“
Put down the gun,
Trigger,” I say in warning. His eyes slide toward me for half a
second before returning back to Grady. He shakes his
head.
“
Fuck you,” he spits.
“Everybody else wants to give me shit, but they don’t like it when
it’s thrown back at them.”
“
Too far, brother,” Ian
says from his position behind Grady. Moving just slightly to my
right, I see that Ian’s gun is pointed at Grady’s shoulder blade.
Doesn’t matter how quiet and disturbed the guy seems, he’s really a
pacifist at heart. “Put down the gun and Grady’s going to let this
shit go.”
“
The fuck I am,” Grady
says. “Got out-voted on the trip to Brooklyn, but this shit I ain’t
cool with. I don’t like this bitch in Pres’s house. I don’t like
her this close to the club. She’s a fucking security risk, and I’m
not willing to risk my freedom just because she’s Ruby’s long lost
kid.” Shaking his head he asks, “You really trust this
bitch?”
His words come out as a
bark, but his eyes are pleading with Trigger to understand. It
looks like he just wants him to
‘get
it’
already, but Trigger’s one dense
fucker. He won’t say it out loud, but he pretty much thinks
Princess shits rainbows. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be making a trip
to the house every day just to walk around the fucking place and
avoid Alex while he’s at it.
“
Yeah,” Trigger says. “I
do, and so does Ma. I’m taking responsibility for her.”
The room goes dead silent. I don’t
realize that I’ve lowered my gun until my arms drops and the weight
of the .38 is apparent in my limp arm. The rest of the room all
blends together like I have a bad fucking case of tunnel vision.
All I can see is Ryan—not Trigger, the guy he’s become—and, for a
moment, it takes me back to before either of us were
patched.
Back in the day when we were just dumb
fucking kids with a dream and no goddamn clue as to what the
reality of being patched means. I wouldn’t trade a single fucking
second of the time I’ve spent in this club and all that it’s given
me—family, brothers, loyalty, and even pride—but there’s a price
for all of those things. My choices aren’t my own. The club says
jump, and I don’t ask how high. I just fucking do it and wait to be
told I’m doing it wrong. That’s how this life goes, and, for the
first time since I patched in, I realize there may be a downside to
that kind of loyalty.
“
How well do you know
her?” Grady shouts. The hand that holds his gun shakes with fury.
Something about this situation is really fucking him up, and it’s
more than just not trusting Princess. Something about this irks him
on a much more personal level than I expect for it to. “You really
standing here and telling us you’re going to take responsibility
for her? If that mouth of hers gets her ass busted? You’re going to
bet your life on her silence?”
Everything about this is fucked in a
way I’ve never seen before. Ryan isn’t an idiot. He knows what it
means to take responsibility for Princess. It means that if she
talks, it’s his ass on the line. Taking responsibility for your
woman is what we do when we ask the club to vote her in. Trigger’s
not stupid enough to push for that yet, but taking responsibility
for Princess is a big fucking deal. Looks like Grady’s about to
have a serious fucking fight on his hands because I know damn well
the next thing Trigger proposes to the club is going to be to vote
Princess in—and then she’s everyone’s responsibility.
Looking around the room, I find that a
few of the other members have also lowered their guns. We’re
witness to something pretty big happening right now. Ryan’s always
been a selfish fuck, so for him to be willing to make that
sacrifice must mean that he’s serious about Princess. I can’t quite
figure it out though. He avoids her like the plague, and when he is
around her he’s all moody and shit. Not that he’s Mr. Smiles around
anybody or anything, but he’s always so tense in her presence. I
didn’t see it before, but now I do. I see a selfish, bastard of a
man falling in love.
And it fucking kills me.
I never thought I’d see the day when
Trigger was a better man than me. He’s always been the bastard
between the two of us, but the way he’s taking it to the wall for
his girl? Fuck if I don’t feel like a goddamn tool for not doing
more for my girl. She won’t ever admit it, but she needs me, and
she needs the club. She’s got Forsaken in her bones and in her
heart. Nic’s not a civilian. Like me, she couldn’t make it in her
perfectly bland fucking world filled with cubicles and nine to five
paper pushing. We need the edge, and the grit, and we need to feel
alive. I just have to show her that I can be the man she needs me
to be.
“
Enough,” I say. I bring
my gun back up and point it at Grady’s arm. “This isn’t a fight
you’re going to win, Bro.” Grady’s eyes slip over to mine. His
features turn downward at the corners, as if he’s in physical pain
from what’s going on.
“
This ain’t right,” he
says much more quietly than I expect. It’s not exactly defeat that
shows on his face, but it’s a temporary concession. “We’re a
brotherhood. We live and die by a code. If we don’t got that, we
don’t got shit. If that doesn’t mean something to the rest of you
then I don’t even know who we are anymore.”
Grady lowers his gun and shoves it back
into the waistband of his jeans then stalks out of the room. The
heavy wooden door wooshes at his exit then slams in his wake. We
lower our guns, but don’t move to sit back down. The room is far
too charged with energy. We’re just going to have to table the
discussion for another time.
“
You see what’s happening
here?” Diesel says as he places the palms of his hands on the table
and rests his weight on them. First, his eyes meet Ryan’s, and then
mine. “We’re falling apart over pussy, and it’s
bullshit.”
Trigger twists, turning toward Diesel,
and he’s back to being the bastard that Forsaken’s made him into.
His cold gray eyes look hard as steel, and his shoulders are set in
that near permanent raised position. Diesel raises an eyebrow at
him and gives him a slow, almost mocking shake of his
head.
“
Then don’t let it,”
Trigger says lowly. And there it is. My brothers might not see it,
but I do. Trigger’s picked his side, and it’s not with us. The
anger that radiates over him is a quiet fury. He’s mad all right,
but he’s holding back from trying to fuck someone up for a change.
Maybe he sees what’s happening, or maybe he just doesn’t give a
fuck anymore. He stalks out of the room, and when he goes he’s far
quieter than Grady was. I barely turn to watch his exit. My brain
is consumed with the situation probably as much as his is. I don’t
know how real this thing with Princess is for him, but I do know
that he’s never acted like this before. We’ve never had to address
something like this, and, of all my brothers, I never imagined it’d
be Ryan to risk his patch over pussy, but he is, and I can’t decide
if I want to fuck him up or slap him on the back for finally
feeling something more for someone else than he does for
himself.
But I get it.
Fuck, do I get it.
And it terrifies me.
Chapter 13
The clubhouse was in a fucking uproar
when I left. The brothers were all bitching about that shit with
Grady and Trigger, and a few of them tried to drag me into the
conversation. Fuck that. I was not about to stand around and shoot
the shit after I just had a gun trained on my best friend’s skull.
Sometimes I wonder if some of these guys really understand how
serious this shit is.
I rode for a good hour, just up and
down the coast, before I’d cleared my head enough to head back to
the house I share with Trigger. It’s more of a crash pad, but
that’s not uncommon for single Forsaken members. The small house is
Forsaken property—thank God—and the standard rules of renting don’t
apply to us. Otherwise the owner might take Trigger’s dirty ass to
court over the holes in his walls and piss on the carpet in the
living room. He did try to clean it after he sobered up, but still.
I’m not picky or nothing, but even I think the place is pretty
fucking gross, and that’s why I’m packing a bag. Nic doesn’t know
it yet, but I’m going to be staying with her. Her house is much
cleaner than this one, and I’m pretty sure with the right tactic,
I’ll be able to get her to cook for me.
The walls shake with the intense boom
that sounds in the other room. I stand from my sitting position and
draw my gun from the back of my waistband. Clicking off the safety
and slowly crossing the room with my .38 out in front of me, I take
a deep breath and swing my bedroom door open. The hallway is silent
save for the low buzzing sound of the light about to short out over
head.
With my back to the wall, I enter the
living room and train my gun on the front door. In the shadows of
the covered window stands Trigger. He’s resting his back against
the closed front door, and his eyes are closed. For a brief second,
I think he looks peaceful, but then I notice the drawn gun in his
right hand and the knife in his left. Trigger’s always been
temperamental, but ever since Princess arrived, he’s downright
maniacal.
“
What the fuck, Bitch?” I
ask, lowering my gun and clicking the safety back on. It’s the
second time today that I’ve had to pull a gun on him, and if he
doesn’t knock this shit off, I might be tempted to give him a flesh
wound just for the stress he’s causing me. His eyes open slowly as
he pushes off the door and hangs a right into the kitchen. I
follow, if only to score a cold beer from the fridge.
“
Where in the hell have
you been?” I ask as I retrieve two beers and slide one down the
counter to him. He shoves the knife back into his boot strap and
places the gun on the counter. Barely paying attention, he reaches
out and grabs the bottle. We use the bottle cap openers we have
attached to our keys at our waists. He tosses his head back and
chugs the entire beer at once then slams the bottle on the
counter.
“
House,” is all he says. I
take a swig of my beer and nod my head. There’s something I need to
talk to him about, but I’ve been avoiding it for as long as I can.
After that shit in Church though, I don’t think I can keep putting
it off.
“
You see
Princess?”
“
Cub,” he corrects me with
a snap in his tone. He leans forward and places his hands on the
edge of the counter. “Let me ask you something—you got a thing for
Nic?”
My jaw locks up, and I grip the neck of
the beer bottle tighter than I should, but without knowing where
he’s going with this, I don’t trust why he’s bringing Nic into the
conversation, especially when he knows how I feel about her. The
entire club knows how I feel about her after Diesel pulled that
shit just to prove a point to Nic. Can’t say I like it, but he’d do
most anything for my girl, including slamming my skull into the
pavement a few times. Fucker.
“
I’m gonna hold a meet to
talk about voting her in,” I say. His body tenses even worse, and
he shakes his head, but a tiny smile forms at the corner of his
mouth. It’s just for a second, and then it’s gone.
“
The club told you to back
off—what would you do?”
“
Depends on the reason,” I
say. We rarely ever discuss anything as deep as this. I mean, why
the fuck would we? Typically, we’re both perfectly fine just
fucking around. But then everything started to change. Finally
getting Nic into bed after all these years meant something more
than finally fucking my high school crush. Then this shit with
Princess, and my head’s not been right in a damn long
time.
“
Say Nic did what Cub
did,” he says. His knuckles are gripping the counter so tight I
think he might crack the fucking thing off.
“
Shit like that ain’t easy
to forget. Bitches in this life—they snort shit, suck dicks, and
fuck around, and we don’t give a fuck about that shit as long as
they keep their mouths shut about club business. Princess was
miserable, sure. I get that, dude. But she broke the one fucking
rule we got—the only fucking thing that makes this work: our
silence.”
“
You think I don’t know
that?” His voice booms, and his head shoots up. His gray eyes shoot
daggers at me. “You really think I ain’t thought about this—that my
dick’s the only thing that matters?”
“
Then what does matter?” I
ask quietly. In all the years I’ve known this mother fucker he’s
never opened up like this. Even when we were kids and he’d get
hurt, all he’d do is start kicking the ground and throwing a fit.
Didn’t matter if he’d fucked up his knee or broke his arm—he was
pissed and kicking the dirt. “What is it about this chick that’s
got your dick in knots?”
“
She thanked me,” he says
lowly. “The trip back from Brooklyn, we’re all standing around
listening to Pop ramble the fuck on. She’s got to be scared as
fuck, but she looks at me and fucking thanks me. Nobody ever thanks
me.”
“
You’re ready to lose your
patch because Princess has manners?” I ask, almost
incredulous.
“
Fuck,” he shouts in
frustration. He lifts the empty beer bottle from the counter, and
throws it against the back wall. I force myself to keep a steady
eye as he kicks at the floor three times and then slams his fist
into the counter.