“What the fuck?” Dash snapped.
We’d all met Doozer when the clubs had converged on the Howlers’ compound in Colorado a few years ago.
“What do you want us to do, Doc?” Badger asked.
“I want you to be on high alert. Hatch is keeping up with the Saints and what they might need, but for the moment, we’re in a holding pattern.”
“Why can’t we go on the offensive?” Otter asked.
“Because I’m not interested in war right now, brother,” I said. “If it comes to that, we’ll be ready, but for now, we watch and prepare.”
There were a few grumbles around the room, but in the end, my word was law, so my brothers nodded their agreement.
“Okay, let’s drink. I need a few.”
I dismissed the meeting and we headed out to the great room bar.
Olivia
“Your house is gorgeous,” I said as I hugged Ronnie after being led through the foyer and into the huge country kitchen.
Ronnie was Zaius’s old lady, the president of the Burning Saints Savannah chapter, and they owned the huge farmhouse where Sunday School was held twice a month. We all knew each other, kind of. Our clubs weren’t classified as one-percenters, meaning we operated within the law, so we often comingled when there were community events, like the kids’ Christmas party and whenever the Bikers for Kids needed backup. They were an international club that supported bullied and abused kids in all sorts of situations and our clubs often helped house, feed, and ride with them whenever they needed it.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’m glad you ladies could make it.”
Jasmine and Willow followed me, but Quin would be coming later with Lyric.
“Do your men know what you’re here for?” Ronnie asked.
“No way in hell,” I retorted.
“They just think you graciously invited us over for tea,” Jasmine said.
“Yeah, we’re fuckin’ friendly like that,” Jules, Wingman’s wife, said.
“This is Carmen,” Ronnie said, and a gorgeous Hispanic woman smiled, making her way to us.
