Shafted(Devil's Blaze MC 4)(76)

We’re sitting in the bar room of the Saint’s main room. The men (that we didn’t dispose of) along with some of my brothers are cleaning out every room, especially the bedrooms. We’re taking everything out and starting over. I’ll keep what is salvageable, but damn, there hasn’t been money put in this shithole in forever. That’s only part of my reason though. I want to make sure there aren’t any secret entrances, or fucking surprises that might bite me in the ass. The best way I know to do that is search the place from top to bottom. After we secure the main compound I’m going to have to completely redo the fences and security. The electronics equipment looks like something from the damn 1980’s. Hell, the television monitor actually had rabbit ears and aluminum foil on the back for reception. I would be helping them, except I can barely fucking walk after letting the old geezer beside me wail on me.

“I can’t believe my granddaughter would pick a man who can’t take a punch.”

“Fuck you. I just have a headache. It’s nothing to do with the fight. You hit like a girl.”

“It was hard enough to knock you on your ass,” he says with a laugh taking a drink of his whiskey. I flip him off and he motions his drink at me as if to say cheers. Jesus. I think I’m starting to like the bastard.

“Your club is a shit-hole Shaft. Any idea where you’re going to start first?” Torch asks, and Pops gives him a dirty look. Yeah, I’m starting to like him.

“Men. I’m going to have to rebuild the men for sure. There’s four left, and I’m not sure which of those are real fucking trustworthy.

“I’ll loan you some prospects till you get on your feet. We’re fucking short-handed too, though, so that’s the best I can do,” Skull says with a sigh. Some things might be settled, but no one knows more than him what the cost has been. Which makes what I’m about to ask shitty, but it’s there just the same.

“Been meaning to talk to you about that, Boss.”

“Not sure you should be calling me that now amigo.” Skull runs a tattooed hand through his dark hair with a smile.

“What would you rather him call you?” Torch asks like the ass he is. “Uncle?”

Skull appears horrified at the thought. “Fuck, no.”

“You better be marrying my Breezy, or I’ll give you a worse whipping than I already have,” Pops growls.

“I already claimed her as my old lady.” I smile.

He evil eyes me. “Breezy deserves a wedding.”

“I’ll be seeing she gets one,” I tell him.

“See that you do.”

“You want to take him back to the clubhouse?” I ask Skull, a hopeful look on my face, even though I know the bastard will shut me down.

“I’m staying right here and making sure you don’t fuck shit up.”

“You do get we’re doing you a favor here old man?” I grumble, thinking this will be my life every fucking day now.

“You do get that my granddaughter is way too good for you? Fuck, she’s better than any of us sorry fucks. Same goes with my daughters.” The other men nod their heads in agreement along with me. Some things a man can’t argue with.

“So, what did you want to ask hermano?”

“I want permission to ask Keys if he’ll be my second.”

“You trust him?” Pops asks, but I ignore him. I’m busy staring at Skull.

“I expected as much. Si, ask him. I don’t imagine he’ll say no. The two of you have a strong bond, you need that.”

“Like you and me, right Skull?” Torch smirks. The two of them are like daylight and dark. Where Skull is dark and menacing, Torch is airy and funny. A real joker that one, but don’t get it twisted, that fucker is mean as they come. Even if you’d never know it looking at those damn t-shirts he wears.

“Fuck off.”

“He’s crazy about me.” Torch laughs.

“And you’re just crazy,” Pops mutters.

“Jax?” Bree asks from the door, and my attention goes to her. I haven’t seen her in two days and except for a quick text to tell her I was okay, we’ve not spoken. She looks even more gorgeous than I remember. Fuck, Pops is right. She is too good for me—so far out of my league it’s not even funny.

“Come here, baby,” I tell her. Shit, I’d already be by her side, but as much as I hate to admit it, I’m so fucking sore I move around like an eighty-year-old man. She hurries to me, only to stop and stare at Pops.

“Breezy. How was Tennessee?”

“I’m guessing you know the answer to that,” she says when she’s almost in front of me. I reach out and grab her, pulling her to me.