Wild Fire (Chaos #6.5)(44)

That got her.

Though she glared at him before she whirled and flounced down his hall.

But when she did, he learned she was right.

Because, even when Dutch went to the bedroom to rescue his coffee, then came back to the kitchen, Murtagh stuck by him the whole way.

So he’d stolen her cat.

He wasn’t too cut up about it.

And he suspected, neither was she.





Chapter Eight



Gone to the Loss



Dutch



“Before we vote, we need to talk a minute about Dutch goin’ to fuckin’ Nightingale before he brought this to his brothers,” Arlo declared, interrupting what Dutch was saying in order to do it.

“There aren’t enough words in the English language to describe what a massive waste of time that would be,” Shy replied.

“There are less of them to describe how little I care,” Chill added.

“Are we even gonna waste time voting? I mean, this kid is out there looking for his dad’s killer and he might have a target on his back,” Boz stated.

“My vote is in,” Hop said.

“Same,” High grunted.

“Totally,” Dog said.

“Dutch hasn’t even told us what he wants from us,” Rush pointed out.

Dog looked to Dutch and asked, “You want us wadin’ in? Sortin’ out this fucked-up mess for this kid?”

He hadn’t quite gotten to that part, but to put a point on it in order to get a move on, he answered, “Yeah.”

Dog turned back to Rush. “Again, in.”

“I’m in,” Snap added.

“Me too.” That was Roscoe.

“Obviously.” And that was Jag.

“Dad, you wanna get off your phone?” Rush suggested to the man sitting at his left.

“Son, I’m texting Slim. Want him to get his hands on the casefile,” Tack replied.

Slim, also known as Brock Lucas, one of Tack’s best friends, even if he was a cop.

That meant Tack was in.

This coming from Tack—one of the originals, the original, who took the Club off the trajectory to hell they were riding and brought them back from the deep, which meant he’d been in the trenches with the others all along the way—Dutch dropped his head and looked at his lap.

“Hound?” Rush called.

“Boy, you gotta even look at me?” Hound asked from his usual place when they sat the table, that being not sitting, but holding up the back wall with his wide shoulders.

“That means in,” Jagger translated.

“No shit?” Hop sounded entertained.

“Arlo, you over your tantrum?” Rush asked.

“Fuck you and yes,” Arlo answered. “I’m in.”

“Joker, Shy, Chill?” Rush prompted.

“In.” Joke.

“In.” Shy.

“In.” Chill.

“Do I even have to ask you, Pete?” Rush queried.

“Nope. But I’ll say it anyway. In,” Pete replied.

A gavel landed.

Then a number of fists pounded.

When that subsided, Rush asked, “Dutch, you wanna coordinate this or what?”

He looked up.

The room grew still when he did.

And feeling that, he wondered how he could ever think this was just his.

He took a second and looked into the eyes of every man in that room.

He lingered on Jag. On Hound. And on Tack, his father’s best friend.

Then he said, “I’ll tell you what we got so far, and we can decide how it’s gonna go from there.”

Rush nodded.

Dutch rolled his chair closer to the table and launched in.





He was in the lead an hour later when they all walked out.

So he was the first to see her.

But he was far from the only one.

And what he saw, sitting at the bar in the common room where he left her, in front of a laptop, was Georgie swiveling around when she heard them coming.

But now, clustered around her and a bunch of laptops, were his ma, Tyra, Elvira and Tabby.

Georgie jumped off her stool, and he stopped dead, as did every man behind him, when his woman skipped…

Actually skipped…

Through the Chaos Motorcycle Club Compound.

Her face was beaming.

Good that she appeared to be over that scene with her sister.

But…

Skipping?

“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” she chanted on her way, “you won’t believe what we found.”

She stopped in front of him, slapping both hands on his chest.

Then she leaned to the side, looked beyond him and called, “Hey, guys.”

Hey, guys?

He heard some chuckles. A few “Yos.” A, “Hey, darlin’” from Big Petey. And Arlo asking, “This is Dutch’s new tail? Jesus, is she an ex-cheerleader like Carrie?” To which High replied, “Who cares, Arlo.”

“Did they vote yes?” Georgie asked him, either oblivious or wisely deciding to ignore the byplay.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Told you,” she singsonged, beaming even brighter.

So much, he was blinded.