“Yeah, all right. I gotta believe that. Holding onto that.”
“Yeah. Good. So you leave all the worries to us. You just focus on your baby boy.”
They both gave me squeezes, then looked hard at one another, communicating without words, and left the house with purpose in their strides.
I had just witnessed the beginning of what was likely to be one hell of a storm, hitting the streets of Tucson.
Chapter 15
Jack
When I rode into the Iron Bandits’ compound that night, it looked like all my MC brothers had beaten me to it. The place was packed. I parked my bike and strode straight back to church. I knew I wasn’t late, but it felt like I was the last one there for a reason. This did not bode well.
Yep. Sure enough, the room was packed. Everyone in their place. I had no idea what I’d missed, but it was something big, because they all went silent as I made my way to my seat at the table. Then Bull, our president, said, “Good. ’Bout time you made it here. Sit down, Jack-o. We got news, and we got shit to cover.
“First off, damn you for planning a wedding without letting us know you were taking on that sweet mama to be your old lady. No disrespect. You do your brother proud. It’s what he would have wanted, for her, for his son. It’s a good move. When’s the wedding?”
I shot a death-glare at Grath, who grinned back at me with a shift of his shoulders. The asshole had shared.
But he was right: the MC would now be sworn to protect Ellie as much as any other family member, as much as Peter, as much as all the women and children in the chosen circles of our ranks. Maybe it read as archaic or patriarchal bullshit to Ellie—in fact, I knew it did. I knew she didn’t like it. And she would hate being called an ‘old lady.’ Still, it was our way. And like it or not, she would benefit from it, even if our marriage was in name only and only lasted for six months. It would have the mark of legitimacy, it would be recognized. And that was all to the good.
There might even been a part of me that wished it was real: that the marriage would be real, that I could think of and call Ellie mine—and not just for six months, but for good. But that was not the plan, and it wasn’t going to play out like that, so I slapped that thought down and grunted my acceptance of their well-wishes. “Yeah, uh, it’s tomorrow. Keeping it real small, courthouse.”
There were a bunch of nods and I got a few more pats on the back and punches to the arms. Some guys slapped the table in salute. But the subject quickly lost its sparkle, and I knew we were here for a different reason.
Bull hit the gavel once for attention, and got it.
“Jack-o, I can see you’re curious about why we’re all here before you. We need you to listen, now. Do not get up until you have leave, you hear me? I want your ass in that chair until I am done laying this out for you.”
What the fuck? This kind of shit did not happen at our meetings. What the fuck had I done? I knew the answer was nothing—with the exception of the bender I had gone on a couple of weeks past, I’d been doing good. Work was smooth, the shop was earning and busy, clients were happy, books were solid. So this was not disciplinary. I wracked my brain, and came up empty. I must have looked ridiculous—which I hated—looking around me with my eyebrows raised. “One of you assholes wanna enlighten me here? What the fuck is going on? What is this bullshit?”
“It’s about Keith.”
Okay, that got my attention.
“What about Keith?”
“We got a lead now, on what happened that night. On who did it.”
“Name.” That is all I wanted. I sat forward.
“Back down, man.”
I slid back in the chair, looking hard at Bull. “Name.”
“Brian Mc—”
“I fucking knew it! I fucking knew it! That fuck! I’m gonna hunt that motherfucker down—”
“Jack! Sit your ass back down. Right. Now.” A bunch of guys had gotten up around me and circled me, as if that was going to hold me back from heading out the door and onto his trail. Ha!
Still, I looked a few of my brothers in the eye, and they looked at me fiercely, but also with understanding. They knew how hard this was gonna hit me. Well, I guessed that answered my question about the purpose and style of today’s church meeting. It was an intervention, and I was the detainee. Fan-fucking-tastic.
I gave the guys long hard stares right back, then resettled in my chair. If this was the way they wanted to play it, so be it. They’d better have a plan, though—I knew that as soon as church was over, I’d be on the trail, with or without them. I finally had something to go on, to catch my little brother’s murderer, and nothing was going to stop me. Absolutely. Nothing.