Chapter 3 Bruno
Bruno
My skin stings where Scarlett scratched me, and there’s bruising on my knuckles. A surge of pride goes through me that she fought so hard. She’s a firecracker, that’s for sure, and I’m proud to wear her marks.
I hate to leave Scarlett in the room alone, but she needs time to calm down and I need a debrief with the guys.
There’re cheers and raised beer bottles when I enter the room downstairs. Gage slaps me on the back, a wide grin peeking out from under his beard.
“If Manny didn’t know you’re out, then he does now.”
Lyle hands me a beer and I clink bottles, but I can’t put a grin on my face. All I can think about is Scarlett, her soft body under mine, and the implications of what I already know to be true. She’s mine, and I’ll start a gang war over her if I have to.
But there’s something else that’s troubling me. The terrified look on her face. How she doesn’t believe I’ll keep her safe. What’s got her so frightened?
Jesse is the only one not smiling. He leans against the bar with his arms folded.
“You got to return the girl.”
It’s just like Jesse to be blunt. While everyone else is celebrating my victory, he’s brooding over the consequences. That’s why he’s my VP.
“Church. Now,” I command.
Beer bottles are set down reluctantly, and the group shuffles into the room next to the bar where we talk club business. Not that there’s anyone else here at this time of night, but I need the club to understand where I stand on this.
Once everyone’s seated, I look around at my club. It’s only the second time we’ve sat around the table since I got out of prison yesterday.
I take a moment to appreciate my crew because, yeah, I missed their ugly mugs when I was inside.
Jesse has his arms folded, serious and brooding. Some people think he’s a miserable motherfucker, but he’s a deep thinker and loyal to the grave.
Lyle is the pretty boy of the group with his cropped blonde hair and clean-shaven face. He’s ex-military and works outside the club in security.
His leg bounces up and down as he spins a bottle top on the table.
Lyle can never sit still since he came back from service.
He’s the joker of the group and the one we send out as our public face.
He’s kindhearted, and he’s here because he needs a family and he believes in the good we do in this community.
Gage sinks into his chair, and it creaks under his weight.
He’s the biggest of our crew. Six foot five and as wide as he is tall, with an impressive beard and an easy grin.
But don’t let the rough exterior fool you.
Gage is smart, sharp as a tack, and can spot a phony a mile away.
He gets shit because when he’s on shift at the strip club, he sits in the corner reading a fucking book.
Quinn drums his finger on the table, his wedding ring knocking against the wood. He recently married a law student from Temptation Bay and is most definitely pussy-whipped. She’s away finishing her studies, and they talk on the phone every night like lovesick teenagers.
Kray’s the same. His woman moved here recently from Sycamore Mountain with some scheme about helping local orphans.
He came to us for the cash to fund the program.
It was agreed to while I was inside, and I approve.
We may do some shit that’s not completely legit, but ultimately, we want to do good in the community.
We’ve got a legit business in the strip club, and Jesse is pushing to get us out of the gun business. But guns are what I know. Three years inside didn’t change my mind about that.
Then there’s Pans, sullen and brooding, and this time it’s not covering a thoughtful inner life. Pans is ex-military too, and somewhere in the depths of Afghanistan, he lost himself. He’s got a darkness in him that terrifies even me sometimes.
His dark eyes focus on a spot on the table, and his hand shoots out to stop Quinn’s tapping, his red-scarred hand engulfing Quinn’s. Their eyes meet, and after an intense beat, Quinn pulls back.
“All right, keep your hair on,” Quinn mutters. “You’re just jealous because you haven’t got a woman.”
God help the woman who takes on Pans’ dead heart. He’s more of a cold-hearted bastard than I am.
These are my men, my brothers. I’d die for these guys, every single one of them.
“Nice touch with the girl,” Lyle says. “But when are we taking her back?”
There’re murmurs of ascent around the table, and it’s my turn to drum my fingers patiently because these guys don’t get it yet.
“I’m not taking her back.”
Jesse shakes his head slowly. “We got to take her back, Pres. She’s Manny’s daughter.”
My fists tighten and a vein throbs in my neck at the thought of handing Scarlett back.
“It could start a war with the Chaos Riders,” says Gage.
My mind goes to Scarlett’s soft body, to her heaving breasts, to her plump lips aching to be kissed. Let them start a war. I’ll kill every single man in the Chaos Riders for her.
“No.” I say it firmly, my fist thumping on the table. “I’m keeping her.”
There’s the shaking of heads, and no one can look me in the eye. Except Jesse.
“You can’t keep her against her will. That’s not how we treat women.”
I hate that the son of a bitch is right. We may own a strip club, but we’re good to our women. We treat them with respect and protect them as we would any of our brothers.
“Then I’ll make her want to stay.” My hand grips the table, and I realize I’m acting like a petulant child with a new toy. But I’m not giving Scarlett up.
The men don’t agree with me, and someone mutters about women being trouble, but they don’t get it yet. I’m already in trouble. Scarlett owns me, and there’s nothing I won’t do for her.
“Is she worth starting a war over?” Jesse asks.
I’m not even going to answer that because she is. I’d burn the whole fucking coast down for Scarlett.
“Scarlett stays with us.”
I slam the gavel down, signaling that this discussion is over. I’m not even voting on this one. Scarlett is staying, and that’s the final decision.