“Sure had fun at the funeral—oh wait.” He paused and took a step forward. “You didn’t fucking have one!”
“Because we didn’t think there was enough left of you to fucking bury!” I walked away from him as he took a step further. If I got close to him, I’d punch him in the face again. His eyes were already starting to bruise. “Patch is downstairs; he can set your nose,” I offered.
“Already took care of it.”
I studied him as he stood at the end of the table. “What the fuck happened?”
“Steele set me up. He and Stone killed Titan, and I’d finally found the proof. We weren’t meeting buyers. I was meeting the man James had sent. His name’s Hemlock. Big Irish fucker that looks like a damn Viking.” I’d briefly seen someone out there who looked like the man Chasm had just described. But once I’dseen my best friend standing in the room with a smug fucking grin on his face like he didn’t just come back from the fucking dead, everyone else disappeared.
“He’s a pain in the ass—he had the information I needed. I had a feeling Steele knew something was up and thought maybe he was setting a trap. When you got on the phone, I knew you were in on it.”
“I wasn’t fucking in on it, asshole. I told you to fucking wait for me.” I slammed my hand on the table. Chasm shrugged. “Why the fuck are you here now?” I asked.
“To give you a chance to redeem yourself. Show Steele and everyone else you aren’t the motherfucking traitor I think you are.”
Clenching my jaw, I ground out, “Steele’s dead.” I stood from my chair and walked around the table, stopping beside Chasm, and said, “I’m the King of the whole motherfucking kingdom now. So go fuck yourself.”
Chapter Forty-Five
King
“You sure about this, King?”
The night sky was pitch fucking black. Not even one motherfucking star in the sky. To make matters worse, there was no fucking moon. If it weren’t from the faint light coming from inside the clubhouse, I wouldn’t be able to see shit. How my clubhouse got volunteered for this summit was beyond me, but when someone from out of the blue called me two nights ago and told me who I would be hosting tonight, I just prayed Colt had the club’s insurance premiums paid in full.
“Fuck no,” I growled as I stood on the front steps of my clubhouse. “Everyone close in case shit goes sideways?”
“Yeah,” Jingles whispered into the darkness. “All the girls are over at Beck’s place with Blade and the others.”
“Who’s on the gate?”
“Archie,” Jingles informed. “Told the prospect no IDs tonight. To just let whoever shows up right on in.”
I looked around the area and spotted two headlights off in the distance.
“And our other guests?”
“Waiting patiently in the wings.”
Nodding, I sent up a quick prayer for patience. I steeled myself for what was about to happen and watched the gate automatically open as two lone riders drove right on through. Parking off to one side, the riders cut their engines, removed their helmets, and stepped off their bikes. Refusing to movefrom my spot, I said nothing when the two men walked over to me. The one in the lead extending his hand.
“Asshole here yet?” Montana Stone, president of the Soulless Sinners MC, asked.
“No. You are the first to arrive.”
“I need a fucking whiskey.”
“Jingles, go with him,” I quickly added, then grinned when Montana growled at me. “Sorry, Montana, you know the rules. The hosting club runs point, and considering who will be in attendance tonight, I’m not leaving anything to chance. Now, you are more than welcome to my clubhouse. The bar is fully stocked, but Jingles has been instructed to monitor you the entire time you’re here.”
The moody bastard walked past and grumbled, “I’m not the one who needs a fucking babysitter.”
As Jingles followed Montana into my clubhouse, I noticed that Malice hadn’t moved an inch.
Curious, I asked, “You planning on staying out here with me?”
Malice was a big fucker and like most brothers in the biker world, we all knew about Malice. His reputation was almost as colorful as Sandman’s.
“Don’t want to be here.”
