Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(131)

His fat hands thumped hard down my back, then rounded my sides. When he got to my boot, I remembered I'd forgot to take out my blade.

Shit!

“Hey, big guy, there's a –“

Tank practically tore my leg off. I hit the ground and he was still pulling on it, growling as he undid the strap with the holster.

He held it up, drawing out the knife, smiling in the faint evening sun. “Figured as much. Looks like it's just this knife, boss. Wouldn't have done us no harm.”

Blaze nodded, satisfied. He stared at me on the ground, stepping closer. Finally, he extended a hand.

Shaking his hand like this brought the whole f*cked up reality home. I had to swallow all the bitter rivalry as he helped me up. I was used to venom and bullets from Devils, but f*cking handshakes?

“Come on.” He gave me a rough shove as soon as I was on my feet. “I'll give you a minute to say hello to your sis, and then you don't step one foot outside the meeting room 'til I say so.”

I nodded. There. That felt a lot more like the Devils I knew, and I could relate to it a lot more than that alien nice guy shit.

“Jordan!” Shelly came running toward me before I got two steps into the clubhouse.

She was working at the bar, and she threw herself at me, practically bowling me over on the floor for the second time that day. I couldn't resist locking my arms around her.

Hard to believe so much shit happened in just a couple months since the wedding.

“Hey, sis. It's Brass here around these boys,” I reminded her.

She quirked an eyebrow. “Oh? Just like you're gonna suck it up and call me Saffron?”

Damn. Hearing that f*cking stripper name was always like a shot in the chest, but right now we had more important things. I hugged her one more time and then stepped back, nodding.

“Whatever you wanna be called, it's damned good to see you again. We'll catch up later when business is done.”

“We'll be the judge of that,” Blaze growled, slamming a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Let's go. You've said your piece.”

Shelly gave him a disapproving look. Blaze shrugged.

“Club business, baby. You know that.” He paused, flashing my sis a knowing smile. “Don't worry. We won't scratch a hair on his head unless he gives us a damned good reason to. All the boys are under orders not to. Even Tank.”

She nodded, relief shining in her face. “Make sure you bring him back here when you're finished. We barely got to talk at the wedding.”

Great. More drama for later. Didn't have a f*cking clue how to tell her I'd picked up an old lady who almost killed my ass at first, plus a little girl.

Being marched into the large Devils' meeting room with Blaze behind me was almost a relief. Everybody was there waiting for me, a buncha guys I'd seen before, sans Stinger and Moose.

Blaze filed in behind me and pointed to a chair in the middle of the table. I sat, watching as he took his place. Typical Prairie * bravado. The other guys looked like they'd suck his dick, all except Tank, who seemed like such a heavy bastard in his own right he didn't need to fawn over anybody.

Still, there was something in their eyes I'd never seen with Fang. True respect. Brotherhood.

They looked at their Prez like a worthy leader, not a man they ran favors for on fear alone.

“All right, bros, let's get this shit started,” he said, picking up a small gavel at the head of the table and slamming it down. “Church is in session, and we have a guest. Never thought I'd see a motherf*cking bear at this table.”

He shook his head. I snorted. The disbelief was mutual. It was surreal as shit being here, staring at the faces of these men and their devil emblems, everything I'd been trained to destroy.

“Seems there's a power struggle in the Grizzlies MC,” Blaze continued. “Worse than the shit we've been hearing about their brush fire war with the cartel. Fang's reached his limit, and that's pretty f*cking serious news for our club, seeing as we've always been on edge since Throttle sealed the truce with the bears.”

The two national Presidents putting blood aside seemed like eons ago – right here in Montana, no less. But it was really less than a year and a half ago, back when easy * and pushing sweet fire in my veins was all I had to worry about.

“Fang's a f*cking idiot,” I growled. “Traitor to his own club.”

A tall, muscular dude around my own age snickered several chairs over. Blaze shot him an angry look. The Devil froze, pivoting his lip ring on his mouth.

“Shut the f*ck up, Roller. I'm not gonna disrespect this *'s colors as long as he doesn't shit on ours.” Blaze looked at Tank next to him, and then at me. “Now, Brass, you gonna tell us why the f*ck Blackjack sent you racing up to our territory?”

I told them everything. How the f*cked up war with the cartel weakened the whole club, fanning tensions that were simmering for years. Told them how they'd tried to kill me, how I shredded that psycho's face who'd tried to kill my girl, how Blackjack believed the club could turn itself around if it just burned away the cancer at the top.

When I was finished, Blaze leaned back in his chair, his jaw clenched thoughtfully. He turned to Tank.

“What do you think?”

“It's a real sad story, boss,” Tank said. Not something I ever expected to hear from the giant. “But having this boy here's a real load of bullshit.”