by Brook Wilder
Prescott stuck to his guns and voted against the war. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to antagonize Al like this, but as long as he could mess up the unanimous vote, he was going to do it. At the very least it bought him some time.
Not this vote, though.
Al sighed like he was about to do something he didn’t want to.
“It’s not often a president is put in this position. We’ve had two votes, and both times we’ve only been one away from moving forward with our plans. To me, that feels unanimous. I’m going to veto the single nay we’ve received so that our club can finally put the Varangians in their place.”
“You can’t do that!” Prescott snarled.
“I think you’ll find I can,” Al said, with the tone of a father reprimanding his child. “Do I hear any objections?”
Prescott looked around the table and made eye contact with men he’d considered friends. They’d known each other for years. Prescott had grown up around most of them.
No one said anything.
“This isn’t what my father would have wanted,” Prescott said into the silence. “He deserves vengeance. I’m the first one to admit that, but he also deserves a club that’s going to honor his memory. He fought alongside all of you. He led you. He never did wrong by his club. Is this how you’re going to pay your respect?”
More silence. A few of the men avoided Prescott’s gaze, but they didn’t speak up on his or Charles’ behalf. Prescott was finding it hard to breathe.
“This brings me to my second piece of business,” Al said, barely masking the triumph in his voice. “I don’t believe that we can have a road captain who is constantly going against what this club wants and needs. I move to strip Prescott Graves of his title. All in favor?”
Prescott felt like he was living through a nightmare. He felt numb as he watched his brothers vote with Al to remove his title. Not one person objected.
The vote was unanimous.
When had everything gone so wrong?
Now more than ever, Prescott wished his father was still around. Charles would have known what to do in this situation. But Charles was dead.
Prescott was on his own.
Della emerged from her interview feeling elated. It had gone better than she’d expected. She’d been nervous at first, but the interviewer had put her at ease by conversing with her for the first couple minutes. After that, it was only a matter of telling the truth about her career goals and demonstrating her expertise.
Though the interviewer hadn’t said anything definite, he’d hinted that she might be hearing from him within the week.
Everything was coming together perfectly. It had been months since she’d seen Simon, and Prescott was the perfect roommate. And the perfect lover.
The only hitch was that she hadn’t spoken to Kate since they’d graduated. Della had tried multiple times to reach out to her old roommate, but Kate refused to speak to her. It was not the way Della had wanted things to go. She wished Kate could see how happy she was now, and how well things were going for her. But there was no accounting for stubbornness.
On her way home, Della pulled out her phone and dialed Prescott’s number. There was no answer. She didn’t leave a message. He was probably still at the clubhouse. She tried again when she was back at the house. The line rang several times, and Della thought it was going to go to voicemail again. But Prescott picked up after a moment.
“Hey.”
“Hey…” Della said slowly.
What was wrong with him? He’d only said one word to her, but his voice had been completely morose. Defeated.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said. “What’s up?”
“I just wanted to let you know that the interview went really well. Thought maybe we should celebrate tonight or something.”
“That sounds good,” he said. “I’ll be home soon.”
“Okay… see you then.”
They hung up and Della let herself into the house. It wasn’t like Prescott to sound that beaten down. She felt like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over her happy mood.
When Prescott did arrive home, he looked as worn out as he’d sounded. Della went to him immediately and walked into his arms. He held her tightly without uttering a word.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“I’m fine.”
She pulled away from him and studied his face.
“You don’t look or sound fine,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing happened. Just club business. You don’t want to get into it.”
He stepped around her, dropping his keys on the table by the door. She followed behind him and reached out to take his arm. He stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“Tell me,” she said. “I know you don’t like sharing club stuff with me. I get it. Really. But something is eating you up inside, and I want to know what’s going on.”
He turned to her then, smiling sadly. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips.
“There were some votes today that didn’t go my way,” he told her. “I’m a big boy. I’ll get over it. Don’t let me ruin your night. Tell me about the interview.”
Della wanted to push more, but she could tell Prescott wasn’t going to give her anything else. She decided to drop the subject for now, and obliged him by giving him the details of her interview. They ate a quick lunch together while she talked. Afterwards they spent some time just lounging around the house, watching movies and keeping each other company.
“I'm going to make you dinner,” Prescott said later that evening. He seemed to have recovered a bit from the morning’s events. “We should celebrate.”
“No objections from me,” Della said. “I could use some pampering.”
She was still worried for him, but she didn’t want to push him more tonight. The past few hours had been spent basking in the glow of her success as well as the warmth of Prescott’s body. They had developed such an easy way of interacting with one another, it was almost hard to believe that they were only in a casual relationship.
Della laid back on the couch while she listened to Prescott collecting dishes in the kitchen. Before long, the house was full of savory, enticing smells that drew Della to the table. Prescott laid out the meal, and she felt a swell of gratitude. There were three courses, complete with dessert. He’d outdone himself, with each bite tasting better than the last.
“Before we have dessert, maybe we should spend some time in the bedroom,” he suggested while clearing the table.
“I like the sound of that,” she said.
Her body was getting warm and tingly just thinking about it. They had sex so often, she thought she’d get tired of it. But she never did. Feeling Prescott in and around her was an undeniably perfect way to end this day. When he came around the table and took her hand, she allowed him to escort her to the bedroom.
Prescott stripped Della’s clothes off slowly, savoring every inch of perfect skin that he bared to his view. He worried about her still, didn’t want to think about what would happen to her if Al decided he needed an extra bargaining chip. For now, though, he was free to enjoy her. He let the feel of her soft skin soothe his rattled nerves. She reached up to kiss him, pressing her breasts against his chest. He slid his hands down to her rear and held her close, so she could feel how hard he was getting for her.
They slowly made their way to the bed, and Prescott laid his body over Della’s. She opened her legs to him, and he happily accepted the invitation, pressing himself deep into her warm center. After everything that had happened, this was what he needed. He lost himself in her. There was nothing but the sensations she gave him. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him in deeper, letting out little noises of satisfaction.
Prescott pushed Della towards her climax, dragging his hands down her body, teasing her nipples. As soon as she came, he rushed to join her, seeking that moment of release. When he found it, h
e held Della tight and relished every second. Then he dropped languidly onto the bed beside her, quickly disposing of the condom so he could gather her into his arms.
“Congratulations on the interview going well,” he murmured.
“Mm… thanks,” she whispered sleepily.
Prescott kissed her temple and held her while she drifted off to sleep. He rested with her for a while, just listening to the steady sound of her breathing. Eventually he managed to pull himself away. He grabbed his phone and stepped out into the hall.
Shaft answered on the second ring.
“How’d it go?” he asked without greeting.
“Not good,” Prescott replied grimly.
He kept his voice low as he detailed the events of the meeting for his friend. When he was finished, Shaft sucked in air and groaned.
“That’s not good, man. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“They wouldn’t have let you in,” Prescott said. “Listen… I think Al’s got his hooks in deeper than we realized. I think he’s got everybody in a leadership position in his pocket. Or he’s got something on them.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying… maybe Al wasn’t working alone when he betrayed my old man. Can you do me a favor?”
“Probably.”
“Get into the voting records. Find out just how long Al has been lobbying for war against the Varangians. I want to see how deep this goes.”
“You might not like what you find,” Shaft warned.
“Things can’t get much worse,” Prescott said.
Shaft snorted. “Things can always get worse. But yeah, I’ll see what I can dig up.”
“Thanks, man. Call me when you have something.”
Prescott ended the call and heaved a sigh. He secretly agreed with Shaft – things could always get worse. When he went back into the bedroom and saw Della sitting up in bed, her eyes wide with fear, he realized things just did.
“Is… is that what happened today?” she asked, her voice wavering. “Is that what you didn’t want to tell me about?”
“It’s nothing, baby,” Prescott said, joining her in bed and collecting her into his arms. “Just club business.”
“That didn’t sound like just club business,” Della replied, staring up at him. “Are you in danger? I don’t want you to get hurt. It sounds like you’re on your way to getting yourself killed.”
“Shhh, baby. Don’t worry. I'm not going to get myself killed. I know what I'm doing. I’m sorry I was distracted today.”
She was near tears. No matter what he said, he knew he couldn’t stop her from worrying. Instead he held her close, pressed her head to his chest and stroked her hair while she held onto him.
They sat like that for some time, and eventually the tension left Della’s body. He could tell she was still tired, and if he was being honest, he was ready to get some sleep, too. Pulling the covers up around them, he laid down with Della draped over his chest. As his body succumbed to sleep, he started to wonder if he really would be able to dig his way out of this mess. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was possible that he’d signed both his and Della’s death warrants the moment he’d first contacted her.
With that thought foremost on his mind, he drifted off into a fitful sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
The past couple of weeks had not been easy. Della found herself jumping out of her skin every time Prescott’s phone rang. She’d hoped that he would open up to her a little more after the night she’d overheard his conversation with Shaft, but if anything, he was being more secretive than ever. She wanted to ask him to tell her more, but knew that he’d refuse. Prescott believed he was keeping her safe by leaving her in the dark. Della wasn’t so sure, and her nerves were shot from all the guesswork and the constant silent treatment.
She needed an excuse to get out of the house.
Grocery shopping was as good a reason as any. She jotted down a quick list and made her way to the store, trying to empty her mind of all that had happened recently. The mundane task did help her feel more relaxed. Her equilibrium was starting to return as she put things in her cart and checked items off her list.
And then she saw Kate.
It was such an unexpected coincidence that Della froze in place. Before she could duck out of the aisle, Kate turned and saw her.
“Della,” Kate said, her face an expressionless mask.
“Hey, Kate,” Della replied weakly. “How are you?”
“Doing fine. You?”
“Yeah, great,” Della said.
This conversation was more awkward than Della could ever have imagined. She pointed to her half-full cart like it was a valid excuse to stop talking.
“Gotta get this stuff home,” she said lamely.
She turned and made her escape, finding a checkout lane as far away from the aisle Kate had been in as possible. Then she gathered up her bags and headed out the door.
“Della, wait!”
Della turned to see Kate jogging after her, a single bag of groceries draped over her arm.
“What’s up?” Della asked.
“Are you okay?” Kate asked in return.
“What?”
“I know you, Della. You look stressed and scared. Is Simon back?”
“No, the restraining order worked.”
Kate hesitated a moment, then asked, “Is it Prescott? Are you still with him?”
Della didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Kate could see the answer in her face.
“He’s gotten into something, hasn’t he?” Kate asked. “You’re starting to worry for his life? Maybe you’re worried for your own?”
Della wanted to be angry at Kate. After all this time, she was still harping on about Prescott and the life he led. But there was no anger. Because Kate was right. Her questions were spot on, like she could read Della’s mind.
“I have to get these things home,” Della said, holding up her bags. “But… maybe we could meet somewhere to talk? We could do lunch. Have a real talk. Like old times.”
“I’d like that,” Kate said.
They arranged to meet at a nearby café after they’d both had a chance to get their groceries home. Della felt relieved to have Kate back in her life. It helped that she was going to have someone other than Prescott to talk to. Della just hoped that Kate would be able to see her side of things this time. Walking away from Prescott wouldn’t be as easy as Kate always insisted it should be.
Kate was waiting at the café when Della arrived. She’d secured a little table for two in the corner. Della sat down and ordered a coffee from their waitress. She looked over the menu, but found she couldn’t focus on the words. She wasn’t even sure if she was really hungry.
“A lot on your mind?” Kate said.
Della laid down the menu and gratefully accepted her coffee from the waitress. She added some cream and took a long sip.
“Yeah,” she said finally.
“Prescott?”
“Yeah. Living with him has been great, but lately… I don’t know.” Della shook her head slowly. “I think he’s getting in over his head. He won’t give me enough details, but I’m scared that he’s going to get himself killed.”
“Would you blame me if I said I told you so?” Kate asked, smiling a little.
“Not really. But I can’t change what my heart wants, you know?”
“Della, you need to walk away while you still can. Right now you’re in as much danger as Prescott is.”
Della’s response was cut short by the waitress. She and Kate both ordered lunch just to have something to do, and their menus were whisked away. Della took a moment to compose her thoughts.
“I can’t walk away,” she said. “Prescott is in danger, but for the right reasons. His father was murdered. He just wants answers. I can’t fault him for that.”
“Yes, you can,” Kate insisted. “Listen to yourself, Della. You’re casually talking about murder and gang activity. You’re getting in too de
ep. If you don’t cut and run now, there won’t be a later.”
Della still wasn’t convinced. It appeared that the wedge that had driven her and Kate apart before was still firmly in place.
“I can’t just leave him,” she said quietly.
Kate’s hand came down on the table, the resulting sound loud enough to draw the attention from some nearby tables.
“I have seen this before,” Kate said, making an effort to keep her voice quiet. “You want to know what happened to my cousin, Della? Trevor was just like you. He felt obligated. He didn’t want to walk away. He thought he could handle himself.”
