Outlaw's Vow: Grizzlies MC Romance(55)

“Quiet, babe. You need rest. There's no point thinking about that shit now.”

Yeah, right. The expression her face told me how stupid I was for telling her to shut down, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

“We'll bring your old man home, one way or another,” I said. “That's up to me and the club. Not your worry.”

“He's suffered enough. Please, don't kill him or hurt him anymore if you do find him. I swear, he doesn't deserve what they've done to him.”

I wasn't gonna debate.

Honestly, imagining Gil being tortured a hundred different ways didn't bother me. The motherfucker deserved it for the mistakes he'd made. He'd flushed a solid twenty years leading his charter down the damned drain by getting so many of his boys killed with this half-cocked ambush plot.

But having Elle there too, subjecting her to the same savage shit the Dragons cooked up? Fuck.

Maybe this Zee asshole deserved to die a little more than her old man. Also, rogues or not, the Tacoma charter still wore our patch. They were Redding's cousins in the Grizzlies MC.

No assholes came into our territory and hacked brothers to pieces like some Medieval shit without paying heavy. Every last Dragon was gonna die terrible when we had our reckoning.

I stuffed my desire to say more bad shit about her old man down my throat. She kept crying, and I kissed away the tears, whispering how she'd always be okay in these arms.

Just when she started to drift off, I rolled her over gently, and pulled down her shirt. Took a good, long look at the PROPERTY OF ASPHALT brand I'd put on her not so long ago, when she'd fought me all the way.

That ink meant everything. As long as she wore it, I'd make damned sure I lived by my word, and she never had good reason to bawl her eyes out again.



I closed the door gently behind me and found the brothers waiting by the bar. When Blackjack saw me, he stood up, and walked straight into Tacoma's meeting room.

We all understood, and everybody followed. Even the Tacoma boys didn't protest. That Line asshole hadn't made a peep about us taking over. He must've realized how bad his MIA Prez had fucked his club over.

Blackjack stood 'til everybody else was in their seats. Finally, the Prez sank down in Gil's beat up leather chair at the head of the table, folded his arms, and looked right at me.

“What did she tell you?”

“Nothing we didn't already know from the papers I found at her old house. Tacoma wanted to go rogue and wipe the Dragons out before the rest of the club got wise to it. The Chinese were a lot wiser to their Prez being a two-timing fucking idiot.”

“That's my Prez you're talking about.” Line's fist hit the table. “For fuck's sake, we don't even know if he's breathing or not, and you're all shittin' on his grave.”

So much for the hour or two of brotherly love we'd had between charters.

The Tacoma boys sat next to their Veep on one side of the table, sizing us up, looking like they were ready to spit nails. Every Redding brother in the room bristled, except for Blackjack.

He wore the same iron calm on his face we'd seen a thousand times, awesome and scary-as-shit simultaneously. The Prez stood up, shook off the pain in his bad leg, and walked over to Line and his crew.

Roman's arms flexed next to me. His fists were more than ready to crack heads if they were stupid enough to try anything on our boss, the same man everybody in this club owed top allegiance.

“Asphalt's right,” Blackjack said coldly. “Gil didn't have to go charging into hell's mouth after he got his little note from the Russians, did he? Redding, Klamath, and Portland would've been behind you. We could've dealt with them on our terms in massive numbers. We would've wiped them out without losing a single man.”

Line snorted, trying to act tough, but he couldn't even look at our Prez. Gutless motherfucker.

“You don't know that, Blackjack. And shit, it's still no excuse for me and my guys to sit here and listen to your boys mouth off about our Prez trying to do good with the least damage possible. He was working for the whole club, dammit – honest! He deserves a little respect.”

“The club? What about Elle Jo?” I jumped outta my seat and almost hit the ceiling. “That fucking dumbshit almost got my girl killed. You were there when we found her! Would've gotten that mafia asshole's dick between her legs if she hadn't kicked his balls off, and you've got the nerve to stand here and bitch about respecting Gil? Fuck!”

“That's enough, son,” the Prez snapped.

Then I felt Roman's huge hand on my arm. I looked at the giant and he shook his head, urging me to sit the hell down.

“Thing is,” Blackjack began, pulling out a smoke and stuffing it in his lips. “You boys have a point too. This club's all about respect – and that's got nothing to do with Gil. We all respect these colors.”