But Christa was still staring outta their bedroom, the scars on her cheeks mirroring the pleading look in her eyes. Guys, get it together. Don't wreck the house. Please.
“Whoa, Jesus, guys. Calm the fuck down! One at a time.” Rabid took one look at his nervous old lady and stepped between us, spreading his arms wide to keep us separated. “If you start throwing punches, I'm pulling you both outside. This is my house.”
“Fine. Here's the way it's gonna happen,” Brass said, staring through my soul. “You're gonna get your new baggage moved into a real apartment by the end of the day, and then you're making a decision about how the fuck you're handling this without making it a problem for the club.”
“Already did,” I growled. “I'm not the fucking idiot you think I am. I'll need a day to talk shit out, get my brand on Sally. The apartment thing'll happen later this week. Not today.”
Brass flashed me a wicked smile. Rabid reached around his neck just in time, pulling him back before he could jump me.
Grim satisfaction thudded in my heart. It was weird and twisted watching the two blood brothers fighting over me.
They weren't really related, of course, but Rabid and Brass were tight. Still, the boy who owned this place owed me for backing him over Christa's dust up with the assholes up in the Klamath charter, the same situation that led to her wearing his brand.
Shit, speaking of the chick...it was Christa's turn to get between us. The guys stopped fighting as soon as they saw her in the way, and she shot us all a stone cold glare that could've brought an early winter.
“I'll watch your kid, Roman. Take care of your business. We don't need to fight over this.” Rabid looked at her, shook his head, and then shot me an evil look. Probably pissed that his girl was sticking her neck out.
“Baby, you don't gotta get your pretty head in the middle of –“
“Nonsense,” the redhead said, a sweet smile vanishing the scars on her cheeks. “I've got plenty of time in my tutoring schedule before the new bar opens up in town. Just tell me where you need me.”
I thought for a minute, then nodded. Having Caleb in her hands was second best to Missy or Jackie, and as much as the little prince was growing on me, having him outta the way for a few hours would let me take care of business.
I told her to come by the clubhouse with me in a couple hours. She walked off to the kitchen, humming to herself, while Rabid slumped down in the nearest chair, running a hand over his tired face.
“Fuck. One day, this club'll get a moment's peace...one day.”
Not while we're fighting the cartel, and disgruntled charters keep trying to pin our hands behind our backs, I thought. The club's predicaments had shitty odds, but we'd been dealing with those from the very beginning, and no man standing here was stopping now.
“We'll get there someday, Rabid,” Brass said, turning his eyes to me. They were a little less pissed than before. “You get your shit together, brother. Looking after an old lady and a kid's no fucking joke. You've got a lot of explaining to do.”
“I already told you everything I know. Soon as I found out, I took action, the only thing any of us would do if they found out some bitch was hiding a kid. Excuse me if I've been too fucking busy, running my ass off, to fill everybody in on every damned detail.”
“We're cool as far as I'm concerned.” Brass paused, an arrogant smile tugging at his lips. “It's the Prez you're gonna have to explain this shit to.”
Without another word, the Veep slapped his buddy on the shoulder, then spun around and walked out. A minute later, we heard his motorcycle rumbling to life outside, and then fading away.
Rabid gave me a sympathetic look, and I turned my back.
Fuck it. I didn't need anybody's good karma to protect this fucked up family I didn't know I had 'til I walked into the farmhouse.
I'd find a way to lock shit down and clean up nice, even if it meant I'd have to walk through miles of hell to get there.
Blackjack's face tightened. The old buzzard slicked his long gray hair back the longer I talked in his office, telling him all about how I lost my shit and decided to make a move the second I got upstairs, after I'd thrown Beam off her.
“Christ, son. What's it going to take for you to grow a brain?” Blackjack growled, soon as I was finished.
“Everybody getting outta my way so I can handle my own shit, for starters. I don't need the club's help on this. It's my problem, Prez.”
“Bullshit.” Blackjack stood, clenching his lip white as the old bullet wound in his leg burned. “We're the only family you've got. Unless maybe you introduced your new woman and boy to your mother before us?”
Fuck. Ma.