“Jesus,” I knock the phone against my forehead. Even thinking about the other night has my dick getting hard.
Life is about more than getting my damn dick wet. Whatever it is going on between them, they can keep it to themselves. I’ll figure this shit out for King and then we can all go in our own direction.
So why am I getting mad at the thought of them together? Without me.
A knock at the door startles me out of those altogether stupid fucking thoughts. Jefferson pokes his head in.
“Visitors,” he says.
“Who?”
He smirks. “Handlebar and that hot as fuck lawyer from the Sussex chapter. I never knew he had an old lady.”
“What?” I snap. My annoyance is barely over the fact they’re here, or Jefferson’s comment about how hot she is. Old lady? What the fuck is he talking about?
“He rode up with her on the back of his bike.”
My gut clenches and I gnash my back teeth together. What the fuck happened in the last two days that has made Cassie allow her fine ass on the back of someone else’s fucking bike?
Not my business, not like I ever wanted her to get on my bike.
“Send them through.”
He disappears and I walk to the window. It faces the front of the clubhouse, and I look around but I don’t see them, they must already be inside. His bike is right there among the others, with two fucking helmets hanging off it.
Is this what jealousy feels like?
I’m so fucking mad at myself I barely hear them coming into the room. Handlebar is unreadable, which isn’t new, but he isn’t staring at Cassie like he owns her, which I would have expected if he’s claimed her.
“Is something wrong?” Cassie asks reading my expression.
“No.”
Actually yeah. And not only because I’m about to lose my shit over whatever the fuck this is. I’ll find out why they’re here before I spill my bit of shitty information. A little frown creases between Cassie’s brows at the way I snapped. Handlebar is watching me like he’s trying to figure me out as he pulls a chair back for her. He doesn’t miss my scoff. Does he always have to pull the southern gentleman act?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, standing behind my chair.
It’s not obvious to outsiders this is my chair because it’s the same as all the others and not at the head of the table. It faces the only entrance to the room. I always want to be the first to see danger if it ever comes to our door.
I’m also not the type of Prez who has a gavel. That’s an outdated tradition I’ve never been fond of. When we’re around this table we make decisions, either together, or my men accept what I say. I don’t needto be banging a little piece of wood on the table like I’m some kind of judge.
“We came from a meeting with some people who could help us track down the handlers,” she says, while dickhead stands sentry behind her with his arms folded.
“And?” If they’ve got something good, it means I don’t have to bring up the fact that my one and only lead has been bled dry and dumped in the river.
“Not what we were hoping for,” Cassie leans back. “But there is a chance they might contact us.”
Handlebar’s expression still isn’t giving much away, but one thing is obvious, he’s not as convinced as Cassie sounds.
The way I see it, with my lead gone, I’ve got more important things to worry about at my own club. If they want to continue this for King, then that is on them.
“Have you got anywhere with Marshall?” Cassie asks.
There is no point beating around the bush. “He’s dead.”
They both visibly jolt and Cassie tips her head back to look at him, but his eyes never leave mine.
“What the hell happened?” he asks.
