on,” Minion gripes. “You can’t tell me you don’t think Connor will be an issue, even then.”
“Perhaps.” Tyke shrugs. “But by then, we’ve got what we need. She’s not our property. She’s not our problem.” His frown deepens.
He doubts the sincerity of his words. Question is, which ones?
