I nodded, thinking that sounded like way too easy of an out for the cocksucker, but Ghost was the boss.
“He’s done. So are his fucking followers.”
Dash nodded immediately. “Good.”
“No argument here,” I agreed.
Ghost held my gaze. “Knew you’d feel the same way.”
I set my beer on the edge of his desk and leaned back in the chair. “So you want us to be the messenger?”
We’d just gotten back to Boston, and I was so tired my fucking bones hurt but if he wanted me back on the road to go strip the patch off that sick son of a bitch before I put a bullet between his eyes, I was game.
“Not exactly,” Ghost said, rubbing the scruff on his jaw. “I want you to go there and take over.”
I sat up straight. “Come again?”
There was no way he was talking to me. I’d been a nomad since Larissa died ten years ago, going where the club needed me. I didn’t have an issue doing the jobs nobody else wanted to do. But taking over a club? That was way,WAYabove my pay grade.
Oblivious to my head spinning, Ghost kept on talking. “Devils Cove is a fucking gold mine.” His eyes hardened again. “Or at least it was until that rat bastard started doing dirty deals with the cartel. I wouldn’t doubt that he’s selling our shit to them right under our noses.”
My brows pulled together as my mind went to Devils Cove. The compound sat on 126 acres in Southern California. Orange trees spanned out in every direction as far as the eye could see. It was the perfect cover for their operations. The Devils Cove clubshipped arms all over the country under false bottoms of orange crates. It was a foolproof setup.
“If you want me to be the messenger, fine. I got no problem handling that. But I don’t have aspirations of leading a club. I don’t think?—”
“There’s nobody else, Odin.”
I cut my eyes to Dash. I mean, there was someone else.
My best friend’s eyes went wide as he lifted both hands. “Hell, no. Not it.”
Not opposed in the slightest to throwing his ass under the bus, I threw back, “You’re just as capable as I am, asshole.”
He shook his head. “I don’t like paperwork.”
I just stared at him with my mouth hanging open. Was he even being serious? There was a helluva lot more to being P than just paperwork. “You’re a special bird, ya know that?”
“I have my moments.” He shrugged.
Ignoring our bullshit, Ghost continued, “Club needs a man it can trust out there. Not some slimy prick who goes against everything we believe in.”
I stared at him for a long beat.
Fuck.
He knew the kind of man I was. I’d served in the Special Forces. So had Dash. Honor, even among sinners like us, was everything to us.
I blew out a heavy breath. “If I do this, and that’s a big fucking if, I want men I know I can trust at my back.”
Ghost smirked like he knew he was about to win a battle. “It’ll be your club. You do what you want.”
That was good to know because if I took him up on his offer, I was going to clean fucking house in Devils Cove. We lived by a code. All of us. And that meant that Moody’s crew hadn’t made a single peep that things weren’t on the up and up.
“Give me a few days to think it over,” I said, scrubbing my hands over my face. I was fucking exhausted.
Ghost waved out a tattooed hand. “Take a few days to talk it over with the fam.”
Draining the last of my beer, I pushed to my feet. “I’m gonna head out.” There was a lot to think about, and I couldn’t do that at the clubhouse. I needed to go home, grab a shower, and get some fucking sleep before I waded into the pros and cons of uprooting everyone’s life.
