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“I’m not worried about it,” she says.
My lips curve up into a grin. “I fucking bet you aren’t. Heard she’s got a black eye,” I say with a laugh.
Shawn shrugs, but I can tell it upsets her that things got that heated. I never asked anyone to fight over me, even if it is a bit of an ego boost. But there was no fight to be had because Poison is not even close to the same level as Shawn.
“How long will you be?” she asks.
Looking down at her, I can tell she’s uncomfortable. Though I’m not sure if it’s because of the fight, being in the club bar without me, or because she’s physically uncomfortable sitting on that hard wooden chair.
“Not too long. It’s a meeting, so who knows. But I can’t imagine it lasting longer than lunch. We’ll go get some food and get you some more clothes.”
She frowns, then flicks her gaze down to the table before she slowly lifts it up to meet mine. “Okay.”
Her voice is soft, and I want to ask her what’s up, what’s wrong, but I decide against it. Instead, I give her a wink before I turn my back to her and make my way toward the meeting room. Zombie holds out the basket where our phones are collected every time we hold church.
Shoving my hand into my pocket, I grab my phone and toss it into the basket, then shift past him and toward my chair. My seat is to the right of the president’s at the head. I’m his right-hand man, literally.
Sinking down in my chair, I lean back and let my head fall back as I let out a sigh and stare at the ceiling. My lips curve up into a smile. Fuck. This girl has me all tied up in goddamn knots. I’ve never felt this way before, not in all my thirty-eight years.
“You are pussy struck,” a voice barks with added laughter.
I lift my head and see it’s Brew sitting across from me, his shit-eating grin playing on his lips as he watches me for a reaction. Shrugging my shoulder, I give him my own grin.
“It’s a good pussy to get struck about,” I admit.
He shakes his head, laughing. But it’s Gnaw who clears his throat. “That bitch can hold her fucking own. She sure showed Poison what the fuck was up. She is straight-up old-lady material. If you don’t wife her, someone else in this club will for sure.”
My initial reaction is to stand up and beat the absolute fuck out of him for saying that someone in the club would dare to even look at Shawn, let alone make her their old lady. I don’t do that, though. I know he’s half joking, but I also know that if the opportunity arose, he isn’t wrong.
Shawn is, without a doubt, hands-down old-lady material.
“Well,” I begin, shifting my gaze around the room to make sure the whole club is here, and they are. Standing room only, lined up against the walls, sitting in the chairs around the tables. We are all here. “Shawn Cotton is officially my old lady. So, hands and eyes to your goddamn selves when it comes to my woman.”
After a moment of shocked silence, the room erupts into not only applause but also hoots and hollers. That is until Atomic calls the meeting to attention. He glances over to me, jerking his chin as he begins.
“We’re all very happy for King. Shawn seems like a nice girl, and her cupcakes are the shit, so there’s that.”
The room erupts into applause again at the mention of Shawn’s cupcakes, and I can’t help but chuckle.
But now it’s time for the meeting to begin.
This is an important one, too. This is new business, something we haven’t had a lot of lately. We’ve been running business as usual for a good long while. It’s been nice not having had any changes, but it’s also stagnant, and so is the money.
Atomic explains exactly what he wants to do. Being the middleman, to begin with, transportation only, and then possibly being more involved if we like the situation. He also tells them that several guys will have to get their commercial driver’s licenses, and as a club, we’ll have to get a trucking LLC.
There are a few questions, but not many. These men know that this transport, it means money, bigger money than we’re getting right now. Then Atomic clears his throat and says the last part, the catch, but I’m not sure it is a catch, more like a change.
“I’d like to make sure that when we do this, we have a bigger network of clubs at our backs.”
“What are you saying?” Fate, the enforcer, asks.
“I’m saying we start patching clubs over, allowing some of these affiliates to be actual Dark Horse MCs. Then allow some more affiliates that we wouldn’t normally approve.”
“Why?” Fate asks.
Atomic opens his mouth to speak, but I decide to take this one on. Standing, I place my palms on the hard wood of the table. I can feel the warmth of the wood beneath my fingers, and it makes me think of my father. He sat right here, placed his hand right here, and it fills me with pride.
In that moment, thinking about my father, thinking about what this club means to me, I speak.
