But I’ve always found it darkly ironic considering how many Kings we’ve buried over the years.
But if there’s one thing Tom’s been doing since his release, it’s been making it clear he still eats, sleeps, and breathes the club.
Part of that is displaying his ink and wearing his cut every single waking moment he can. He’stheSteel King, and he wants everybody to know it.
We’ve barely spoken all week beyond the necessary. A few words about club inventory, a brief discussion about the Chop Shop’s books, some questions about recruitment.
Nothing real. Nothing about the years he was gone or the accusations he made when the Feds took him.
If I’m honest, I’ve been avoiding him, doing my best to ignore the simmering tensions.
Maybe because some part of me hopes if I do, we can return to before. How things used to be between us.
“What’s this about?” I ask once we’re finally off by ourselves.
He strokes the stubble on his jaw. “I’ve spent a lot of time observing, and there’s one thing I’ve realized. I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
I cock a brow. “Can’t say I know what you’re talking about.”
“C’mon, Jack, brother. You know,” he laughs, gesturing wide with his arms, beer can in hand. “This club’s gone soft while I was away. But nothing that can’t be fixed. I’ve got every intention of turning things around.”
I don’t laugh. I don’t give any reaction at all beyond meeting his gaze and watching his theatrics.
“What you call soft, we call smart,” I say finally. “We’re not courting chaos like we used to. Not bullying folks in town for protection money. Not flooding the streets with drugs and girls.”
“You’re serious?” he asks through another thick, cackling laugh. He slaps me on the back like I’ve told a good joke. “Yousure you in the right business, brother? What the hell did you think being a King was about? Sunday school?”
Movement catches my eye across the patio. My gaze naturally travels toher.
Solana’s on her phone, and something’s wrong. Very wrong.
Her brows are knitted, and she’s gripping at the edge of the table like she might fall without it. But Tom’s still talking, demanding my attention with his grievances.
“Nobody seems to remember what we built,” he continues, taking a long drink from his beer. “What we sacrificed for. Least of all my sons. Both of them married now, starting families like they’re civilians.” He pauses, his lip curling with disgust. “WithBlackwomen of all women. I didn’t teach my boys to race mix.”
The casual bigotry automatically makes my fingers twitch and my muscles tense. It draws a ball of hot anger that pulses through me. I bite down on my jaw trying to contain what I can, suddenly struck by the urge to wipe the sneer off his fucking face.
“It doesn’t matter who they fell in love with, Tom,” I say, my voice low in warning. “You saying you’ve got a problem with it?”
He sputters like the question’s ridiculous to even ask, merely waving a hand to dismiss it.
“What I’m saying is… nothing’s how it should be,” he says vaguely. “I expected my boys to besuccessors, not be dragged down by fucking marriage and kids.”
“You did the same thing with Dana,” I remind him. “You two were still in high school when she got pregnant with Logan.”
He waves me off again like I’m discussing ancient history. “That was different. The club always came first with me. Always. But Logan? He won’t even let me meet my grandchild.”
I wonder why, you fucking asshole.
My nostrils flare as I stare at him with barely concealed irritation and contempt.
“Says they’re not ready for that step yet,” he scoffs indignantly. “My own blood, and I can’t even hold the baby girl.”
“You’ve been gone a long time. Things change. You’re gonna have to get used to it.”
But he’s not listening, already moving on to his next grievance.
“And Mason’s worse. My youngest walks around here like his dick’s made of gold and his shit don’t stink. All cockiness, no respect. He thinks he can disrespect me? His own father? He’s got another thing coming.”
