Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(47)
Skin's face tensed, anger flashing in his eyes. “I'm gonna pretend you didn't just call my old lady a f*ckin' idiot, brother. Say it again, and my fists are going in your guts.”
Shit, this was bad. I looked up, my eyes quickly scanning the rest of the boys. Crawl sipped water from a canteen, or maybe something stronger, pushing his dark hair back, trying to pretend the shitshow a couple guys over wasn't happening. Sixty took a long drag on his cig, his goatee twitching, smart enough for once not to make any damned jokes.
Lion, Tin, and the three new prospects we'd invited to the table sat at the end, nervously whispering to themselves, too new to lay down the law.
Who the f*ck could blame them? It was Firefly's job as Enforcer to break up fights between the brothers, but since he was in the middle of one, now that shit was up to me.
I slammed my blade into the wood so hard the whole table shook, and left it there. Good enough to throw all their eyes on me.
“Brother – brothers! – lay the f*ck off Prez and each other. Your shit's all just personal, Firefly. You wanna hash it out with Dust in his office or some shit, whatever. You keep bad mouthing him here, in front of the whole club, we've got a f*ckin' problem. One we don't need when we're supposed to be here today, talking about the op, for f*ck's sake. Put a goddamned lid on it – all of you!”
I ripped my knife out of the table and pointed at everybody there, one by one. Last tick of my hand stopped on Firefly, who f*ckin' seethed, his blue eyes rippling like raging oceans.
Pissed as they were, everybody was also shocked. I never got this goddamned heated. Ever since Piece died, my rage came cold, went into my knife, and didn't come out 'til there was blood all over it.
I didn't go off like this. I didn't scream.
Except, now I f*cking did. My blade's knife scorched my hand, and it was shaking. Shaking like a f*ckin' leaf.
“Veep,” Skin started, licking his lips. “What's going on, brother?”
“Yeah, bro,” Sixty said, blowing a string of smoke. “Ain't just Firefly and Skinny boy ripping into each other's shit today. Never seen you like this.”
Fuck. I sat there, paralyzed, knowing there was no way I could open up about Summer and the kid.
I'd decided this morning it was strictly business. I'd tell the brothers everything I knew, but I'd treat it like one more piece of business, no different than our latest hit, or the weapons we were hauling on the next run.
Getting emotional about this goddamned shit in front of the club wasn't a choice. No f*ckin' way.
I was about five seconds from feeding them a load about a bad hangover when Prez saved me. The door flew open, and he entered. Dust nodded to us, kicking it shut behind him with his boot.
All the anger in the room seemed to go to him as he sat down, giving me a quick look. “We've got a lotta shit to run through today, so we're coming to order now,” he said, picking up his gavel and swinging it down hard on wood.
“First order, I've finally talked some sense into that crazy old motherf*cker out west. Blackjack and the Grizzlies are giving us some guns and some guys to kick the door down.”
Every man in the room collectively sucked in a breath. Crawl cocked his head, cleared his throat, more calm than anybody after the shit that just went down.
“That's good news, isn't it? More than we've been hoping for all these f*cking months. But what the hell do they want in return?”
“Thirty big in mercenary fees, plus fifty percent once we've got a solid route through Georgia. They'll be sharing that shit with the Devils, too, whenever their guys head into Dixie. So, really, we're getting our asses a solid deal with both clubs, as much as they want to claw outta us.” Dust reached for his pipe, tucked fresh tobacco into it, and gave it a light. “Obviously, we'll have ourselves a vote real soon. I'm telling you, boys, this is the shit we've been waiting for. Percentages can change over time. We need their firepower to kick the f*ckin' door down, and once we're in, we're home.”
“Count me an 'aye,' right now, Prez,” I said, holding my knife.
“Yeah, yeah, I can tell you're happy. You ain't doing that bullshit with your blade going in the wood.” Prez grinned, looking me up and down with his cold gray eyes. No, they were surprisingly warm today, like he'd just gotten a gold medal around his neck for f*ckin' the choicest * ten states over.
Shit, for all I knew, he had.
Hannah didn't appeal to me – never wanted a damned thing to do with rich bitches – but he'd taken enough of a shine to her body to f*ck her more than once.
Firefly glared, the shit between the Prez and his sis weighing on his mind. Dust turned to him just then, ignoring his snake eyes, taking a long pull on his pipe.
“Firely, how soon can we be ready?” Prez growled, stopping just short of rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Blackjack said he can get some men out here by next week. They'll be ready as soon as they're in, itching for action after the cartel wars ended out west. I want everything square in five days. Earlier, if we can swing it.”
“Five days,” he repeated, staring at the Prez like a spider he wanted to stomp. “Doesn't leave much time to train any of the brothers on the heavier shit. We've been getting more of it in and our range ain't great for this stuff.”