by Kati Wilde
Swallowing the anger with another icy swig, I say, “She’ll be doing better after we run off the Eighty-Eight.”
“Word is, we might have some help with that. That we’re bringing in the Titans. There’s rumors flying.”
“Are there?” Unconcerned, I finish off the brew and toss the bottle into the empties bucket. I asked my enforcer to start those rumors so we could get an early gauge on the brothers’ reactions. “I think we’ve got a second half of a meeting coming up and those rumors might be addressed.”
His eyes are flat again. “I’ll be glad to see some of our brothers back. But you know this will stir up that old shit between all of us. I’ll stir some myself, if I need to.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Spiral nods and heads to the leather couches we pulled together in a rough semicircle at the start of the meeting, where he sprawls with his boots out and his usual easygoing look on his face. He’s a pain in my ass. Has been since I was voted in as president five years ago. But he’s the kind of pain that’s good for you. The kind that keeps you from getting lazy or starting to think too much of yourself. If I ever pop off like Lucifer did, Spiral would probably be the next to sit in the prez’s seat. He’d be the right choice for the Riders, too. But he’s not gunning for my place. He doesn’t want the responsibility. For now he just makes sure that I’m earning my right to sit here.
My veep does the same. Blowback just does it a lot harder than Spiral would.
And he does it for me and the Riders as much as he does it for himself. Blowback needs to keep everything around him in line. He needs control. I’ve never seen him lose his, not even while administering an ass-kicking. I’ve seen him snap the neck of a man who’d killed one of our brothers without a change of expression. I suspect I never want to see that ice break—and none of the other brothers do, either.
I catch his eye and he signals to Gunner. The sergeant at arms is tasked with keeping order during meetings. Now he calls out that everyone has exactly one minute to get their asses into their seats.
Once they’re there, I get started. The rule is, everyone keeps their mouths shut while the prez speaks, so I lay out the deal without interruptions. We’ll take on the property and clubhouse on Red Erickson’s ranch. Any Titans who want to come over to the Riders will receive a patch and a place within our ranks. They’ve only got fifteen men, but that will put our own numbers at around fifty bikers. We’re already the strongest club in the region. Adding the Titans will only make us stronger and we’ll be able to expand our territory, pushing out the Eighty-Eight. I don’t try to soften it up. This move means a lot of shit will be coming our way in the next months—or over the next few years, depending on how hard the Henchmen fight back. But the Riders never back down from trouble. We ought to be running toward it.
I can see that most of them are convinced even before I open up the floor for questions, but a few are holding back. When Gunner nods to Spiral, giving him the go-ahead to speak, I already know what’s coming.
“So you’re gonna let the three brothers who walked after we let Zoomie join us come back?” he asks. “You’re gonna give them another patch?”
“I am,” I tell him—though it sticks in my throat to even say it. Five years ago, when Zoomie made her bid for a patch, some of the brothers couldn’t tolerate the thought of someone with a pair of tits riding with us. But the club’s Constitution says that anyone who served in the armed services can’t be rejected without good reason. Tits aren’t a good reason.
I could have changed the Constitution so that anyone who served became any man who served. From the day he founded the club Lucifer held onto as much power as he could, and all the rules he wrote into the Constitution are still there. As the president now, I’m the only one who can rewrite the bylaws—and unlike some clubs that vote in their presidents annually, I’m in for life or until the executive board unanimously votes me out.
But I didn’t change the laws, Zoomie was voted in, and three of the Riders turned in their colors and joined the Titans.
I hold up my hand, quieting the disgruntled rumble that started in response to my answer. “It’ll be with conditions,” I continue. “Because I’ll tell you true—it pisses me off that they turned their back on the Riders just because pussy walked in. That’s not loyalty.”
That pisses them off, too. Some, because they’re agreeing with me—and some, because they’re friends of those former Riders, and I’ve just insulted those men by calling them disloyal.
Zoomie’s more pissed than any of them. Her cheeks are pale with anger and her voice tight as she calls out, “Hey, boss, it might have escaped your fucking notice, but I’m not just pussy.”
“That’s the point,” I say to her over the noise, then sweep my gaze over the rest and that’s enough to shut them all up. “I’m willing to let them back because they thought Zoomie would bring the club down. I didn’t believe it then and I don’t believe it now. But I know some of you did. You came to me then and you told me I was making a mistake, but you stayed. And now we’ve had years—years—that she’s been with us. So I want a show of hands if you think the Riders are weaker now that Zoomie’s riding with us. It’s no secret that some of you used to think so, so nut up and be honest now, too.”
Utter quiet. And not one damn hand. Not even from Beaver or Burnout or Knucklehead, who were the most vocal about it at the time.
All right, then. “So I’m willing to accept that they walked because of loyalty to the club and they couldn’t stand to see it weakened. Now they’ll see we’re stronger than ever—but if they can’t see that, they can just keep on walking. I’ll at least give them the chance. Anyone have any argument with that?”
No one does. I look to Gunner and he points to Burnout.
“Prez.” The slur at the end of the word and the flush on the man’s face says that the beer he grabbed during the break isn’t the only drink he’s had this evening. “I got a question about this deal you worked out with Red Erickson.”
I glance at my veep and see him giving Burnout a hard look. Coming to a meeting intoxicated or high will earn a brother an ass-kicking at best. At worst, he’ll have his colors stripped. Blowback will find out if Burnout deserves the best or worst.
“What’s the question?”
“Well, it seems like we got a clubhouse and some nice property, but in the past week you’ve also been hooking up with his daughter. So I’m wondering if she’s part of the deal—and do we all get a piece of that, too?”
A piece of Jenny? Rage slams into me, the urge to rip his drunk ass apart, but I only look at him. His hands fly up in surrender, his body pressing back into the couch as if to put distance between us.
“I was just wondering, man! I didn’t mean nothing by it.”
I grit a response through clenched teeth. “Jenny is not part of the deal.”
“But we do all get a piece of her,” Spiral says so easily the words don’t immediately sink in. “At least, that’s what the First Lady clause in the club’s Constitution says.”
This time the rage that rams through me is cold. So fucking cold. “And you’re going to enforce that clause, Spiral?”
“I shouldn’t have to. What was it you said when some of these guys were asking you to change the bylaws before? You told them, ‘If the Hellfire Riders’ laws aren’t good enough, then you can walk.’ And some of those Riders walked.” He glances over at Zoomie, who’s watching him with narrowed eyes. “You know I was all for you patching in, Lily. And I don’t want Jenny—I like my women a little curvier. No offense, Prez. But you can’t just enforce some laws to the letter and ignore others.”
“He should ignore them when they’re as stupid as the First Lady clause,” Zoomie blasts him.
“A stupid rule let you in,” Goose pipes up from the back.
Gunner looks to me, silently asking whether he should shut them all up. I shake my head. Let it play out.
I’m too fucking pissed to get a coh
erent word in now, anyway.
Zoomie whirls on Goose. “You think serving our country is stupid?” Meth has rotted a few holes out of Goose’s brain but he knows better than to answer that, because she won’t be the only one he’s up against. When he remains silent, Zoomie says, “The First Lady law is only there because my dad was trying to stick it to Red Erickson by fucking my mom in front of him. That law has nothing to do with the club and everything to do with his dick. Just ask the Dubs.”
The four W’s—Wiggs, Walker, Whistler, and Widowmaker, the Riders’ secretary. Along with our treasurer, Old Timer, they’re the last of the members who joined the first year the club was founded and who are still around. As president, I outrank them, but not once have I ever talked over them. There’s respect that’s owed the club’s officers and then there’s respect. Anyone who doesn’t show the proper amount to the Dubs and Old Timer is just looking for a beatdown.
Everyone focuses on Wiggs, the brother closest to Lucifer before the old man died. As it’s a meeting day, he’s wearing the same denim kutte that he wore during his first years with the Riders. The vest is so ragged it’s practically held together by the patches sewn onto it. Half the Riders would give their left nut for a kutte that’s seen so much history and ridden so many miles.
“Zoomie has it right,” Wiggs says slowly, as if he’s reluctant to touch on this topic at all. “But whatever Lucifer’s reasons, the clause is there now, so if this situation applies it’ll have to be dealt with.”
“All right.” Speaking evenly requires sheer willpower. I look to Widowmaker, who’s sitting at the bar and taking minutes. “Why don’t you tell everyone what we’re dealing with?”
I know what it is, of course. Blowback warned me it might come up and I know every word of the damn clause.
Widowmaker doesn’t bother with the formal language used in the Constitution but just lays out the basics. “When the prez claims a woman—not just screws her, but intends to make her his wife or old lady—his choice has to be approved by the club, because the Hellfire Riders’ president is only as strong as those who have his back. And we all know that when a woman’s behind a man, she’s just as likely to stab him as she is to stand strong.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Zoomie mutters and earns a glance from Gunner. He’ll toss her out on her ass at the next interruption.
Widowmaker continues, “So the woman he claims has to prove herself worthy. First she’ll do that by showing us that she’s taking him and that she’s doing it willingly. The prez can’t even touch her because that can be read as coercion. He’s stronger, bigger, and maybe it’s not so willing if his hands are on her.” He scratches his nose and tosses an apologetic look at me. “And by ‘taking him’ it means that she rides his cock until he comes inside her. The wording is detailed. Even down to the position she’s in.”
Really fucking detailed. She’d be spread open over me, her back against my chest, her pussy and her tits exposed to every club member.
Pure bullshit. Jenny told me once that she doesn’t want to fuck in front of the club, so I’ll never let it happen. But I bite back that response and acknowledge everything he’s said so far with a short nod. “Go on.”
“The prez can’t touch her, but the brothers can”—he glances at Zoomie—“and our sister, too, I reckon, as we’ll be showing admiration for his woman and our support for his decision. That means kissing her, touching her, fucking her. Whatever we ask. And by accepting us, she’s showing her trust in the prez and his club, and her belief that we are all worthy.”
Worthy? Fuck that shit. Not even one of us is worthy of Jenny. Including me.
“So that means we start with the first question: Does this situation apply?” Wiggs asks and looks to me. My temper is riding a thin edge now and I don’t much care if they can see it. “Are you claiming her?”
I just have to say no. I just have to say that she’s a casual fuck, a little pussy that I’m getting on the side.
Even with a gun to my head, I couldn’t speak that lie. “She’s mine.”
“So the clause needs to be addressed. We’ll put it on the agenda as new business for the next meeting.” The expression on Wiggs’ weathered face is hard, as if he doesn’t like this any better than I do. “You want to give them all something to think about until then?”
Yeah, I do. This shit shouldn’t have to be spoken but apparently needs to be. “Just a reminder that the Riders have another rule in the Constitution: We don’t force women and we don’t hurt them. And fifteen years ago, the prez of the Eighty-Eight Henchmen forced my woman to the ground with his whole club watching. She fucking bled because of what he did to her. Now we’re going to ask her to ride a cock in front of another club? We’re going to ask her to take us all on?”
In the brief pause I let fall, Beaver speaks up. “And she freaks out when someone touches her.” Heads swivel. I hold up my hand to stop Gunner from going after him as Beaver babbles on, “C’mon, you all heard the rumors about her. But I know it’s true. We went out to dinner once, one summer while I was home from OSU. I tried to kiss her and she just got all deer-in-the-headlights. She didn’t push me away but she was a second from running. Ah, fuck.” He spreads his hands, his suddenly wide eyes fixed on my face. “I didn’t get any further, man. I’m just backing you up now.”
I know he is. But as I’m still struggling to answer without blowing up, Spiral says dryly, “So here’s another reason not to see this law enforced. Our prez will kill any of us that show our admiration by touching her.”
Fucking right I would. “Then how about you all show your admiration by having a little respect for what she’s been through and letting this one go. She is skittish. This isn’t about ignoring one rule and enforcing another. This is about recognizing that we have two rules in conflict, and we have to decide which is more important: not hurting women or observing this First Lady clause. But that’ll be decided in the next meeting. New business now is the Titans. Anything else on them?”
Goose’s hand shoots up. “Will you be appointing new officers and drawing from their ranks?”
That’s another power Lucifer held close—the president personally appoints every officer, from VP to treasurer. He also chooses the handful of non-officer members who sit on the executive board. “I’m giving Blowback the title of Warlord and bringing in Thorne as my new veep. You know him?”
Nods all around and some quick glances toward Blowback, whose expression hasn’t altered from the flat cold stare he always wears. Some will see this move as a demotion but it’s not. As warlord, he’ll only answer to me—and his role won’t include the responsibilities that never sat easy on him. It gives more freedom than he had before.
“Thorne’s solid,” I say. “He’s been the Titans’ veep from the beginning. With him acting as my right hand, this integration should go as smooth as it can. I’ll also pull one or two of their men onto the executive board, so that we’re more likely to catch on to any friction before it turns into something bigger. To that end: Does anyone here have an issue with an individual Titan? And don’t bring up any petty shit that you might have with any brother. I don’t care if a Titan fucked your mama or your girl. I’m talking the kind of shit that breaks this deal.”
When nothing comes up, I tell them, “All right, then. Next week we’re holding another meeting and we’ll vote to bring the Titans in or not. If we do, we’ll walk out of here with more than a dozen new brothers.”
Knucklehead raises his hand. “Are we voting on whether we’re following through on the First Lady clause, too?”
So they’re going to fucking push this? But there’s no other answer to give. Jaw clenched, I nod.
“Good thing,” Knucklehead says, holding my gaze. “Because it’s not her, Prez. It’s that you held to the letter of the law when you let Zoomie in. I didn’t like it, but I went with it. I took it. Now you’ve got to take this to the letter, because I want a fucking president who stands by his word.”
A chorus of “No, boss” comes back. Damn right.
“Anything else?” I only wait one second. “Then this meeting’s adjourned. For those of you heading to the Den, we’re riding out in ten.”
Because I need to see my woman.
2
Jenny
The deep rumble of motorcycle engines announces the Riders’ arrival. Anticipation and a bit of worry tighten the back of my neck. It’s late. I’ve been shooting the shit with Anna for almost two hours now, so the meeting probably didn’t go as smoothly as Saxon hoped it would.
One look at him and I’m sure it didn’t. Saxon walks in ahead of the others, a big, dangerous package of muscle and doesn’t-give-a-fuck. He’s a hard man to read, never giving much away, so the anger I detect in the clench of his bearded jaw and the tense line of his shoulders means that he’s really pissed.
His intense blue gaze zeroes in on me.
Shit. Nerves tangle in my stomach. An angry Saxon is intimidating as hell. I love him like crazy and I know he won’t hurt me, but this is so new, and I have no idea what my role is right now. I’m not sure what’s expected of me.
Something is expected. That much is clear. The bikers who come in behind him all look my way and they’re not just the same curious stares that have been cast in my direction since Saxon and I got together. The stare that says, What the hell is Red Erickson’s daughter doing in Rider territory? This is different. Some of Saxon’s officers seem grim. Blowback, the Riders’ VP, always looks that way, but their enforcer Stone Wall is with him, too. I’d call Anna’s brother a good friend, and usually he’s got a grin for me, but now he’s showing the same hard, angry edge that Saxon is. And a few of the members I don’t know so well… God, their eyes are crawling all over me like they expect me to strip naked right here. What the fuck?
