“I have a clue,” she told him.
“Oh yeah?”he retorted.“You get that cluewatchin’Sons of Anarchy?”
“No, I got that clue when Carolyn told me who she wasdating, and I watchedBlood, Guts and Brotherhood.”
Well, hell.
Blood, Guts and Brotherhoodwas thedocumentary—more accurately, theaward-winningdocumentary theirnow-president Rush’s wife Rebel made about the Club.
“If you did, then you know what we’re about, so what’s withthe attitude?”he asked.
“The director of that movie, Rebel Allen,” she told himRebel’s name like he hadn’t sat down to dinner at the woman’s table two nightsago, which he had, “wore a leather jacket that said ‘Property of Rush’ on theback of it to the premiere of that film.And women arenotproperty.”
“Well, Rush wore his Chaos cut to that, but he has about ahalf dozen tees he wears all the time that say ‘Property of Rebel’ on the back.You got a problem with that?”he shot back.
She snapped her mouth shut so hard he heard her teethclatter.
“Unh-hunh,” he muttered, turningtoward the carousel that had begun to churn.“You don’t know dick.”
“Knowledge of MC culture is not hard to come by, Mr.Black.”
Yeah, she knew Jag enough to know his last name.
And his brother might be a guy who enjoyed a good time, butwho fucking didn’t?
Like Dutch, Jag had earned his patch, served the brothers,ate shit, did the grunt work, pulled his weight, and then some.Jag worked onthe builds at the garage with Joker and he worked hard (Dutch didn’t work inthe garage, somehow—mostly because he was good with numbers, and people (justnot Georgiana Traylor, or Carlyle Stephens)—Dutch had become thede factomanager of the auto supply store attached to Chaos’s custom-build garage, bothcalled Ride).
Jag was a good son.A good brother, of the blood and thepatch.A good guy.
He wasn’t a loser or a user or a cheater or a dick.
And so…
Okay.
She knew his brother, she knew him.
He was done with this woman.
When he looked at her again, he only twisted his neck beforehe bent it to give her his eyes when he said, “How ’bout we get your bag andget you home, Miss Traylor.”
“Ms.,” she returned.
Of course she’d have something like that to say.
Fortunately, she then nodded.
Their agreement to ride a stalemate until he could get shotof her lasted about seven minutes.
That being, until she moved forward, and he wanted to beable to ignore it, but he couldn’t.
Because when his father died, Hound stepped in and becamehis dad.And when Hound wasn’t around, Tack was.Or Hop was.Or Dog.Brick.Thelist went on.
In other words, he’d been trained well.
So when he saw the bag she’d clocked, he moved.And when shereached for it, he shouldered her out of the way and nabbed it.
“You did not just—” she began to hiss.
