His words cut off when Riot moved.
His chair scraped back across the concrete, slow as thunder rolling in. He didn’t even stand all the way, just enough to shift his weight, one hand resting on the table, the other sliding his shades down his nose. His eyes found Gage’s, cold and unblinking.
“You forget who you’re talking to?” Riot’s voice was quiet, but it carried. The kind of quiet that made the room hold its breath.
Gage’s jaw worked, but he didn’t answer.
Riot leaned forward, elbows on the scarred wood, his stare never leaving the other man.
“She’s with the President. That makes her untouchable. You don’t like it, you take it up in church, not in here. Unless you’re looking to bleed on this floor tonight.”
The silence stretched.
Finally, Gage shifted back, muttering something under his breath that no one dared echo.
Riot slid his shades back into place and leaned against his chair like nothing happened. But he nodded at me once, a silent message that he’s got my back.
Lucy didn’t blink. She leaned forward, her voice carrying barely enough to cut through the noise. “Princess? Cute. Better than being your pawn.”
The room jolted, and a couple bikers snorted before they could swallow it down. One barked out a laugh, sharp and fast, before Bishop’s glare shut him up. But it was too late. The tension snapped tighter. Lucy wasn’t taking fire anymore, she’d fired back, and the whole room had seen it.
Riot’s head tipped, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth before it vanished.
Gage’s smirk faltered before hardening into a sneer. “You’ve got a mouth on you. Maybe someone should fill it.”
“Watch your tone,” I said, standing to my full height and stepping out from behind the bar. The room chilled as the women on Gage and Bishop shrank back.
“You walk in drunk, with damn near naked strays on your arm, and come at me for disrespecting protocol?” I yelled, taking another step towards Gage. He opened his mouth, but I steamrolled him. “She’s not some chick I met last night. She’s been through more shit than most men in this room. She’s here because I trust her. That should be enough.”
“It’s not. Trust don’t mean jack if she’s not one of us. She screws up, it’s on all our heads,” Gage replies.
“What’s she even doing here? What’s the endgame?” Bishop asks.
“She’s helping me handle something I don’t trust anyone else with. Club business. Sensitive. I don’t answer to anyone about who I trust unless you’re sitting in my chair or the VP’s.”
A tense pause.
“That the way it is?” Gage asked, never taking his eyes off Lucy.
“Damn right, it is,” I replied.
Lucy spoke again, calm as ever, her voice threading through the tension. “I’m not here to screw anyone over. I’m here because Jay, sorry, Reaper needed someone who can get their hands dirty without blinking and with no ties to the club.”
I gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod. Not gratitude but acknowledgment.
“Cute speech. Still don’t give a damn,” Gage spat. His jaw tightened, fists balling on the table. “She doesn’t belong here.”
“She belongs as long as I say she does,” I replied, palms flat on the wood. “I’ll put it to a vote, if that’s what you want.”
“You serious?” Bishop stared at me, mouth half-open.
“Dead serious. We run by the table. She stays or she goes, club decides.”
Riot bolted the door and the clubhouse noise dropped off. Phones face-down on the table, no exceptions. Church meant no outsiders, no lies. Hands raised or lowered, loyalty shown out in the open, where everyone would remember it later.
Chairs scraped as patches gathered in what we called our war room. Lucy stood by my side as the vote was voiced out loud.
Riot’s eyes slid to her. “You sure you want this?”
