Chapter 29 RINGO
The crack of the gun is deafening, trigger fingers all around the room nearly letting loose as Spud’s pained cry rips through the air.
His gun clatters to the floor, his knees crashing down right after, and for a long moment, it’s like the whole fucking room is holding its breath as everyone turns their focus to the source of the shot.
My wife.
Fuck. Her caramel eyes are wild as she stands there with her arms outstretched, gun aimed straight ahead, the dark smoky effect around her eyes making her look fucking lethal.
Her leather jacket adds to how fucking tough she looks right now, but the most terrifying part of her is those fucking beautifully savage eyes.
They are laser focused right now, zeroed in on her new target.
My President.
Fuck.
My cock starts to wake at the sight of my wife looking all badass, and I will it the fuck down, because now’s not the fucking time.
A choking sound falls from Smitty’s lips, snapping me out of my Abbey daze, and I quickly scan the scene.
Spud, the club’s VP, who is Smitty’s lackey, is groaning on the floor like a little bitch, gripping his upper arm as blood spills over the concrete floor.
“You fucking cunt of a woman! You shot him!” Smitty jabs a finger in Abbey’s direction like no one fucking knows it was her, but my Angel doesn’t cower. She simply nods.
“You’re next, arsehole.”
And… there’s my cock. Fully fucking hard at the most inconvenient fucking time.
How am I meant to do this shit with a fucking hard-on?
“She shot one of us!” Spittle flies from Smitty’s mouth as he keeps stabbing the fucking air in my wife’s direction. “She broke our rules!”
“Oh, please.” Abbey rolls her eyes before refocusing her death stare on the club President. “I shot through him. He was in my way.”
We all blink a little fucking dumbly until her words sink in, and then I glance across the space to the table where Panda was standing. Only he’s not standing anymore.
He’s flopped back in a chair, crimson blooming over his chest, soaking his white tee as he coughs up blood.
Fucking hell. Did she… mean to do that?
Who the fuck taught her that trick?
I instantly think of Riggs. That fucker and his closest men taught Abbey and my sisters some tricks of the trade. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did teach her to shoot through someone else to hit a target behind them.
No one rushes to help Spud or Panda. The Doxies are all huddled together in the back corner, keeping their distance, and the men in the room are clearly fucking torn about who they should follow, given their confused expressions.
Fuck. This couldn’t have worked out more perfectly if I’d planned it.
I’ve been ordered by Ewan Marx to kill Smitty and replace him as President of the Southern Sadists, something I really didn’t want to fucking do until now.
Now, I know the fucking truth, and this fucker needs to die regardless of Ewan’s fucking order.
Slowly, I lower my gun, and Abbey’s gaze catches motion as I hand it to JD.
“What are you doing, man?” JD whispers, but I don’t answer him, my eyes locked on my wife as she frowns, clearly trying to figure out what I’m doing too.
Neither of us wanted this, but taking control of the club is the only way to ensure she is kept safe. She has Bobbi. Her sister. Her friends. She’ll learn to live without me. Fuck, she can live a normal life that doesn’t involve Harleys, cuts, and violence.
A happy life.
The life she deserves.
Her eyes glass over as her lids flutter, like she knows exactly what’s about to happen, and I wish we had more time to talk about this, but we don’t.
“Smitty!” I call, dragging my gaze from my beautiful wife to face the club President, rolling my shoulders back, and making my voice loud so everyone can hear. “I challenge you for the role of President.”
Gasps instantly fill the room as I quickly rake my gaze over the gathered crowd, spotting grins spreading across some of my club brothers’ faces, while others turn red in anger, and the remaining still look fucking confused.
The men who are grinning seem to be happy I’m doing this, and it makes me wonder if they’ve hoped for something like this to happen.
Smitty is a crazy motherfucker, and while he can be a wild ride, he can also be so fucking unpredictable that you never really know if he’s going to pat you on the back or shoot you.
It’s not a good way to live.
“You can’t fucking challenge me!” Smitty’s bellow gains my attention again to find his face beet red as he glares at me. “I’m the President! I say what goes, and I demand everyone shoot this traitor now!”
He points at me, glancing around the room for support, yet no one budges.
“You know the bylaws, Nate,” I remind him. “A president can be challenged for the role in a public fight. Fists or knives. You know the fucking deal.”
Scoffing, he throws up his hands like I’m the dramatic one, doing a three-sixty to take in our club brothers, and clearly noticing some aren’t on his fucking side.
“This is ludicrous. Shoot him! He’s trying to destroy this club!”
“Not trying to destroy it. Only doing what’s right,” I explain, meeting the hard stares of some of the men.
“If we don’t stick to our rules and morals, then we are no fucking better than those Rebel pricks.
” I stab a finger in Panda’s direction, who is now deathly pale as he bleeds out.
Moore hasn’t moved to help him, his own confusion written across his face.
Who does he take orders from? Nate or me?
He’s been working undercover for the Southern Sadists, which Smitty arranged, which leads me to believe he hasn’t always been working against us. But somewhere along the way, recently, Nate switched sides. For money. So maybe Moore has switched sides too.
“You think you can do better than me?” Nate scoffs. “Who secured this land so we could move out of the fucking burbs? Who has kept every fucker here sheltered and fed? Who has just made this club even richer?”
As guns lower, I start to pace before Nate, knowing my relaxed persona will piss him off.
“Actually, it was me and JD that secured this land for the club,” I remind him, making sure my voice is loud again so everyone can hear.
“We negotiated with the Marx family to operate out of this area. We ensured the sale price was a fucking steal for only one hundred fucking grand since no one wanted to buy the land the house of horrors burnt down on.” Ignoring Nate’s scoff, I flick my gaze to Abbey to see Jols at her side, whispering in her ear.
“The shipping container deal was secured by Mex and Vender. The containers have, and continue to be converted by the club brothers.” I gesture to the room. “Not you.”
“Semantics,” Smitty scoffs, basically digging his own grave given the glares that harden towards him from the club brothers scattered around the space.
“The money to feed everyone comes from the fucking kitty,” I continue.
“And it’s the Doxies that source the food and cook for every fucker here.
Not you.” My eyes meet Casey’s for a moment, and a flash of pride widens them.
“The only thing you have done,” I turn back to Smitty, “is go against our fucking rules to secure yourself, not the club, a huge chunk of money. There’s no fucking way anyone here will get to see much of its spoils but you. ”
Nate’s lip twitches as he glares at me, and I stop pacing to glare right fucking back.
“I challenge you!” I bark.
“Fine! Fists or knives?” he snaps, and this time, I smirk.
“Knives. We fight to the death.”
More gasps float through the room. Some, more manly, while others are clearly from the Doxies.
“Cam.” Abbey’s gentle voice comes from behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to see her wet eyes.
The sight nearly fucking breaks me. She knows what this means. We both do.
A life of service to the club for who knows how long. This sort of life isn’t for everyone, and fuck, the person she was just a few weeks back blended right in, but she was never meant to be that person. That killer. That ruthless, hardened shell of a human.
She is soft in the best fucking way, even despite how hard she tries to fight it.
It’s not a bad thing.
Fuck, it’s part of what drew me to her in the beginning. My pretty blonde Angel. Sweet. Innocent. Kind right down to her soul.
And now, with Bobbi… well, an MC is no place for a kid.
I swallow thickly, clearing my throat before I speak.
“This is how it has to be Angel. I’m sorry.”
Her lips part like she wants to say something, but Nate’s grating voice cuts through our moment.
“Stop fucking stalling,” he snaps, and I turn my glare on him to see him shedding his cut and shirt. “You wanna play king fucking dick, then let’s get this over and done with so I can piss on your corpse.”
“He’ll be pissing on your corpse!” Abbey yells from behind me, and I glance over as I tug off my cut to see Jols and JD holding her back as she snarls at Nate.
The man in question laughs like a fucking hyena at her, which fucking has my jaw ticking with rage.
This prick needs to learn some fucking respect.
Tables and chairs are moved to the sides of the room, forcing Banes and his fucked up little family to stand, while Panda’s now dead body gets dragged outside by a couple of the guys.
When Banes, Priscilla and Maggie start for the doors, a wall of Sadists stop them, forcing them back into the corner to watch.
If things go bad for me, they’ll think they’ve won. But if I win, then they are absolutely fucked. Coming here was really fucking dumb. I can hardly believe they trusted Nate. They should have easily seen through his bullshit.
Passing my cut to Abbey, I stand before her, cupping her cheek that’s flushed red with anger and fear, and those big doe eyes blink up at me.
“I love you, Abs.”
“I love you too,” she whispers, the pain flickering in those caramel pools, a sight I’ll never forget.