Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(116)

“Nay,” the VP choked out.

Adrenaline flooded my head. Rabid let out a little hissing sound, and several brothers next to us looked down, shuffling their boots underneath the long table.

Blackjack moved down the line, cold and efficient, no emotion showing on his face. Nay, nay, nay.

Three more votes to keep Fang. Then six. Then five.

“Nay.” Rabid's hoarse, quick vote echoed loud in my ears, like the sound of my own blood running out after getting stabbed.

Fuck. It was my turn, and Blackjack was looking right at me. I didn't have to count everybody else on my right to know they'd all have to vote aye to even make this f*cking thing a tie.

I clenched my teeth and waited too many seconds before I let it out. “Aye.”

Several brothers cleared their throats loudly. I caught Fang's eyes before he caught mine, holding as firm as I could without shaking, looking right into his devilish eyes.

He'd saved me from being burned alive with the other rebel Grizzlies one f*cked up night in Montana. But, f*ck, he wasn't good for the club. There were no excuses. We were losing the cartel war, and he was letting desperation eat us alive, turn us into demons no better than the Mexicans.

I had to be honest. The Grizzlies patch on my back felt like lead, and the one on my chest itched something terrible. There was no understanding in the Prez's eyes – not even when the * next to me voted nay, followed by Serial and Splitter too.

I tried to do right by the club – the same thing everybody wearing the bear on their cuts was supposed to be about.

Idealistic? Stupid? Probably.

Right? Fuck yes.

It was over long before it swung back around the U-shaped gathering, toward Blackjack. I was the only aye. I seriously wondered if I'd make it outta the room alive when the claw returned to Fang.

I didn't give a f*ck what happened to me. All I could think about was getting killed before I had a chance to get Missy and Jackie out.

Fuck! If there was a God, I really needed a miracle right now, more than I ever needed one in my life. Of course, I was the last * in the world who deserved good karma after getting Ma killed and drugging myself blind, but a man could hope.

“Aye.”

Fang broke the death stare with me and his jaw fell open. Blackjack stood like stone, his face hard, as if to say, yeah, *. I did it.

The whole room heard the relief hissing out my nostrils. Now that I wasn't the lone * voting aye, I might have a chance to smooth things over, before some brother slit my throat in my sleep.

“The nays have it,” Blackjack said, taking his seat. He held the bear claw several seconds longer than he needed to before passing it to Fang.

When he held it out to the Prez, Fang ripped it outta his hand, slamming it down on the table again.

“Okay. It's done. Everybody in this room knows exactly where the f*ck everybody else stands.” His tone sounded calm, but the tremor in his shoulders said otherwise. “Blackjack, tell them about Tacoma.”

“We had another shipment hit by the cartel last night,” he said, his voice as icy as Fang's. “Some heavy weapons we picked up from a Chinese drop off. It never made it out of port. The Washington crew found three of their guys dead plus a couple prospects, and all the boxes gone the next day.”

“Shit! You mean the cartel's slipped that far north without hitting us in Redding first?” Serial pulled out a cigarette and took a long drag.

“No. Right now, there's no proof it was the Mexicans at all,” Fang said, leveling his eyes on me again. “The Devils got a much stronger presence on our northern front. They've been coming through our territory for months, hauling shit to Canada, paying us their toll as agreed. All part of the truce I was a goddamned fool to sign.”

My head started to spin. I had to grip the table's edge just to stay focused, before that * sucked me into the black hell waiting in his eyes.

Fuck. War with the Devils meant one more thing for me to worry about when it involved my own f*cking sister and her Prairie * husband.

“Prez, we owe it to the club to find out what's going on before we do anything,” I spoke up. “Seems like the perfect kick in the nuts from the cartel. Hit us somewhere we least expect...make us think it was the Prairie Pussies...f*ck everything to pieces up north when we need every guy fighting them in the south.”

Fang bared his teeth. The bear claw smacked the table loudly, and then he stood up and roared. “Sit down and shut the f*ck up, you little shit!”

The Prez and I both hit our seats at the same time. Rabid looked at me like I was about to get my head chopped off. Hell, for all I knew, maybe I was. Then again, decapitation would've been a whole lot easier than the Mauler, and they'd definitely use that f*cking thing if they wanted me dead.

“Nothing's been decided,” Fang growled. “But I've got my suspicions. The pussies have been expanding West where they don't belong for too f*cking long. They know it's the perfect time to hit us right now. Shit, if I were Throttle up in North Dakota, I'd jam it so hard up our asses we'd scream if I knew about the intel your old lady's dead daddy passed to the cartel, Brass.”

I swallowed hard. My throat was bone f*cking dry. All the guys in the room looked at me like wolves – everybody except Blackjack and Rabid.

“You know what I think?” Fang said, folding his arms, never taking his eyes off me. “I think we've got more rats biting holes in our ship. Rats on the inside passing shit to the cartel, and possibly our old friends in the Devils too. No, I can't prove anything – yet – but when I do, the Mauler's gonna have a lot of traitor skin to chew on. A hard interrogation and death's the only thing rats deserve. Same f*cking thing any * in this room's gonna get by holding back critical intel from this day forward. New policy. I'll have Crack write it into the club charter later.”