“When did you get married?” Aspen asked.
“It was a long time ago. Like I said, a lot of shit has changed.”
“Aspen, can you give us the room?” King asked.
“Sure, King.”
She took my hand and pulled me to face her. Kissing my cheek, she whispered, “Thank you.” And like the rest of his minions, she walked off without question, doing his bidding.
“Must be nice to have everyone’s head up your ass waiting to do whatever the fuck you tell them.”
He didn’t answer. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, and watched me.
“You gonna tell her you’re alive?”
“Nope.”
“Why are you such a dick?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Why are you such an asshole?” I shot back, pausing to glare at him.
“Genetics—have you met my father?” he answered with a cocky grin.
“I guess that answers both our questions.” I moved into the bathroom to grab my toiletries, hoping he would take the hint and leave. When I came out, he was still there, waiting for me. Expecting me to open up like I used to.
“Angel called Zombie, told them all you were back, and they took a vote.”
I glanced in King’s direction. “A vote for what?”
“They want you to be their president.”
I snorted. I wasn’t a fucking president. That was King’s job. I was an enforcer. Sure, we’d talked about starting our own chapter, and me being VP. But he had Cash now.
“When I ripped the patch from Steele’s chest, I handed it to Angel because he was closest. But Angel isn’t a fucking president. He got some news and asked to hang around here, and the patch was given to Zombie.”
“B will make a good president.”
“He doesn’t want it. Said he’ll be your VP if you want him, but he doesn’t want to run the show.”
I glared at King. “You think I do?”
“No, because you’re too fucking chickenshit to take what you want.”
I stormed up to King. He might have been the national president now, but he was still my best friend, and we didn’t pull fucking punches. Titles didn’t mean shit between us.
“What the fuck did you say?”
“You heard me. What the fuck are you gonna do about it?”
We’d always been evenly matched in a fight. And we’d fought often, mostly for exercise. Occasionally because we disagreed. We both had hot tempers that got us into shit.
I backed away. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I take a shot at the president and end up in a cell next to Freeway.”
“Cut the bullshit. Little Rock wants you as its president. Take the fucking patch.”
“Why is Angel staying?” I asked, changing the subject.
“He asked to go nomad, and I said yes.” King rubbed his hands over his face, and I knew there was shit he had to tell me.
