Possession(Sons of Odin MC)(27)
She laughed sarcastically, then snapped her fingers. “Just like that, huh? Off and on like a light switch.”
He sighed. “No. Nothing could be farther from the truth.” He stood and pulled two twenty-dollar bills from his wallet, then dropped them on the table. “Finish your sandwich, order another coffee. Remember somewhere in this world, at this very moment, there’s a guy wearing patches that admires you more than you’ll ever know.”
He walked around to her side of the table and kissed the top of her head. Without another word, he exited the restaurant, the weight of her stare on his back heavier than a millstone around his neck.
He sped from the parking lot, avoiding looking back through the wall of windows. As easily as she sexually aroused him, those green eyes had the same effect on his heart. He stopped in a random parking lot a few blocks away and called Crash.
“Meet me at the clubhouse in thirty minutes,” he said.
“Done.” Crash disconnected.
It amazed Vincent how quickly things could change. For the better lately. From the day he patched out with the Sons of Odin to meeting Tina, he’d never seen life with more clarity. His children were safe and thriving. He’d increased liquor sales and customer relations at Valhalla. Even the charter’s net worth continued to improve under his watch. All benefits since he’d been appointed treasurer for the club.
But his personal life suffered.
Twenty minutes later he roared into the clubhouse parking lot. He grabbed Saline’s vest from his saddlebag and marched inside Valhalla, ready for a drink. Half a dozen customers were playing pool in the back. He leaned against the bar and gave Sheila a wave.
“Shot of Jack on the rocks.”
She filled his order and slid the glass down the polished wood counter. “This one is on the house,” she said.
“Thanks, sweetheart. How’s your son?”
“Getting better every day. He asked about you—wanted to know if Mr. Vincent was going to invite him to the next club barbeque.”
“You tell Tyler he can visit anytime he wants. And if he’s not here for the Thanksgiving party, it’ll break my heart.”
Sheila grinned as he finished his drink. Her son had needed eye surgery a few months ago and Vincent organized a fundraiser at the bar. They made $10,000 on a Friday night, enough to cover his medical expenses.
He headed to his office and sat behind his desk, waiting for Crash to show up. The bastard abused his old lady and expected her to stay? Not in Vincent’s world. And since his president was away on business, Vincent maintained control of the charter. Confident he’d made the right decision, he mentally prepared for what he was going to say.
A few minutes later Crash appeared at his door.
“Come in,” Vincent said.
Seated across from Vincent, he dropped a wallet-sized photo of his old lady on the desk. “Saline is hard to miss.”
Vincent didn’t acknowledge the picture. “I found her.”
Crash fisted his hands at his sides; his face turned red. “Did you catch them together?”
“I’m not going to play politics, Crash. There’s no love lost between our clubs. And after what I found out today, you’d better get on your scooter and ride for Robstown before you find my boot buried up your ass.” He cracked his knuckles and leaned back in his leather chair—not caring how his guest reacted.
Crash’s mouth dropped open and he pounded his fist on top of the desk. “What the fuck are you talking about? We covered the details this morning. Dog Tag violated every bylaw by showing up at my bar and stealing my old lady. I demand justice. And if I don’t find it here, pretty sure your chapter president will give it to me.”
Vincent shook his head. “I’d rather unwrap a box of shit than look at you.”
Crash shot up. “Care to explain that?”
“Forked-tongued motherfucker.” Vincent met his rage with equal violence. “Showing up in my club with a benign story about how one of my Brothers seduced your old lady. You conveniently forgot to mention the torture tactics you use to keep her in line.”
“What did that lying bitch tell you?”
Vincent stood, ready to explode. “She didn’t need to say anything, I saw the evidence on her back. Get the fuck out.”
Crash hissed, openly sizing up Vincent. “You’re violating the code.”
Vincent smiled evilly, then slammed Saline’s old lady patch on the desk. “Not if she requested sanctuary. Here’s her answer.”
Crash eyed the vest angrily, then picked it up.
“If you’re thinking about retaliation, I’d reconsider. As of this morning, that little Property of Crash tattoo on her ankle has been replaced with worthier ink the size of my fist—Property of Dog Tag. Saline belongs to the Sons of Odin now.”