“I’m not judging you or any of the people here for choosing this lifestyle,” I assure her.
“I’m not worried about judgment,” she says as she reaches up to grip my forearms. “I’m fine here. There isn’t one person here who will lay a finger on me or say one bad word in my direction. I’m the Princess. They wouldn’t dare, but I honestly can’t say the same thing about you.”
“Lynch told me I’m safe here.” My heart is pounding in my chest by the time she replies because the assurance he gave me last night isn’t found anywhere in her eyes.
“And that’s exactly what the Big Bad Wolf told Little Red to get her to lean in closer.”
I step back out of her grip, holding my arms up when she reaches out again. Scrambling into my clothes from last night, I nod with more assurance than I feel in my gut.
“Take me home,” I insist. “I want to leave.”
“I can’t do that. Lynch won’t allow it.”
“I’m not going to be a prisoner at some motorcycle clubhouse.”
“Beats the alternative,” she mumbles. Surely, she didn’t just say—
“What did you just say?” My hands are trembling, and I feel like I’m in the damn Twilight Zone.
“Nothing. Listen, let’s finish getting ready, and we can go hang out with the girls. You’ll see that it’s not so bad here.”
I know I need to bolt at the very first opportunity, but my brain won’t stop picturing Lynch’s mouth on me last night. Now I know what tempting the devil means.Chapter 9Lynch
“I’m late,” I tell my men as I walk into the chapel. Acknowledging my tardiness is the closest thing they’ll ever get to an apology. “We have a ton of shit to deal with today. I hope everyone is awake.”
My eyes circle the table to verify that everyone is here. The only time my guys aren’t at this table during church is when they’re dealing with business on the road.
“Boston, how do the books look?”
He looks up at me, formerly bright eyes hazed and exhausted.
“From what I can tell, we still have money.” He gives me a quick smirk as he tilts his head.
“From what you can tell?” Suddenly, I’m questioning whether or not I’ve made a mistake in appointing him.
“Prez, the whole system is a fucking mess, which is expected considering Banshee snorted more coke than your old man.” My facial expression doesn’t change because it’s been almost two weeks and this shit should be done already. “I’m working backward from now. How far back do you want me to go?”
“Until the very beginning,” I growl. I’m being a dick, but like I said earlier, I’m having a shit day and having others around me in shitty moods is only fair.
“I’ll keep you updated, Prez.”
“Talk to me about Detroit.” I look over at Hornet.
“The transport is leaving this afternoon. We’ll make a quick drop in Syracuse and be in Detroit by late evening tomorrow,” Hornet says.
“Take the sedan,” I order.
“Prez?” Hornet complains.
“Makes sense,” Briar adds.
“We’re bikers,” Hornet argues. “We don’t take sedans. Next, you’re going to tell me to leave my cut behind.”
I raise an eyebrow at him.
“No way, Prez.” Hornet is shaking his head back and forth. “That takes all of our power away.”
“The leather on your back doesn’t give you power,” I counter when several of the other men at the table grow anxious and begin grumbling. “Our name gives you power. You are still a Raven without our patch on your back. That is enough to bring fear to anyone around. My father ensured through decades of brutal force that we didn’t have to rely on clothes to instill fear.”
TJ grunts in approval.
“Being less conspicuous will only help keep the cops off our asses,” Briar says. “This is the start-up run for business in Detroit. Carry your cuts in the fucking trunk and pull them out when you meet the handlers if you must.”
“But the sedan? Do you know how hard it is to fit four men into that fucking car?” Hornet just will not give up.
“Take the fucking SUV then,” I concede. “Just don’t get arrested with my dope.”
Hornet finally nods, capitulating to my instructions.
“You good?” He nods again.
Looking back down the table, TJ is glaring at me like I’ve grown three extra heads. I know what the look is for. The men who gave up their patches last week would’ve never argued with their president in fear of getting their heads blown off. What TJ doesn’t want to admit is that those very men would have given our dad the okay and would then turn around and do whatever the fuck they wanted to. They knew Dad would forget every damn thing he told them after a handful of lines and a bottle of whiskey. My father lost power over this club long ago.