Chapter 15
WHIZ
“No fucking way.”
My refusal is immediate and out of my mouth before I turn on my heel and head for the door. I don’t care what anyone says behind me, don’t give a rat’s ass that Zoey starts to argue, her voice rising just enough to catch my attention as she says something about not needing supervision.
Good. We’re on the same page.
Unfortunately, being on the same page doesn’t change a damn thing.
I keep walking until I shove open the back door and step outside. My body is taut with an unrelenting tension, and anger bubbles just beneath the surface. I move away from the building and cross over the gravel path that leads to the cabin.
“Whiz.”
Lyric. Fuck.
I stop but don’t turn to face him. My fists are clenched at my sides, and I wait for him to continue.
“You don’t get to walk out like that,” he says, his tone harsh.
I turn then, slowly, and glare at him with defiance that will likely get me in trouble. “You don’t get to make that call for me.”
“I just did.”
Three simple words. That’s all it takes for my anger to morph into full-blown rage.
Without thinking, I move, and my fist connects with his jaw.
One punch, then another and another. The impacts ricochet up my arm, and the pain is satisfying for all of half a second because that’s all it takes for everything to explode.
“Jesus—”
“Whiz!”
Hands wrap around my biceps. Zombie is on one side, and Boondock is on the other. They haul me backward before I can take another swing. I struggle to break free, muscles straining, breaths coming hard.
“Get the fuck off me,” I snarl.
“Enough!” Lyric’s tone is furious.
His command forces me to cease my fighting, and Zombie loosens his grip. Neither he or Boondock let go completely, no doubt because they don’t trust me not to go at our pres again.
Smart.
Lyric wipes blood from his lips and spits out a mouthful.
Then he levels his gaze on me, and I hold it.
There’s a calm about him that I’m used to seeing when he’s squaring off with an enemy and absolutely certain that he’ll come out on top.
It should scare the hell out of me, but I’m too keyed up to care.
My mistake.
“That’s where you’re at?” he finally asks quietly. “That’s how you want to play this?”
I don’t answer.
“Fine,” he says after a moment, his tone cold. “Church. Now.” He shifts his gaze to Zombie. “Round everyone up. I want all patched members, not just officers.”
“On it,” Zombie replies as he fully releases his hold.
Boondock lets go of me and positions himself between me and Lyric, like he’s still bracing for round two.
“Get on your damn bike and get to the clubhouse. If you’re not there in twenty, consider your patch as good as gone,” Lyric bites out and then glances at Boondock. “Make sure he gets there.”
“Done,” Boondock replies.
Lyric gives me one last look before turning on his heel and striding away, and because I’m pissed, not stupid, I do as I’m told.
The meeting room at the clubhouse feels smaller than usual, suffocating.
Brothers filter in, one by one, filling seats, leaning against walls, arms crossed, eyes shifting between me and Lyric like they already know something big is about to go down.
No one talks. There aren’t the usual jokes or teasing banter. There’s just a deafening silence that threatens to swallow me whole.
Lyric takes his place at the head of the table but doesn’t sit.
“We’ve got two things,” he says, scanning the room and making eye-contact with each man. “One’s business. One’s internal.” His gaze lands on me and sticks. “We’ll start with internal.”
Shocker.
“Whiz stepped out of line. Fuck, he crossed the line into another dimension by taking a swing at me.” He arches a brow. “Three swings, actually.”
“He’s still grieving,” someone mutters.
“That doesn’t give him a pass,” Lyric replies immediately. “I’m not suggesting we pull his patch, but there needs to be a sanction.”
It takes every ounce of control I possess not to react. I knew this was coming.
He continues. “You’re all aware we’ve got a new director at Death’s Door. She needs support until things stabilize. My suggestion is that Whiz works there with her.”
I almost laugh. He never suggested shit. Ordered, yes. Suggested, not even fucking close.
“Vote,” Lyric demands.
One by one, hands go up. Every. Single. One. No hesitation as my brothers vote in favor of me spending my days withering away at Death’s Door, forcing me to face a reality I’d rather ignore.
I clench my jaw so hard it aches, but I keep my stare straight ahead, refusing to give any of them the satisfaction of knowing how deep this decision cuts.
“You’ve got your answer,” Lyric says.
I nod because let’s face it… there’s nothing I can do to change the vote.
“Now… business,” Lyric states, shifting gears immediately. “The ambush that took Undertaker’s life wasn’t random. We all know that, but we still haven’t found anything that points to current enemies.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Zombie mutters. “Someone hits us like that, they’re sending a goddamn message.”
“Problem is,” Boondock adds, leaning forward slightly. “No one we’ve crossed lately is making moves. I’ve checked finances, shipments, all of it. Nothing’s off.”
“I’ve checked in with all of our Anarchy Air contacts,” Pilot adds. “Nothing there either.”
“So, we’ve got a new enemy,” Quake says. “Fucking perfect.”
“That’s where we’re at,” Lyric confirms. “Someone new pushing into the scene. Probably drugs. Probably testing territory.”
“They picked the wrong fucking crew,” Zombie growls.
A low murmur of agreement moves through the room.
Lyric nods. “Which means we find them before they get comfortable.”
Assignments are handed out. Orders are given. Recon. Contacts. Territory checks. Everyone gets a task, including me.
“Keep your ear to the roads,” Lyric says. “Anything unusual, anything out of place, you bring it to the club.”
“Got it,” I say with clenched teeth.
With every angle covered, Lyric says, “That’s it. Church dismissed.”
Chairs scrape on the concrete floor as my brothers start to file out of the room. I follow suit and almost make it out the door.
“Whiz,” Lyric calls.
I want to pretend I don’t hear him, but that’ll only get me another sanction so I turn around and walk back to the table. Lyric blows out a breath, and his shoulders sag.
“You’re spiraling,” he says.
I shrug. “I’m handling it.”
“No, you’re not.” He steps closer. “I get it,” he continues. “Better than most. But you’re not the only one who lost him.”
His statement is blunt, factual, and fucking painful.
“I know,” I finally admit.
“Then act like it,” Lyric replies. “Because right now, you’re making it worse for yourself, for the club.” He studies me for a second longer before speaking again. “Working with her isn’t a punishment.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I huff out.
“It’s structure,” he says. “Something to keep you moving forward instead of wallowing.” When I don’t argue, he continues. “You don’t have to like her, but you will respect her. Same as everyone else under this roof.”
Every counterpoint under the sun rests on my tongue, but instead, I give a curt nod. “I’ll give it a shot.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
It’s not even a fraction of what he’s asking, and we both know it.