“Riveria knows where she stands with me, and it’s none of your concern.” She doesn’t have to know that my ‘extra benefits’ at the club are because I’m the boss, not because I’m fucking Riveria. As long as Leeva knows the rumor is bullshit, then I don’t give a damn. “Now it’s time you left.”
She stands from the stool, wiping her face and smoothing her dress. “You’ll regret this, Army.”
Then she turns on her heel and struts away.
I watch her leave the club, ensuring she doesn’t linger or cause any trouble.
Unease settles in my gut. I don’t regret what I said or the ties I cut with Anais, but something tells me this won’t be the last from her.
Urgent need to get to Leeva flickers through me like a livewire. I want to get back to herimmediately. But before I do, I need to reveal my sins to Ash.
Chapter 34
Army
Ientertheclubhouse,coming in through the bar area. It’s close to suppertime, and many of the brothers and prospects are back from their jobs for the MC. Most of the Club Pussy is in here as well, except for those on duty helping Cherry—the retired Bunny who oversees them—make supper for the crew. Razor, Thunder, and the rest of the old guard are huddled in the corner, deep in conversation.
Razor watches me as I walk through the bar, hate spewing from him.
I regret what I had to do to Grinder every single day, but I won’t bend or break for Razor. It’s him and Thunder who pushed for that asinine law years ago.
Thunder looks at his friend and then at me. He nudges Razor and gives him a warning look, making him look away, and Thunder dips his chin toward me, as if in respect.
Razor’s intentions are obvious; it’s clear he wants to shove a gun down my throat. But I’m less certain about Thunder. He could be trying to keep his friend from doing something stupid,or he could be a snake in the grass, waiting to strike when I least expect it.
I don’t disagree with Pix that these two are rot, but I know Ash needs hard evidence before he acts; otherwise, there will definitely be mutiny and internal war.
Tats and Mauler give me a nod, and I knock my knuckles on their table, and keep walking. The Club Pussy smile at me but keep their distance, knowing not to bother trying with me.
Before I reach the door on the other side of the bar that exits into the main part of the clubhouse, Bane fills the doorway. He steps in, holding Slade’s hand. She’s small compared to his large size; the man was born and bred to be a defender, and he takes his road name and role seriously.
Slade isn’t overly emotional—a lingering effect from trauma she survived—but she’s way more expressive than when she first arrived back at the MC’s gates.
“Slade,” I greet her, then turn to Bane. “I need you to join me in Ash’s office.”
His jaw ticks as he regards me, then he nods.
Before we leave, I look over my shoulder and find Razor is back to glaring at me with undisguised hate and malice. It’s not unnoticed by everyone else in the bar, and they look uneasy, expecting weapons to be drawn at any second, forcing them to pick which side they’ll be joining.
Yeah, this is going to be a problem.
It’s almost enough for me to say fuck it, leave the clubhouse, grab Leeva, and just go.
However, I know that wouldn’t be the end of our problem. Because this problem wouldn’t disappear simply by leaving the city.
If it was decided I was guilty and needed to be punished by death, geography wouldn’t matter.
Sure, Ash and the others could pretend they were searching for me to carry out the punishment, but just leave me be, knowing and trusting that I wouldn’t divulge any MC secrets. But knowing Razor and Thunder, they’d put out a bounty on me, so I’d be hauled back here and forced to face the punishment for my sins.
“Suddenly, my idea doesn’t seem like such a bad one, right?”
I turn back and see that Pix has joined us.
My mouth thins in response to her question.
Bane kisses the top of Slade’s head. “Have a drink with your brothers, baby. I’ll join you soon.” He inclines his head toward the bar where Slade’s brothers, Breaker, Tyr, and Sten, sit watching.
Slade’s green eyes slide to me. While she’s not overly expressive, I see her concern. We might not be what you’d consider close, but Slade and I share dissociating from PTSD. The ways it affects us are very different, though; I fall into a catatonic trance, whereas she’s ravaged by memories and the screams of victims she couldn’t save assaulting her mind.
