I was just sober enough to remember how fucking incredible her lips were on mine, how hot and eager and sweet her little mouth tasted. But I was also too fucked up to care, stumbling around like an idiot while Asphalt and I took turns at the dartboard next to the bar.

“Fucking shit, Rabid!” he yelled. “Our colors aren't the frigging bullzeye!”

I laughed as he sped over to the wall where I'd planted my latest shot, at least two feet from the actual board. I'd hit the corner of the clubhouse's old Grizzlies MC flag. Another foot over, anywhere on the bear's snarling face, and I'd have gotten a well deserved beat down from the brothers.

Had a feeling I was fucked. I'd reached the point where inviting trouble sounded good. A few blows to the face might blast some sorely needed sense into my skull, or else make me forget all about Miss Hard-To-Fucking-Get.

Asphalt walked back to me, shaking his bald head. “One more miss like that and you're done, brother. I'm not gonna take the fall if any of the officers walk in on this shit.”

I grabbed the half-depleted bottle of Jack off the counter and swung it to my lips. Hot relief poured down my throat, harsh as lightning. Shit hit my guts and exploded, the next best thing to being pinned to the ground while Roman's fist plowed my face.

I had to forget. Needed to. I'd flown way too close to that beautiful redheaded sun, and she'd scorched me for the last fucking time.

Why the fuck was she so caught up on her goddamned face anyway? I knew those scars made her think she was ugly. But, seriously, it's like the girl didn't own a fucking mirror.

If she did, there should've been no doubt she was the hottest piece of ass who ever called this city home.

Shit.

There she was again, rooted deep in my brain, making me wonder how those soft red locks I'd held would contrast with the pert pink nipples I'd felt hardening against my chest.

Missed. Fucking. Opportunities.

My motor skills were too far gone to drink and walk at the same time. I drained another three shots in one big gulp, and slammed into Asphalt's shoulder.

“Sonofabitch!” He screamed. “Hey, lady! Look out!”

Some blonde chick I'd never seen before was walking through the bar. My heart pinched shut as the dart sailed right next to her face and slapped the wall.

Uh-oh.

Asphalt spun, slammed his palms into my chest. I took a swing at my very pissed off brother and missed, dropping to the floor and landing right on my drunken face. Thank fuck it was numb.

“Asshole! What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you trying to get somebody killed?” His boot connected with my ribs. The hot crack rippled through my chest.

I rolled, tasting blood, laughing just the same. Christ. I was totally, completely fucked, twisting on the floor like a dumb kid who'd just had his first good joint.

Asphalt was still screaming at me, stooped over, roaring in my face so loud and hard his words were almost incomprehensible. I felt his spit mist my face, and reached up to wipe it off, trying to decide whether I should spring up and bust his jaw.

Why should you? A disapproving voice piped up in my head. You're drunk off your ass, bro. But not so drunk you're blind to acting like a total asswipe – and not fucking drunk enough to forget her!

Her.

Christa Sexy Kimmel, part medusa, hot as she was stone cold. She couldn't be all woman. There had to be snakes hiding in her sweet red hair somewhere. This chick was turning me to dirt – or was it rock? Fuck if Greek mythology had ever been my strong point.

Another kick landed in my side. I heaved, sucking smoky air, trying to get the fuck up, when I realized Asphalt was gone. He'd gone over to apologize profusely to the woman who'd walked in.

I was on my hands and knees, staggering up with some help from the bar's counter, when I looked up and had my heart lodge right in my throat. Roman was heading toward me after leaving Blackjack's office, and he looked set on putting me outta my misery.

“Shit! I'm fucking sorry, bro. Me and Asphalt were drinking, we got a little carried away, and I –“ My mindless banter was broken by a hiccup. He was only a couple feet away now, close enough to smell the whiskey seeping from my pores.

“Get the fuck outta my way.” Roman shoved me aside, heading for the leggy blonde.

I held myself against the counter, only breathing easy when it was totally clear he wasn't gonna split my skull in two. No, he was after the chick. They knew each other.

Whatever was going on, it wasn't a happy reunion. The giant walked her over to a quiet corner, where she disappeared in his shadow.

Had to hand it to her. The mystery girl clearly wasn't intimidated, judging by the look on her face. Meanwhile, I was halfway sprawled across the bar top, ready to piss my pants when I thought our Sergeant-at-Arms was heading for me.

Idiot. Thank fuck the clubhouse was sparse tonight, or I'd never live it down.

“Here!” Asphalt's fist came down next to my face. The darts in his hand hit the counter hard. “Clean this shit up, and then take care of yourself. Seriously, brother. This is the only fucking break I'm cutting your ass if you keep wrecking shit tonight. I'm not your buddy Brass.”

We shared an icy look and then he was gone. Bastard was still shaking his wide cue ball head on his way outta the clubhouse.

It took fucking forever to get the darts back by the board. Fine movements and motor control were a crazy dream. Crossing into Roman's line of sight, I tried not to draw attention to myself.

Wasn't difficult with his eyes anchored to the strange chick, speaking to her in low, hushed words. I couldn't quite make out what he was saying, but it was more than I'd heard him talk since he was patched into our charter.

I was about to head back when exploding glass vibrated through the air. Flattening myself against the wall, I spun as quickly as I could without falling to the ground to find out where the fuck it came from.

A bottle lay in pieces at the blonde chick's heels. Her fingers twitched – wasn't sure if she'd dropped it or thrown it. Her bright red face beamed fire at Roman as he stomped away, walking past me, heading for the clubhouse's depths.

“Go ahead and walk the fuck away again, you coward!” she screamed. “At least this time I know it's not the prisons and the courts holding you back! You're not man enough to handle us.”

Roman just kept going. The girl was playing with fucking fire, and she'd actually gotten away with it unscratched. I fully expected him to turn around and make her say that again, this time with his massive hand wrapped around her throat.

No, the giant kept going. He was fucking outta there. Who the hell knew retreat was in his vocabulary?

“Hey!” I blocked her path as she tried to follow him. “What the fuck's going on here, lady? Who are you?”

“Out of my face!” She collided with my chest and tried to push me aside.

The girl had fight, but I was much bigger than her. Heavy and stupid as an anchor in my fucked up state too. She squealed as we spun together, and I flattened her against the wall.

“Jesus Christ! Calm the fuck down. I thought I was the only asshole in this bar making messes tonight...”

Her dark blue eyes flashed at me. Next thing I knew, her hands wrapped around my neck. Her fingernails sunk into my skin like little daggers, and she pulled me forward with all her might, trying to get my lips on hers.

What the fuck!?

I broke free and went crashing against the bar. Gave me a minute to study her. Yeah, she was sexy on the eyes and freakishly willing – I knew that look in a woman's eyes – but I wasn't gonna twine tongues with this weirdo who'd just been up close and personal with Roman.

She wasn't the one I wanted. Didn't much fancy the beat down I'd narrowly escaped from the Enforcer either.

“What's eating you?” she demanded. “I'm not pretty enough for you? Or are all the guys in this club just a buncha pussies with mean tats and big muscles?”

“It's not like that.” I didn't owe her a damned explanation, but I gave it to her anyway, hoping it'd get this shit off my back. “There's somebody else on my mind, babe. I might be sauced to the gills with Jack, but I'm not blind. I know you're not her.”

“Whatever.” The woman shrugged, wiping at her eyes. “I'm Sally.”

She walked toward me, holding out her hand. I took it cautiously, gave it a quick shake. Did a quick look over my shoulder to make sure this wasn't some kinda bullshit trap set by Roman. Not that anybody needed much cause to punch my ass out cold tonight.

“Rabid.” I turned away from her, jumped onto the bar counter, and reached for my bottle. “You want to sit and have a nip of this, or what?”

Sally took the invitation. I pulled out a glass and poured her a sloppy shot, cursed when the whiskey overflowed. She laughed.

At least I was making somebody happy. I welcomed her company, mostly because she was giving me a way to dispose of this shit instead of pouring it down my throat, where it'd make me do even more damage.

“Seriously, how do you know Roman? I've never seen him so pissed.”

“Old flame. We had a good thing before he went behind bars. I heard the club changed, and I thought that meant he'd gotten over his crap too. I was an idiot to come back here.”

I stared at the bottle, contemplating another shot. The idea made my bile churn, and I was man enough to realize I'd embarrassed my ass enough for one evening.

“No, Sally. No you're not,” I growled. “If he doesn't appreciate what you tried to do, fuck him!”

My fist hit the table, and she jumped. I refilled her glass, sloshing Jack all over the counter. I was on a fucking roll, and I wasn't slowing down now.

“Drink up. Be proud of what you did. You're a sucker for love.” Shit – did I really say the L-word? “There's no shame in that. You don't need to feel stupid for tearing out your heart and offering it to this clown. Roman's a slow guy. It takes time for shit to sink in. Must be all that fucking iron he pumps when Blackjack's not having him chase us down. Too much testosterone clouds the brain, that boy bleeds it. The club's been under a lotta stress lately...”

She gave me a weak smile. “What's your story? Are you just a natural at making girls you barely know feel better, or do you know a Roman too? Uh, a female one, I mean.”

“Just another lonely heart.” I shrugged. “Better off drinking to it than spilling tears, right?” Fuck it. I could stand one more shot.

I grabbed what was left in the bottle, clinked it against her little shot glass. She laughed again, and we downed our drinks together.

We sat for a long while after, making small talk, mostly saying nothing at all. It was nice to have a companion in misery for a change. Course, I wasn't gonna tell her I'd created some of my own shit.

Hell, I was still creating it chasing the one chick who wanted nothing to do with me. Fuck if I could let go knowing what the Klamath boys had over her, even if she hated my guts.

“Good luck, baby. Hope to see you again sometime. Try coming by in a few weeks. Maybe by then we'll have sorted through some of our shit.”

“I hope so,” she said. “Thanks, Rabid. I've got a feeling you'll sort whatever's got you by the balls just fine.”

Yeah. Imagine that.

I wasn't gonna say it to her face, but blondie was right. It was time to take my own advice. I wouldn't let her give up on the bruiser who'd turned her away – shit, getting him laid to blow off some steam would be good for all of us.

No contest. I wasn't giving up on Christa – not 'til I had her soft red hair in my fist and my tongue jammed down on hers. I'd claim this chick one way or another, slap my brand on her the minute I was done slapping her sweet round ass.

Fuck – that ass.

She had a butt that was nice and full, begging to be spanked every time it rippled while she walked.

I was a goner just thinking about it. There was no way, no how, no fucking chance I was giving up on squeezing it 'til she squealed. Didn't give a shit how many times she turned it toward me and walked away.

One day soon, I'd have it grinding on my lap, teasing my dick awake for the roughest, purest fuck of my whole damned life. Then I'd grab her little ass so hard my knuckles went white, shove it up and down where it belonged, jacking myself off in her tight, wet cunt.

Quitting wasn't in my nature. I always got what I wanted. Every single time.

I couldn't stop thinking about having her naked, pressed up against me, moaning sin in my ear while I made her body shake like heaven. Her tits, her ass, every wild inch of her wound me up like the tightest spring the world had ever seen.

On second thought, fuck the spring. That shit was too weak.

No, dammit, I was more like a ticking time bomb, and when I went off, the whole fucking world would know, and so would she. That's how I got my name.

I've always been that way, dead set on getting my way first, second, and third. And God willing, I always would be. I'd spit fire and foam at the fucking mouth, psycho and rabid as all shit, before I ever let something I set my sights on slip away. And I'd already let Christa walk about one mile too many outta my grasp.

When I reeled her in, I was gonna pin her down and fuck her 'til my heart stopped. Just one night having her in my shadow was all I needed. Soon as I got her under me, that sexy, infuriating woman was never, ever going anywhere else as long as she lived.

Standing up, it was easier to head for my room. My boots crunched over the mess of glass and whiskey dribbled all over the floor. Whatever prospect cleaned this shit up had his work cut out for him.

A small hand slapped my chest in the hall, and next thing I knew, someone with a sugary perfume was hanging around my neck.

Red.

Everything I didn't fucking need was summed up in that word.

“Where've you been hiding, baby? Don't tell me you're into blondes now.” She tugged my shirt down and started to stamp her lips on my chest, heading toward my face, fast and aggressive how I liked.

Took all my might to turn away from the temptation. But whatever the hell Christa planted in my skull was starting to sprout. Fucking anybody but her was settling for less – and I wasn't gonna surrender to that shame.

“Get the fuck off. I need my sleep. Go find another brother to ride tonight.” Growling, I pushed her away, trying not to hurt her as I shoved her to the wall. Bitch held on awfully tight.

Red's mouth dropped open. She shook her head. “Don't do this, Rabid! It's her, isn't it? I've heard the rumors going around the club – you're chasing that bitch with the busted face like a baby!”

Busted face? You're goddamned lucky I don't give you one for saying that, I thought, all my evil senses sparking to life.

Rage throttled my heart. I flexed my fists, forced myself to hold them down, despite how bad the Jack in my veins wanted me to wrap them around her fucking throat and squeeze 'til she thought twice about insulting my woman.

“You don't know shit. How many times we need to go through this? My business – none of yours! If I want your sloppy fucking cunt, I'll ask for it. That's all I ever wanted from you, Red. You're a club whore. You're nobody's old lady unless they fucking say so – and you'll never be mine.”

Pure hurt swelled in her eyes. Anguish. Heartbreak.

Too harsh? Maybe. But I had to get her off my ass, get her the hell away before I did something stupid, something that would cost me Christa for good if it kept up.

Her lips quivered, and she covered her breasts, suddenly ashamed of the see-through nightie I liked her to wear when we'd fucked. Shit, I couldn't even stand seeing it now without being disgusted, imagining how much better it'd be draped over Christa's big round tits.

“So, it's true...” She shook her head, horror shining in her round face. “I hate this club! I hate all the fucking changes since Fang died. It's making you stupid, Rabid, you and everybody else. It's making you soft. There you go, just like Brass, chasing some bitch who doesn't give a shit about you or this MC. She doesn't even fucking love you! Why can't you see it? Why!?”

Red flew forward, slapped both hands on my chest. Good thing my motor skills were coming back. I grabbed her wrists and shoved her against the wall, pinned her down 'til I saw the jealous rage in her eyes turn to fear.

“You fucking hit me again, I'll tear that flimsy top off and kick your ass out on the street. You can call a cab with your tits hanging out. You and me – we're fucking done, Red. Deal with it. Find someone else who wants your skank pussy or leave this clubhouse for good. You're lucky it's me.” I clenched my teeth, getting up in her face. “Any other full patch brother would've picked you up and thrown you in the fucking dumpster by now.”

I let go, listening to her sobs in the distance as she crumpled to the floor. Several doors swung open to see the commotion. I never looked back.

Let them deal with that shit. I was gonna bury myself in bed and sleep off the hangover. Tomorrow, I'd wake up a new man. I'd sit down with the Prez and tell him everything about Christa's debt.

Then, when the Oregon fuckers were dealt with, I'd ride back to her apartment. Whatever happened next, I couldn't say.

Damned good chance it involved kicking down the fucking door and giving her a kiss she couldn't ignore, clenching her hot ass 'til there was absolutely, positively no goddamned doubt in her head about who she belonged to. This time, I wasn't taking no for an answer, and I sure as fuck wasn't gonna let her run from me again.

* * *

Blackjack called church early the next morning. I was up and moving, listening to the commotion in the halls, before Roman could get on my ass.

I caught Brass in the hallway, grabbing for his cut before he could fly by. “Hey, bro, what the hell's going on out here?”

He spun around and looked at me. Next thing I knew, he held up a blood stained patch attached to a piece of fabric, about the size of a palm. No bear on it – it wasn't ours. The furious looking eagle was strangling a serpent on a desert backdrop. I couldn't place the symbol with any known MC.

“Uh, am I supposed to recognize this thing?”

Brass smiled and slapped my shoulder. “Not unless you've been fucking around south of the border. This shit used to be attached to a living, breathing cartel boss. Just got word this morning – one of the Oregon boys killed the motherfucker yesterday and took this off him as a little trophy. Beheaded the sick sonofabitch, same thing they've done to plenty of our guys in the old charters south. Our brothers up north caught those sneaky bitches trying to creep into Klamath, and then circle around and hit us in the soft spot, all the warehouses we've got north.”

I didn't say a damned thing. My bro didn't wait for me to either. He took off, marching into the meeting room. Several loud roars broke out when I heard him slap it down on the table.

Dragging myself in, I was totally fucking numb. There was a ringing in my ears like a magnum firing next to my head.

When Blackjack started talking later, it just confirmed my worst suspicions. Everything he said was like a dagger driving into my guts. I had to fold my arms just to make sure I wasn't really bleeding out all over the goddamned floor.

“They fucking did it, Prez. Oregon reeled us a fish we haven't been able to snag for months. Believe me, I'm just as surprised as anyone.” Brass looked more uncertain than when I'd seen him in the hall, his voice low and dark as he looked at our leader. “Where do we go from here? Is this a sign we can trust Klamath again?”

“It's a sign, all right. We'll treat them like our brothers unless there's a good reason not to.” Blackjack spoke after a long pause, deep in thought. “I'll be straight: I didn't expect shit after the phone call to Rip – especially not after we roughed up their VP. Only question on my mind was when the bullets would start flying in this club again. Rip's a disrespectful little cocksucker, don't get me wrong. But until this morning, when Brass brought us the news, I was ready for war to bring this club into line.”

I looked up, my fists balled like iron. “And now? You're telling me we're not shredding those asses for carrying on Fang's fucked up legacy?”

Blackjack shook his head. Shit happened in slow motion, driving the dagger in my guts deeper, harder. I wanted to fucking puke.

“We can't kill them when they're giving us their full cooperation,” he said. “It's not perfect. Rip's playing phone tag again. The jackass won't give me the specifics I'd like about how exactly they ambushed the high ranking asshole that patch right there represents.” He pointed to the bloody patch, and everybody stared at it. “Shit's not important. I'll get the truth soon. What's important is what that thing there means. We took down an Ace in the cartel. One down, four to go. Intel says trying to decapitate their leadership's the best way to finish the fuckers off. The boys who'll take over if we kill the rest are so young and dumb they'll run back to Mexico with their tails between their legs.”

Blackjack paused. A couple guys coughed, and the prospects shuffled nervously in the corner. Everybody was weighing the heavy shit settling on our shoulders. But unlike the other guys, I was being crushed, held under, and drowned by my own club doing this about-face.

“I can't ask Klamath to submit or die over their cat-and-mouse bullshit when they've given us this,” Blackjack continued. “Obviously, I don't trust them – not completely – but I'd be a damned fool if I didn't consider the possibility I was wrong.”

My heart dropped like an elevator. Shit. Fuck.

If Redding was about to kiss and make up with southern Oregon, then that meant Ed was off limits. Blackjack wouldn't do shit to rock the boat. The best I could hope for was a slow, half-assed attempt at getting Christa's debt forgiven, if he'd hear me out at all.

Rage shot through me. The stabbing sensation in my guts turned to fire, and I was ready to try lighting up the room like a goddamned dragon.

I wanted to turn the fucking table over. My muscles flexed, tingling with the same adrenaline I'd felt every time I risked my life facing bullets for these colors.

“What's going on over there, Rabid? You look like you got something to say. Lay it out. You know we don't hide bad blood between brothers anymore.” Brass folded his arms. He'd been studying me the entire time.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Just then, I hated my best friend for calling me out.

I stood up. Blackjack's full, dark eyes beamed over me like floodlights, and all the brothers waited to hear what the fuck I had to say.

“You want the truth? I think letting Klamath off the hook's a serious fucking mistake. Unless that deceitful shithead they call their Prez is gonna tell us every last bit about how they magically captured a cartel boss and killed him, we're making a lotta fucking assumptions here.” My throat was so fucking tight I had to fight like hell to keep from shouting. “Look, I'm happy as anybody about this damned thing. Wherever it came from, it means progress for every brother in this room.”

I reached for the blood stained patch, picked it up, and gave it a good shake before letting it fall back to the table like a soiled leaf. “Thing is, I think we were desperate to score a big win when we've been tangling with these fucks for more than a year. We're so shocked and surprised, so stupid with relief, we're letting our guard down. We can't do that. Not 'til we're sure the Oregon crew's full of real brothers instead of crafty fucking wolves.”

“He's right,” a voice boomed. Turning my head, my eyeballs almost popped out like a fucking cartoon when I saw it belonged to Roman. “This shit's too convenient, Prez. Don't fucking like it. Don't trust it. They knew we were about to make demands or go for the throat. That's why Ed was here in the first place, and now he drops this off for our Veep with a piss poor explanation? Doesn't add up worth a damn, and you know it.”

“Yeah? You two really wanna have an out-and-out fight in this club after we just got done killing each other over Fang? Fuck that!” Asphalt shot up, his face lined with anger. “We're goddamned lucky it's a dead cartel boss' patch and not a bomb showing up on our doorstep! If the Oregon crew really wanted our asses dead, there's way easier traps they could set besides this. I'm willing to give these guys the benefit of the doubt. It's not like anybody at this table has any proof to call their story bullshit.”

Blackjack leaned back in his chair, gray hair folded around him like a lion's mane. Roman and I locked eyes. There was a brotherly understanding, coupled with a desire to knock Asphalt's dumb bald head against the wall.

Brother or not, I was sick of his cowardly, endlessly contrary shit.

“Rip, Ed, and his boys aren't the men I want in this MC,” the Prez said slowly. “They're the club's past. Brutal. Fucked up. Selfish. But if there's a chance, I don't need to spill more Grizzlies blood when the bastards are cooperating, I'm taking it. We have a chance to reset things here before more brothers get hurt. If we start executing every asshole walking on the dark side, right after they did us a big favor, we'll be on our way out like Fang's crew. This is the mother charter now. It's up to us to grab national by the balls and lead by example.”

“You boys hear that?” Asphalt grinned, looking to me and then Roman. “Thank fuck the Prez has a brain in his head. If you guys had your way, we'd be letting the cartel walk all over us while we fucking kill each other.”

Smug motherfucker! That shitty, arrogant grin on his face reminded me of everything I was losing with this sick new truce – everything threatening my girl! And no, I didn't give a single fuck that she wasn't officially mine yet.

She would be. Mark my fucking words.

And I was gonna mark them in blood too.

I hopped on the table and went right for Asphalt. He saw me coming when we collided. Hell opened up and yawned.

Soon, the room was filled with crashing, fighting, screaming brothers. I swung for the fucker's face, must've busted his lip a couple times over before he finally got his senses back and kicked me off him. I hit the wall, fell, and rolled. Saw Roman on the floor next to me, two full patch brothers, and three prospects trying to hold the giant down while he roared every vulgar name in the dictionary.

Asphalt swung his bloody knuckles at my face. Would've been a direct hit if Brass hadn't ripped me off the ground and slammed me into the nearest wall.

I struggled against him. He put his fucking hand over my face and squeezed, grunting as I drove my fist into his abs. Fuck. It was too hard to do any serious damage to him. I cared too much, even when he was choking me.

“Let me the fuck up!” I screamed. “I'll fucking kill him!”

Brass' hand disappeared. Something hard and furry smashed me across the face. When the stars stopped spinning in my eyes, I saw Blackjack had replaced Brass next to me, holding up the club's bear claw gavel with murder in his eyes.

“You're going to cut the shit right now, son, or you'll be losing a few teeth next.” He lifted the claw over his head, ready to swing like a bonafide caveman.

I blinked when I thought he'd hit me across the face again, but the claw hit the wall instead. Hard. Left a fucking hole in the old wood.

The commotion slowed, just in time for Blackjack to get on the table. He climbed faster than I expected for someone who'd taken a bullet to the leg just weeks ago during the final battle with Fang.

“Brothers! Shut your fucking mouths and put your fists down. Take a deep breath. Fill your lungs until they're going to burst. This isn't us. This shit all around you isn't brotherhood.”

Several men lowered their eyes in shame. Asphalt glared at me over Brass' shoulder. My friend had strategically positioned himself between us with the prospects to break up new fights. Even Roman stopped struggling on the floor, grunting through his teeth.

“You're welcome to disagree. You're welcome to call a vote on anything that's club biz. That's what the charter says. And it also says you're never supposed to come to blows with anybody else wearing this patch unless there's a damned good reason.”

He did a slow turn, making sure we could see the bear roaring on his cut. It was the same thing that bound us all together, our common bond. Kept me from beating fuckers like Asphalt to a bloodless pulp when they weren't being so brotherly.

“Rabid and Roman,” he spoke our names, leaning down and looking at us with both hands on his knees. “You're entitled to have this club vote if you want. You're clearly outnumbered, but we'll do it anyway if it'll help you settle the fucking rocks in your heads. Is that what you boys need to be sane, or what?”

There was a long pause. I shook my head. No fucking point. We were totally outnumbered. The Enforcer was right behind me, refusing to meet the Prez's eyes.

“Look at me. That's an order,” Blackjack growled.

Roman did. “No. No vote,” he said, climbing on his feet as his handlers released him.

“All right. Then it seems we're fucking done here. If anybody wants to start a fight again,” he said, looking straight at me. “They'll be answering to me and all their brothers for fucking up this club. We move as one. All we've got in this life is each other, understand? You can shake your head, you can rage, you can vote fuck no. But as long as nobody's spilling his brother's blood or draining his wallet, torturing innocents with no good reason like the man with this gavel before me, then you keep your goddamned hands to yourselves! If you've got a question about any of that, you bring it to me.” He thumped his chest.

Brass nodded, looked at me, hoping I understood. I did.

I also knew this crazy fucking thing with Christa had just gotten a hundred times harder. Going after Ed for her was gonna be going against Blackjack, against the club, against my brothers.

The Prez didn't fucking understand. None of them did. I couldn't abandon her. Didn't give a shit if the Oregon bastards were showering us in gold coins and perfect pussy. They'd bribed their asses out of trouble – for now.

Only with the club. Not with me.

I'd wait as long as I possibly could for the blowout with Ed, but it was fucking coming. Sure as the storm in Blackjack's eyes when he looked over us like knights in his kingdom.

* * *

Later that evening, I was tuning up my bike, trying to stay the fuck away from everybody else. Church ended not long after Blackjack's high and mighty proclamation: we were supposed to grin through our teeth and work with the Oregon boys as long as they were killing the cartel. No matter how much anybody mistrusted them.

Couldn't fucking believe it. Couldn't. The Prez was either desperate, fooled, or he'd gone off the goddamned deep end.

I wasn't about to start a riot against Blackjack like we all did with Fang. If this was a mistake – and it sure as hell was – then it was an honest one. The Prez wasn't maliciously blind, even if the decision he'd made caused me to wonder if he was going senile. No, it was obvious – the Klamath crew pulled the wool over the Blackjack's eyes, but they hadn't corrupted him.

My hands were covered in grease and oil. When I went to pull my wrench outta the crevice in my bike, it slipped in my fingers and pinched my skin tight. Gave myself a nice long scratch pulling out.

“Fuck!” I banged the wrench down, snarling, sucking engine oil and blood through my teeth.

The bike was good to go, and I'd reached my fucking limit. If anybody walked in on me right now, I'd find their head and start smashing it in the ground like a maniac. I had to get the fuck outta here before I got myself killed for defying the Prez.

I had to see her, the only chick in the world who stood a chance at calming my ass down. Even when she was sassing me, screaming at me, or giving me the cold fucking shoulder, it was something. Christa reminded me I still had a pulse. She let me enjoy all the nuances between numbness and hot outrage, things I couldn't find anymore inside this clubhouse.

The killer body attached to her perfect flaming hair didn't hurt neither. My dick ballooned and strained in my pants the instant I thought about her. Hungry, yearning, losing its little mind right along with me.

Lust turned my blood molten when I traced her curves in my brain. Goddamn. The woman barely had a clue what she did to me, and I had to make her understand.

Tonight.

The psycho games had to end, and so did this obsession. I'd ride this bike to her place, and I wouldn't hop on it again 'til I mounted her like a wild animal. We were fucking tonight one way or another.

Fucking to restore my sanity. Fucking so I didn't leave a crater in the ground with all this pent up need. Fucking so hard I'd feel her pussy clenching on my dick for weeks, taste her on my lips with every new breath, and remember how hard my eyes rolled back when I filled her cunt to overflowing...

Christ. It took a full minute to remember how to move my body after being lost in sexual la-la land.

Reaching for my phone, I flipped it open, ready to dial her number. She was coming out with me tonight one way or another, even if I had to drag her. Didn't expect to see four missed calls. All from her number.

Fuck.

I was on my bike, roaring outta the garage and through the gate, before I had the phone pressed to my ear, listening to the voicemail.