Jack (The Kings of Mayhem MC Tennessee 1)

Emotion blooms in my chest.

He doesn’t know it.

But Jack has just let down another wall.

JACK

“Kids and a stray bullet! Are you fucking kidding me?” Ghoul states. “What are the fucking chances?”

“Actually, the odds are a lot better than you think,” Banks replies. “You’re more likely to get hit by a stray bullet than bit by a shark. Of course, it all depends on the variables. Someone in East Tennessee is less likely to get bit because there’s no ocean. But someone in say, Australia, who visits the beach more often is more likely to get bit. But a bullet will more likely happen on land… that’s a whole new set of odds… and we inhabit land more than the ocean. Hence, the odds are in favor of the stray bullet. It all comes down to probability, odds, and risk assessment.”

Looking exhausted, Wyatt raises an eyebrow at him. “Let me guess, you went to prom alone.”

Banks pushes up his glasses and then gives Wyatt a good look at his middle finger.

Church is in session.

Everyone is here, except Paw, Venom, and Dakota Joe.

“Doesn’t seem right, though, does it? Our president getting shot, and it being a big fucking mistake,” Gabe says.

“Feels like someone should have to pay,” Gambit growls.

“They was kids,” Earl reminds him. “Don’t see much point in wishin’ somethin’ bad on a bunch of shitty kids who don’t know how to shoot straight.”

“Earl is right. We walk away from this. Move forward. Lockdown is over.”

There is a sigh of relief around the table. For almost two weeks, all my Kings of Mayhem brothers and their old ladies and kids have been locked down in the clubhouse. Thankfully, the old hotel has the capacity to house everyone without it being too cramped, and fortunately, no one has gone postal with the forced isolation. But any longer and an intense dose of cabin fever would whip through the group faster than a knife fight in a phone booth.

“Thank Christ for that. Misty is driving me fucking crazy,” Munster says. His old lady is an ex-dancer from Vegas and can be demanding at the best of times. He uses the clubhouse as an escape from her. It isn’t the happiest of unions, but it’s one that neither seems interested in quitting.

Merrick claps his hands together. “Man, I need to get over to Candy Town and let off some steam.”

From what Shooter tells me, Merrick’s been letting off steam with the club girls for the past ten days.

Bringing down the gavel, I wrap up church quickly, which suits my brothers just fine. Some of them are keen to get their families out of the clubhouse and home, while others just want to ride or go in pursuit of pussy.

Ghoul stands. “I’m jumping on my girl and riding up to The House of Sin. Don’t try calling me for at least a week. Gonna lose myself in some high-quality pussy until I’m shooting fucking blanks.”

“I’m coming with you,” Gambit says.

“I’m up for that,” Merrick states.

“What about Candy Town?” Ghoul asks.

“Fuck, Candy Town. I want myself a nice, sweet piece of mountain pie.”

“What about you?” Shooter asks me. “You heading home?”

I shake my head. “Nah, I’m going back to fucking bed.”

Church has taken it out of me. I want to get back to my room and fall into bed. With Bronte.

A distant voice in the back of my head tells me I should send her on her way. To stop myself from getting swept up in something that could hurt us both. But the idea of feeling her warmth beside me again tonight is too much of a temptation to resist, and I’m too much of a selfish sonofabitch to even try.

But I don’t get there.

As I leave church, Shooter and Ares pull me aside. Paw, Venom, and Dakota Joe have arrived back.

“You’re not going to believe this, brother,” Paw says.

The six of us head down the hallway toward the stairs leading to the basement. A single light is on, and in the middle of the room is a man, and he’s busted up.

I look at Paw, and he nods.

My jaw tightens.

“Are you up to this?” Shooter asks. “Because if you need to step this one out, we’ve got this.”

“Believe me, it will be a pleasure,” Ares adds darkly.

I shake my head. The blood in my veins is already boiling. “No,” I answer quickly.

Though it weighs heavily on my heart, this is my job as president, and as long as I wear that patch on my cut, I’m going to do what every good president does. Protect my club and those loyal to it.

Accepting Paw’s Ruger from him, I turn my back on that part of me that is sick of all the blood and the killing and step into the light.

The man with the blood oozing from his nose and puke dripping from his lips, has it coming. Tied to a chair, he groans as he weaves in and out of consciousness.