Chapter 10 #3
Freak starts to open his mouth, but Prez interrupts. “Only single brothers have a vote here. And anyone who votes aye has to be prepared to step up and take one for the club.”
I’m not really surprised when no one volunteers.
Maybe Winchester was right, cut her loose. But if she leaves, Satin will go with her. And I have my doubts about whose side the dancer is on. And with the Bratva backing Stone? I doubt she’ll last long.
“Fuck,” Prez breathes out with feeling. Then, again scrubbing his hands through his hair, adds, “Can’t say I’m surprised. That’s one fuck of an ask.”
Stalker clears his throat. “She’s pretty enough. I could bed her. As long as a divorce is on the cards, and she gets sole custody of any child, I might—”
“I’ll do it.” I can’t fuckin’ believe those words have come out of my mouth.
I never saw myself tied down in a relationship, let alone having a wife.
As to kids? I always believed the world was already overpopulated, and you can be sure I wrapped my shit up tight in order not to add to it.
So what has changed my mind? The thought of Stalker, twenty years her elder, fucking her and making her belly swell with his child?
That’s fucking twisted. Hang on one damn minute.
I don’t want her. No, he can have her. But by the time I’ve thought better of the words I’ve just spouted, Prez bangs the gavel down.
He breathes out, “Rat, thank you. You’ve just agreed to bring the club a fuckin’ good payday.
” He leans forward and adds sincerely, “I can fuckin’ guarantee you have the respect and gratitude of everyone around this table.
” His mouth quirks. “And it’s not forever.
Quicker you get started, the faster you can get a bun in that oven. And then you can come home.”
Yeah. A year tops should do it. Wait. Come home?
“What do you fuckin’ mean, come home?”
Prez shrugs as if it’s a foregone conclusion. “You’ll have to go off-grid. Malachi will redouble his efforts to find her as soon as he knows she’s married, as his time will be limited. If you’re here at the club, he’ll bring the Bratva down on us. And that’s a fuckin’ war we might not win.”
“Genie’s found a cabin for sale up in the mountains. Club will buy it under an alias. Not luxury, but good enough. You’ll both live there until…”
“You fuckin’ set me up!” I yell. Realising, while the rest of the table looks confused, the officers sport smug grins. They’d planned this all along.
“You mean we don’t have to suffer Rat for a year?” Winchester asks, a look of absolute glee on his face. “Bring it the fuck on.”
“Fuck yeah,” comes from all around, and multiple hands thump the table, accompanied by the stomping of feet and not a few deep belly laughs.
I don’t wait for any other comments. I stand and, for the first time ever, walk out of church before Prez has brought the final gavel down and without waiting for permission to leave.
I don’t get far before Saint catches up with me and, digging his fingers into my shoulder, swings me around. “You get your ass back in church before I strip your fuckin’ patch for disrespect.”
“With all due respect, VP, I don’t give a fuck.
You hear what you’re asking me to do? Give up my life for a woman I don’t even like.
Either fuck her,” I childishly put my finger into my mouth and pretend to throw up, “and give her a child, or spend six years of my prime living off-grid in a fuckin’ cabin. ”
Saint shakes his head. “We’re fuckin’ with ya.
” He even looks contrite as he adds, “Look, you didn’t stick around for option four.
That’s the plan we’re about to get onto.
You’ll want to stick around and find out.
” His brows knit together. “Rat, you can’t deny you’ve always been an ass.
Of course, the brothers are going to take their pound of flesh when it’s dangled in front of them. ”
Opening my mouth to deny I’ve ever been an ass, I realise any denial would fall on deaf ears.
So what if I offer some home truths from time to time that others don’t want to hear?
I just can’t be bothered with people who don't see the world through my eyes. Then, I latch onto his words. If there’s a way out of the mess I’ve gotten myself into, I’d like to hear it.
Following Saint back into church, I make sure my head is held high, determined not to look like a schoolboy dragged back in front of the headmaster.
I go to my seat, sit in it, pull it into the table, making sure the legs grind against the floor.
Then I direct my gaze straight at Bullseye.
“You got something to say? Let’s hear it. ”
The growl that comes from the table should make me quake in my boots, but I’m too riled to pay much attention. Around, brothers are silent, their eyes going from me to the prez as if they’re watching a tennis match. The fury in the air is as palpable as any ball in play.
“Not that you fuckin’ deserve an out, Brother,” Bullseye snarls. “But here’s the plan Saint and I have come up with.”