Fallon (Henchmen MC Next Generation 3)

The betrayal in their eyes matched the sensation I was feeling inside.

Gone were all the years I'd busted my ass to work twice as hard as them to prove I was even half as good as they were. Gone were all the times I'd stroked their egos and proved myself to be a loyal club member. And the time I'd spent building this club and providing for them was damn sure gone too.

All that pain, uncertainty, and sacrifice.

I might as well never have done it at all.

"Now, I'm sure Danny is going to try to deny having a connection to the Henchmen's new president," Chewy said, voice raised like he was giving his valedictorian speech.

The rat bastard.

He was enjoying every second of this.

"I won't deny it," I said, feeling a current of rage flowing through me. "I've been in contact with Fallon since the shooting on the street that night," I said, hoping I could shut this shit down before it got out of control. "Tensions being as high as they've been between our clubs, we decided not to share that information with you. As is our right as presidents, I will add," I said, voice raising. "We decided to share information if we came across it."

"Information about what?" someone in the group of men shot out, lost in the crowd, so I wasn't sure who it was.

"About this threat that is coming for both of our clubs," I told the group at large, since I didn't know who'd asked.

"Does this look like a woman who is watching an informant drive off?" Chewy asked, stabbing a beefy finger into the picture from the diner. "And how come Danny and Fallon disappeared at the same time at that diner for a suspiciously long time?" he added.

Had someone been watching the time?

Jesus Christ.

They'd actually clocked how long I'd been in the bathroom.

"Doesn't seem copacetic to me," Dodge said, shooting me an accusatory gaze.

"Always thought it was weird she buried the body with him instead of coming to get us," another of my men said.

I knew what was going to happen.

This was what always happened.

This was what a gang mentality could do.

It could make individually rational men become increasingly enraged and irrational, egging each other along, coming to larger than life conclusions.

And, of course, it was worse because it was me.

I very much doubted my father's men would have the balls to step to him like this, no matter what he might have done to threaten or betray the club.

As much as I wanted to believe I'd started to level the playing field where sex and gender roles came into play, I knew that was more wishful thinking than fact.

"I don't think you—" I started.

"We don't think we want to hear what you think," Chewy cut me off, voice loud, echoing off the walls. No one contradicted him. He spoke for the club now. "You disgrace this club. You betrayed the men who trusted you to lead them with integrity."

"You bastard, this is my—"

"Not anymore," Chewy cut me off. "Not anymore it isn't your club. I believe if we check the bylaws, this sort of betrayal is reason enough for me to take over until we can contact the mother chapter to figure out our next steps."

My gaze slid around at my men again, trying to find a friendly face, someone who wasn't completely swayed by Chewy, by the outrage he'd stirred up in the others.

But all I saw was anger and disgust.

There were a few whose gazes were lowered, like they couldn't even stand to look at me.

When I found not a single friendly face, I finally understood a few things.

The absence of the men I would consider most loyal to me.

Grandpa, Pops, and Junior.

Who I'd fought to be able to take with me.

It was why Munch was likely encouraged to take his woman out back.

Munch was one of the few men of the club who'd never doubted my capability based on my gender, seeing as he was a man who valued women as much as he did. He would have, at the very least, made sure the rest of them had given me a chance to defend myself, to explain.

This was also why Dutch was so shit-faced that he could hardly move. He never drank to such excess that he couldn't take care of himself. Someone had forced him into it, had kept pushing drinks into his hand, and kept over-pouring. Hell, I wouldn't even put it past Chewy at this point to drop something into Dutch's drink.

See, it was those five men who would have been the most likely to stand up for me, to be a voice of reason. They'd attempt to calm everyone down, help them use their better judgment.

That was why they weren't around.

Because Chewy had planned this.