It didn’t much matter. That encounter reminded me of something I tried to forget. While no rival biker, police officer, or otherwise asshole could get under my skin, that woman could. I had never been able to figure out why, since it wasn’t like I revealed anything deeper to her than my real name while we dated.
I suppose some asshole psychologist could figure it out, but the only practical thing I cared about was it making me realize yeah, sometimes I could be a bit of a dick to her. And yes, because I forgot how she got under my skin, I forgot how I could react.
When their car had pulled away, I walked to the still open door and shut it behind me. Satan was seated on the stairwell leading up to his bedrooms, a place none of us who visited ever dared to fucking venture.
“The hell, you took her side?”
“I needed the middle school shit to end so that you could actually talk about why the hell you ever came here,” Satan said. “I am curious, though. Did you know she’d be here?”
“Fuck no,” I said angrily. “You think I want to stir up shit? I take being an officer very seriously, Satan. I’m not going to let anything—most especially an angry ex—disrupt what I need to do. This was an unfortunately timed accident.”
“All I need to know. Now, tell me, what the fuck is going on that brought you to my place?”
I drew a breath in. I needed to refocus on the task and forget Melissa. Well, for the moment, at least.
If possible.
“Brock and Lane stopped by and wanted to speak to you immediately.”
“For fuck’s sake. And you couldn’t call?”
“I did.”
Satan paused for a moment, pulled out his phone, harrumphed when he saw I was right, and sighed.
“This is fucking bullshit. They’re trying to push me around to see what they can get away with.”
He stood up, stretching out, apparently not concerned about whatever “pushing around” might be going on.
“And the problem is, since we’re dealing with King and his MC, they know they have leverage with the urgency. I can’t just sit back on my ass and wait this out.”
“You think it’s really political?”
I had no doubt that MCs weren’t exactly friends. I wouldn’t even call us friendly acquaintances. But if ever there was a time when mere politics seemed like a sideshow, the sort of thing that truly would get displaced for a greater force, it was now.
“Things are always fucking political when it comes to leadership, Spawn,” he said as he got his boots on. “And that’s especially true when the fallout might lead to great spoils to the victor.”
I disagreed.
Not that I said anything out loud. But it didn’t take a genius to realize that these guys were getting under Satan’s skin rather easily. Granted, they could get under mine, too. Whatever this Mason character had in store, he was just so thrilled to give me so long as he didn’t touch me. If he did…
Well, shit.
I guess it wasn’t so easy to get involved in politics.
“Come on, let’s go muck around,” Satan said. “If I gotta play politics, I might as well do it while my girlfriend is playing therapist to her sister.”
* * *
I did not need to look very far when we arrived at the clubhouse to take a guess at how things were going to go.
Brock and Lane stood outside our door, each resting against the wall on one side or the other. I was always struck how, despite supposedly being one club, they never lookedthatunified—the only person who really seemed to bridge all locations was Cole, the short guy that Satan called Midget. I never said anything to Satan because it wasn’t my place, but that seemed like a fucking bad omen.
But then again, who the hell needed omens when you could just look at the bullet holes in our building?
Satan walked up, whistled them both in, and we all followed them.
“Wait.”
