“I don’t know if I can put the club first anymore,” I say, surprising everyone. “Since I’ve been back…I make the decisions and Wilder carries them out. Last night while Marie was working, I thought about what would happen if there was ever a time when it was my pack or the club. What then?”
“We don’t operate that way,” Nick growls. “Sure, there’s never been a time while we’ve been a chapter that a decision has come to that. However, I can tell you that Marie is adored. We don’t leave behind club members or Marie. That’s just how it fucking is.”
“Yeah?” I ask. I haven’t seen these men since I got shot, I gaze at them with a new appreciation.
“Little Queen,” Burner says, leaning forward until she glances up. “You’re our family too now, yeah? We’re not upset that you kept Lore’s secret. Honestly, I’m pissed off at myself for not recognizing his dramatic flare. I’d swear he was some kind of theater kid growing up if I didn’t know better.”
I snort out a laugh, because my father would have killed me first. He had another heir, he would have rationalized it away.
“The hammer felt right,” I admit. “I’ll be honest, in case any of you feel like you need to kick my ass, my absence made Marie really sick. I had no idea her soul was already so tightly bonded to me.”
“That’s why she was sick,” Nick mutters. “Fuck. It was really hard watching that.”
“Her heat was worse,” I say under my breath, getting up to steal Marie away as I find a spot on the giant couch. It’s as much to shut the fuck up as it is to feed the need to hold her.
Ransom grumbles slightly, but he’ll get over it.
Three pairs of eyes snap in my direction, and I hold a hand up.
“I broke into the house during her heat. We had to get the damn window fixed,” I say quickly. “I got to her in time, and I’m still trying to make it up to her.”
“I bet you’ll be doing that for the rest of your damn life,” Arsenal grunts. “So now what?”
“Now? I need you by my side when I break it to the club that I’m alive,” I reply. “I also want to poll the three of you about a few things.”
“We got alcohol and food, give it to us,” Burner says, draining his glass.
Leaning over to grab the bottle, I pass it over. Unless I’m asked to join in, I think I want to do this sober.
“I need you to do some real estate shopping with me,” I begin. “I think it’s important to have a home base in Minneapolis. It’ll also save on the hotel bills when you come to visit.”
The last part is a joke. We don’t really need to nickel and dime, despite the fact that the guys tend to lay low when they stay at motels.
“Yeah,” Nick says, swallowing hard. “Real estate, sure.”
“You just came back from the fucking dead, and you want to go shopping for a clubhouse,” Arsenal mutters. “This is insane, but let’s fucking go. What else?”
“I keep waiting for one of you to hit me or try to shoot me,” I wince.
“Is that why Devon shot up your house?” Nick snorts. “God, you two really are related. Who will be President of the club? No one is going to ask you to choose, Lore. Not ever. Does that information change your decision?”
“It does,” I admit. “I’ll step back into the role at some point. Wilder doesn’t want it, but he’s willing to follow my lead until I know the club is safe. I’m finding that people ignore me with the longer hair, and I typically keep my neck gaiter over my mouth and nose. While rude at times, I just melt into the background.”
“You’re gathering intel,” Nick guesses.
“I was,” I say. “It’s how I found out about Lyker’s betrayal. I can’t go too far right now, but I do make a decent fly on the wall still.”
“How bad is the bond sickness, Marie?” Arsenal asks. He immediately clocks the reason I can’t go far. These men aren’t dumb. It’s not every day that people fake their deaths.
“Bad,” she admits, meeting his gaze. “Lore and I have to be in the same building. If he steps out for any reason, it’s really painful for me. If we’re outside, we have a little more leeway. However, it’s not like he can go across town without me.”
“You’ll be at the meeting later this week then,” he says. “I think the greatest concern people will have is how his fake death affected you. Everyone saw how sick you were.”
“My honor is very well defended,” she says, smiling.
Now that there’s no danger that I’ll be shot, she relaxes into my arms.
“I hear you’re the club’s tattoo artist, Burner,” she says. “Want to give me my first tattoo?”
