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“What am I, twelve? No butterflies, just got some shit on my mind, and I need to talk to my VP about it.”
Golden Boy nodded and took a long pull off his cigarette, dropping into the heavy leather seat at my right side, reserved for the VP.
“Okay, I’m listening.” He ran one hand through his long hair that was more silver than gold these days, but it was still thick and long as fuck.
I took another drag of my cigarette, nodded, and then told him about finding Savannah and keeping her hidden for the past week.
“I know I can’t keep her locked up forever, but I can’t send her back to that shit.”
Tate let out a long breath and took a deep pull from the cigarette before letting it out on a weary exhale.
“Shit, Charlie, when you go, you go big, don’tcha?”
I flashed a smile and shrugged. “It just kind of happened.”
“I get that, but you can’t keep a Black Jack loyalist around and certainly not a fucking Rhymer.”
I heard his words, the truth and sincerity in them, but I also heard something else. “What, exactly, can’t the Prez do?”
Golden Boy held up his hands. “I’m not questioning your position or authority, Charlie. I’m just telling you it’s a bad fucking idea. Besides, how do you know this isn’t all some elaborate ruse? Maybe the Jacks are being smart for once and playing the long game.”
I barked out a laugh and flicked my cigarette into the big metal ashtray in the center of the table. “I found her bruised, bloody, and beaten on the side of the road. It’s not a ruse. If it is, it’s a fucking terrible one.”
“Whatever you say.” Golden Boy shrugged off his concern, but his eyes were filled with worry and doubt. When the club meeting began, I had to present Savannah Rhymer as new business because that was just how it was. My men had made their feelings clear.
“Send that bitch back to where she came from.” That was Stitch’s position, plain and simple, and he wasn’t alone in that opinion.
“What if she’s giving them intel on the Bastards' business?” Jameson was a thinker, an intellectual whose mind was always five steps ahead.
But it didn’t stop me from glaring at my own damn brother. “What the fuck kind of club business do you think I’ve been sharing with her?”
Jameson’s mouth opened and shut a few times before he shrugged and fell back against his chair. “I’m not saying that.”
I knew that, but it pissed me off that everyone felt so fucking free to criticize me and tell me how I was already failing as Prez.
“She’s safe, and she’s doesn’t know shit about our business, but I won’t send her back to that hell. I can’t.”
My dad nodded and did his quiet, thoughtful thing. “Okay, we all get that. We do.” Max looked around the room until every man at the table nodded their agreement.
“But what the fuck makes her so special? She had no problem with her father and brother trafficking girls. Hell, she clearly doesn’t even have a problem with that fucking Mueller doing it.”
“Yeah well, it’s all fucking different until it’s you, isn’t it?” I didn’t want to go there, but it was important. “You mean you wouldn’t have a problem if Mom wanted to work one of the Bungalows? Or Moon? Or Teddy?”
Anger erupted around the room, just as I knew it would. “That’s not the same, Charlie, and you know it,” Max replied.
“It’s the same to me. And I know it’s hypocritical, but I won’t do that to her. I’m not asking your permission. I’ll keep her safe, on my own time, so accept it. Or don’t. It’s done.”
I looked around to see if anyone would speak. When everyone but Cross avoided my gaze, I nodded, the signal to move on.
I cleared my throat, hoping it would clear the room of the tension that still hung in the air. “All right. Moving on to new club business
“All right. We all need to be out in pairs, always together for a while. And we need to do more frequent checks on the Bungalows. After that shit Rhymer and the Jacks pulled at Virgil’s bachelor party, we need to be vigilant.”
Golden Boy raised his hand in agreement beside me. “What the fuck was he thinking, charging into an Ashby-owned business like that?” He huffed out a laugh. “Fucker must’ve had a death wish or something.”
“Yeah, Jasper took care of that wish. No more Brendan Rhymer.”
Since not all the Reckless Bastards had gone to the bachelor party, it was news to them and cheers went up around the table.
“No shit?” Jimmy eyes widened in surprise.
“No shit,” I replied with a satisfied smile. “Brendan Rhymer is one less thing the club has to worry about.”
