“Neither do I,” I replied, which was the God’s honest truth.
I wanted to be anywhere but here tonight.
Malice and I didn’t have to wait long before two more riders rolled past the gates, parking on the other side of my clubhouse. Standing my ground, I said nothing while I watched Reaper and Sandman get off their bikes and walk over to me.
“King.”
“Reaper.”
“Where’s fucknuts?”
“Getting drunk.”
“Fucker better not be drinking all the damn whiskey.” Reaper strode past angrily, straight into my clubhouse.
“Don’t wanna be here,” Sandman grumbled when I looked at the man.
“Then you are in good company, ’cause Malice just said the same thing.”
Sandman turned to look at Malice, who just glared back. Neither man moved, nor blinked for that matter, but when I heard them both growl, I yelled, “Someone wanna come out here and take care of these two before they break Nebraska?”
“GET THE FUCK IN HERE!” both Montana and Reaper shouted at the same time.
Huffing, both men said nothing as they marched their cranky asses into my club.
Looking up at the night sky, I whispered, “Get me through tonight and I will never complain again.”
Heading into the clubhouse, I found Montana and Reaper both sitting at the table in the middle of the main room, which Jingles had set up for this meeting. On the table were three bottles of Hell’s Breath, which I’d snagged from the Diamond Bar in town. Figured if I was going to have two of the most powerful biker presidents in the underworld in my clubhouse, I might as well get them drunk on the good stuff.
Jingles stood behind the bar while he kept a watchful eye on Malice, who was sitting at one end eating an apple and reading a book, while at the other end, Sandman sat hunched over a juice box, wearing a pair of pink, sparkly headphones.
Looking at Jingles, my brother shrugged but said nothing as he stayed rooted to his spot.
Heading to the table, I barely sat my ass down when Montana spoke. “I want Vicious and Fury back.”
“Really?” Reaper scoffed, staring blankly at Montana. “That’s where you want to start? Remind me again who it was that failedto uphold their end of a blood pact, which damn near killed the old lady of one of my brothers?”
“They are my brothers too.”
“Vicious was mine first!”
Rolling my eyes, I placed my index finger and thumb into my mouth and whistled loudly, halting the bickering duo. With everything those two had been through in the last six months, I would have thought cooler heads would have prevailed, but I guessed that was hoping for too much, because the two idiots sitting before me were just as petty as ever.
“Okay,” I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “This is how this meet will go. I have been provided with a list of grievances that need to be thoroughly discussed and resolved before either of you are permitted to leave my clubhouse. I want to remind you both that there will be absolutely no yelling, complaining, or fighting of any kind permitted during this summit. If you throw punches, Jingles will step in and stop you.”
Malice and Sandman chuckled as both Montana and Reaper scowled, turning to look at the men.
“It has been made explicitly clear that neither of you can leave this clubhouse until you both reach a compromise that is acceptable to both parties involved. If you both fail to reach such compromise, I’ve been ordered to inform you both that action will be taken to bring you both to heel.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Montana asked, looking at Reaper, who shrugged.
“Don’t ask me.” The president of the Golden Skulls smirked. “I hate this political shit. I prefer to fight it out until the last man is standing.”
Turning to me, Montana sneered, “Well?”
“They weren’t very forthcoming on that part.”
“What the fuck does that mean? Who demanded this summit?”
