He was positioned between my feet, pretending to be unbothered by my long, flailing legs. I wasn’t trying to trip him, or get away, I was dry-heaving and every breath felt like I’d swallowed a handful of nails now that I could freely draw air again.
I finally got a hold of myself enough to realize Mark was waiting on an answer.
“Why were you in Springfield?” he boomed.
“Daisy,” I tried to wet my lips, but my tongue felt like sandpaper, and I was reeling from the headshots just a little too much to fluently finish my lie. “Daisy is tripping.”
The shadows shifted and Montana raised a beer bottle, saluting the statement. My gaze narrowed on him as he brought the bottle to his lips and swigged.
The entire right side of his face was lined with claw marks.
Shit.
I forgot Daisy had already been to visit.
“No shit. Why? Why is she tripping… You know what. Never mind all that. Why weren’t you at the meeting? Hmm? Why were you in Springfield instead of at the club meeting, Anthony? What was more important than the club?”
Vick’s arm might as well have been at my neck again.
Hearing Mark twist her into that…
Nothing came before the club.
Nothing could ever come before the club.
Anything that became a threat of that kind got eliminated.
“Nothing.”
“What?” Mark dropped down to a squat, forcing my legs apart as he invaded my space, either hand claiming an arm of the chair I was sitting in. His cold eyes were wrinkled at the corner, but it wasn’t from smiling. It was from squinting just like he was doing right now.
Staring at me like he was so beyond disgusted and disappointed that he couldn’t stand the sight of me anymore.
It was how he’d always looked at Makaveli when we were growing up.
Rage boiled through me. I’d never backed down from my own father, and Chef Aviston was more of a bastard than Mark Miller could ever dream of being. He was dead, and had been for a long time.
Having a grown man get in my face and not only interrogate me, but to try and manipulate my testimony and situation…
Goddamn. I wanted to slam my face into his so hard we both lost teeth. My jaw grated so hard it could have been a sound effect for Tales from the Crypt.
I forced myself to exhale all that turbulent energy, and reminded myself that better outlaws than me had named him president of our pack. It had to be for a reason. Even if I was too pissed off to see it right now.
He was a top tier asshole, but we were family. Not blood. But, family.
“Nothing ever comes before my club,” I calmly repeated, through the throbbing in my mouth.
“Good.” Mark nodded, stepping back finally. “That’s really good, because you know… When Mak met Sasha, I had to sit him down and explain a few things to him.”
C.C. snorted, and Vick let go of my hair, while Mark rattled on, “I showed him this little tool my neighbor uses on his livestock, and I let him know… That if some little piece of ass ever got in the way of club business… I’d make sure his brain never had to compete for blood flow again. You’re too fucking old for threats like that Anthony, I’m not going to bother showing you anything of the sort, but if I ever find out some little twat kept you from being there when the club called…” His eyes pinched just a little more and he nodded, leaving it to hang, while he moved down the length of the table and took his seat like nothing had happened.
“Get them assholes in here. I’m fucking tired, I’m cranky, I want to go home.”
The door squeaked behind me and Montana’s slow, Oklahoma accent called over the music in the bar, “Tables been called. Let’s do this, gentlemen.”
I held my jaw and closed my eyes, trying to be as still as I possibly could, just to keep the ache in my side to a minimum.
The room was unusually full, since Oak and my brother were deployed. They straddled a line, and Mark preferred to keep them incognito for his own benefit.
