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She wandered until her feet carried her across the hardwood floors, and she was running her fingers over the chrome appliances in the kitchen.
“Seriously, who lives here?” she asked curiously, while opening the wine fridge.
Simon’s face turned in my direction, as if he was waiting for my reply. I didn’t give him a reaction, or any indication whatsoever that it was my house.
He cleared his throat and finally decided to explain what the fuck we were doing here.
“I’m sorry I faked my death. It was shitty, and I know everyone is pissed about it.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Pissed?”
Simon glared, then focused on his daughter. “But if it took my death to get you back here, then maybe it was worth it.”
“Were you even ever sick?” Callie let out a tiny scoff, in response, fresh tears lining her eyes.
Simon swallowed and ducked his head. “Yes, I’m still sick, just haven’t kicked the bucket yet.”
Callie stalked off toward the living room, tucking her arms in tight against her chest and shaking her head. This had to be so much to deal with. His funeral, the grief, dealing with our past, and now this twist. Fuck, I wanted to just hit pause and give her five seconds to catch up.
“Look, I have a reason for everything I did, and part of it, you already know.”
“The deal you made, right?” Callie interrupted him, the heels of her boots clicking over the hardwood as she made her way back to the kitchen, where we were standing.
“Yes. I made a deal eight years ago with Dirk, the deal being once I died, the property of the club would fall to him. Not you.” Simon lifted his chin.
“Then why put me through this? Why make us sit down in that lawyer’s office and go through all this bullshit if it was never mine to begin with?”
Simon shifted on his feet, looking down at the ground.
“Because if you sold it before Dirk could get his hands on it, then there was nothing he could do to get it.”
I shook my head, confused. “Then either way, you would have fucked the club over. We would have had to regroup somewhere else.”
Simon sneered, glaring over at me. “Mighty fine concern of yours, Wesley, when you’ve got more money than God. Why do you care what happens to the club? You’re leaving it, right?”
Callie’s gaze swung in my direction.
“What?”
I clenched my jaw, trying to bite back my response. No one knew I was leaving. I hadn’t told a fucking soul.
“Why would you assume that?”
Another voice suddenly cut into our conversation, echoing from one of the levels above us. “Well, why else did you build such an ostentatious house, Mr. President, if you didn’t plan on leaving?”
Dirk Lenair, leader of the Death Raiders, stepped down from the stairwell, clapping his hands together. The man was a brute, at more than six feet and well over three hundred pounds. He had tattoos over nearly every inch of his skin, all down his fingers and hands, all along the side of his face. He was all muscle, and his eyes were so dark they almost looked black.
“Surprised to see me?”
Callie backed up until she was behind me. I found it telling that she chose me to protect her. Even with her dad right there, it was still me she trusted when shit hit the fan. Funny, because at this point, I felt like she was the only person I could trust too.
I cut a glare back to Simon, only to find his face closed off, revealing nothing.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, glancing at both men.
Simon stepped up, laying his hands out.
“Well, see, here’s the thing. Since I’m not dead, Dirk can’t have his property, but he’s still owed something.”
