At that another burst of laughter from the men could be heard.
“And when she gets to the third trimester, just resign yourself to letting her have control of everything. The TV remote, the car radio, the bank account—”
“Your balls,” Red Dog added with a grin.
“Shit,” Crash whispered worriedly and took another slug from the whiskey bottle Wolf passed back to him.
Wolf grinned at the jokes along with all his brothers, but he couldn’t help it when all the talk of babies and pregnant women had his mind drifting to Crystal. He stared into the fire. He was happy for Crash, make no mistake, but the illustration of what Crash and Shannon had and their happiness was a sharp reminder of all that he and Crystal had lost. And perhaps, if he was being honest, it made him jealous of all that Crash had with Shannon. And all that Cole had with Angel, as well.
And maybe for the first time, he was beginning to realize he wanted that too.
And Crystal was here. So close. So fucking close. It had him wondering if maybe there was such a thing as fate. And maybe, just maybe, fate was giving him another shot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The afternoon sun shone down on the campground. The full-patched broth
ers of all the attending Evil Dead MC Chapters were lined up in two rows, facing each other, gauntlet style. Typically, the Chapter Presidents stood at one end, their VPs at the other, along with the prospects currently about to be patched into the brotherhood.
There was only one prospect left to run this year’s gauntlet.
Mack stepped forward, a leather cut with a full three-piece patch on the back fisted in the hand at his side. At the other end, Cole put a hand on Shane’s shoulder and shoved him forward a step.
Mack grinned and held up the last cut. “You want this, Prospect? Come and get it.”
Wolf looked from his President to Shane, and his hand tightened into a fist. He fully intended to get his last swipes in at the man. Wolf watched as Shane’s eyes swept up one side and down the other of the gauntlet of men he was expected to run in order to get his cut. A cut Wolf knew only too well a man would do anything to get, especially after the year of hell the club had already put him through.
Wolf had been were Shane was standing once. He knew the feeling Shane was experiencing at this moment. Wanting that cut so bad you’d do anything for it. Knowing that before you reached it, you were going to be receiving the beating of your life. Knowing that before it was done, you’d be crawling the last dozen feet. And not for a second letting any of that deter you from your determination to get your hands on that fucking cut. Wanting it so bad you could already feel it in your hands.
He looked at Shane’s face. Yeah, he felt it. And he wanted it, badly.
Wolf grinned. Come and get it, indeed, boy.
Shane gritted his teeth and bolted forward. The brothers didn’t let him get ten feet before they were on him, every one of them throwing a punch. They tossed and shoved him back and forth between the lines like a pinball bouncing around a pinball machine. By the time Shane reached Wolf, who was standing fifteen feet from Mack, he was staggering.
Red Dog, who stood across from Wolf, grabbed ahold of Shane and shoved him toward Wolf.
“Last shot, bro, have at him,” Dog chuckled at Wolf.
Wolf hit Shane square in the jaw with a roundhouse punch that took him to the ground. Once Shane was down, Wolf kicked him in the ribs. Shane began crawling toward Mack. And that last fifteen feet took forever as Shane received kick after kick amid shouts from the club ordering him to get on his fucking feet.
Shane made it to Mack, who held the cut high above his head and growled down at him, “I don’t give cuts to men that grovel in the fucking dirt, Prospect.”
Shane staggered to his feet, and then, staring Mack dead in the eye, he grabbed for the cut, jerking it from the man’s tight hold. When he got it free, he swayed.
Mack grinned, grabbing him by the biceps to hold him up and grunted, “Congratulations, Brother.”
The significance of being called Brother for the first time wasn’t lost on Shane. He grinned through his split lip, blood coating his teeth and running down his chin. His eyes were already beginning to swell shut like a prize fighter’s after going ten rounds, as Mack pulled him in for a back-pounding hug.
When Mack released Shane, he looped his arm around Shane’s shoulders and turned him to face the club. With all joking aside and in all seriousness, he looked down at Shane. “Always keep the heart of a prospect, and look for ways to make your brother’s lives better. Your brothers and club are lucky to have you.”
Shane nodded. “I’m lucky to have all of them, too.”
“You’re a brother, first, last, and always,” Mack pronounced.
Shane grinned. “Evil Dead, first, last, and always.”
Crash stepped up, having a special connection with Shane, since he’d sponsored him. Mack released him as Crash took Shane’s face in his two hands and grinned at him.