She’d stood by me through thick and thin, legal and illegal activities, without really batting an eye, and I hadn’t realized until then just how little tangible credit I gave her for that.
It wasn’t that she was unready or unwillin’ to be the Iron Queen to my Fallen King… it was that I hadn’t been ready for the responsibility of draggin’ her entirely over to the dark side of life.
I thought of her today, holdin’ her own against that pig, McDougal, defendin’ Ares like a wrathful mama bear, and I knew she was already gracefully sittin’ on that chrome throne in our underworld, ready and wantin’ to rule by my side.
She had always been mine, since that first moment we locked eyes across the parkin’ lot at Mac’s Grocer, but now I understood that she was also ours; intractably Fallen.
I ducked my head to press a kiss to her fragrant hair and ran some of the silken strands over my fingers just to feel her, like pinchin’ yourself when you think you’re dreamin’.
“Mmm,” she hummed sleepily, stirring enough to rub her cheek sweetly against my chest. “Where’d you go?”
“A stray cat,” I explained, as I had before when Sander came callin’ to check on her.
“You know he’ll just keep coming if you keep feeding him,” she mumbled.
I swallowed my laughter. “Yeah, babe, I know.”
King
* * *
Every biker has a love affair with the road. It’s the rush of the wind mouthin’ love bites into your cheeks, the pull of it in your hair like a lover’s familiar fingers, and the thrum of the bike between you and the rushin’ asphalt, akin to ridin’ a chargin’ horse into battle, both dangerous and heady. I hooted into the cold night air just to taste the ocean brine on my tongue. Nova cried out behind me, ridin’ gunner in our formation with me as road captain at the lead. We were all high on the ride, eatin’ up miles under our treads and still yearnin’ for more. We would never be satisfied with a life off a bike, and that, more than the leather and the cussin’ and the clubhouse, was what made a man a biker.
My euphoria over the ride was tempered, though, by the fight that had broken out when I’d told the brothers in Church about my plan to offset the ambush.
The Old Guard, as Mute and I used to call them, were vehemently opposed to what they called my “dumbass, arrogant” plan. They wanted to vote to call off the drug run entirely.
Safe, easy, obvious.
The requisites for any decision they made.
I was not, as a rule, a fan of any’a those things.
Yeah, my plan was reckless and ballsy, but it was also damned clever.
If we could follow them after they grabbed our herb, we could discover the whereabouts of their warehouse and get an even bigger payout while still deliverin’ a valuable fuckin’ lesson in not messin’ with The Fallen MC.
I wasn’t a fully patched-in member, so I wasn’t allowed to witness the vote, let alone cast my own. So while I’d waited in the bar again like some kid in time-out with Ransom, I’d been frustrated and angry that my plan wouldn’t pass.
I was fuckin’ thrilled when Zeus opened the carved chapel doors to announce they’d voted in my favour. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he and Axe-Man had been the two to flip on the other older contingent.
Still, winnin’ was sour grapes because Skell, Heckler, Buck, and Wiseguy were not fuckin’ happy with me when they walked out to straddle their hogs and get down the mountain as part of the faction that would follow the Berserkers to their store house.
Zeus had slapped me on the back and ordered Ransom to pour me a beer. “You wanna be callin’ shots, you gotta be prepared to get the odd stray bullet to your gut.”
“Great,” I’d muttered into my beer, unused to havin’ people be angry with me.
“You get used to it. ’Sides, those old motherfuckers got a short memory.”
I grinned as I remembered the way my old man had winked and laughed. Joinin’ up with The Fallen had been the right decision, and I knew it every time I got to sit with my dad and shoot the shit with him like it was part of my job ’cause it was. If I’d gotten employment outside of the club, he would’ve loved me just the same, but I would’ve missed out on talkin’ to him in any kinda real way, because even the Prez’s son was exempt from club business if he wasn’t a member, and after Lou, that club was Zeus’s life.
I was sick and fuckin’ tired of being left out of the decision-makin’, though, which was why tonight was a massive gamble that absolutely fuckin’ had to pay off.