Blood & Bones - Rev (Blood Fury MC 8)

“Nothing. I… I… I just thought I was in trouble for something.” She grimaced and nervously tugged her hair over her scar.

Deacon noticed the movement she did out of habit, especially when she was anxious, and scowled. “What the fuck would you be in trouble for? What’d you do?”

She sat back, drew a blank mask over her face and cheerily chirped, “Nothing.”

Both Deacon and Trip cocked their right eyebrows, reminding her of synchronized swimmers.

Shit.

“If you got somethin’ to share, share it,” Trip ordered. “If you’re hidin’ shit that might hurt the club and I find out, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“I’m not. I swear.”

Trip sat back in his high-backed chair and gripped the armrests tightly. “Better not be lyin’.”

“Is one of the prospects fuckin’ with you? That Scar? Is he tryin’ shit?” Deacon asked, leaning forward, holding her gaze.

Huh? “No. He doesn’t even talk to me.”

“Good,” Trip grunted. “Stay clear of him ’til we got a better handle on him.” The club president sharply clapped his hands together once. “All right. Don’t wanna be up here all night. Wanna go get fucked up and then go get fucked. So, let’s get this shit over with.” He held his hand up. “On a side note, you know you can go to Deke about anythin’, right? He’s responsible for you.”

What? This was news to her. “He is?” Her gaze swung back and forth between the two men. “Since when?”

“Since the second he claimed your sister as his ol’ lady. And once you decided to stay, become part of the club and he made you one of the untouchables.”

“About that—”

“No.” Trip shook his head. “We got other shit to talk about. We ain’t dealin’ with that tonight.”

“I don’t want to be on that list.”

“That’s not negotiable ’til your sister says otherwise,” Deacon said.

“Which will be never,” she muttered.

Deacon shrugged, crossed his arms over his chest and sat back. “Work it out with her. I ain’t fightin’ that fight.”

Trip chuckled. “Yeah, ‘cause he don’t want to be outside lookin’ in. And by lookin’ in, I don’t mean her fuckin’ windows.”

“Ain’t gonna lie. That’s fuckin’ true. Ain’t givin’ up pussy for you to get dick,” Deacon said.

Reilly rolled her eyes. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

“You want dick, just get it elsewhere,” Deacon said with another shrug.

“Annnnnd thanks for that advice on how to get laid. But if we really want to get down to it, I don’t need permission from anyone.” She shrugged just like Deacon had and added a raised chin in a clear challenge as she stared back at him.

“Right,” Trip said, his head swiveling back and forth between her and the club treasurer. “But just not with any of our brothers. Or prospects. Get it elsewhere so you ain’t causin’ problems.”

“So… no one cares if I fuck some hobo living by the railroad tracks, but you only care if it’s someone I’ve known for the past year because they wear a Fury cut.”

“Yep,” Trip agreed. “Now, we’re done talkin’ about your sex life and where you need to find dick and we’re gonna talk about the reason we brought you the fuck up here. Don’t got all fuckin’ night. I’m thirsty, hungry and horny.”

It was her turn to sit back in her chair and cross her arms over her chest with impatience. “Then spill whatever you’re going to say.”

Trip’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared under his ball cap. “Damn, woman. Don’t make me change my fuckin’ mind about handin’ you this opportunity.”

She dropped her crossed arms. “What opportunity?”

“You ready to listen?” Trip asked smartly.

Reilly pinned her mouth shut and opened her ears. The word opportunity made her think this wasn’t going to be an interrogation but about something else entirely. That whatever they brought her upstairs for was possibly good and not bad.

“Guess that’s a yes.” Deacon grinned.

“You ain’t stupid…” Trip started.

What kind of conversation starter was that?

She opened her mouth and Trip lifted a hand to stop her. “You talkin’ or listenin’?”

Reilly flapped her hand at him to continue.

“Like I was sayin’, you ain’t stupid and you got business smarts. We ain’t usin’ you to your full potential with you workin’ for Dutch. Also like that you don’t take no shit, so you’d have no problem runnin’ a crew made up of possible dickheads.”

“Coulda omitted the word ‘possible,’” Deacon informed him.

“A crew?” she asked, more confused than ever.

Trip lifted one eyebrow and she shut up.

He continued. “You got a business degree you’re wastin’…”

“Have you been talking to Reese?” she accused him with a frown.

“Woman,” Trip breathed impatiently. The club president had a trigger temper and she could see he was edging toward it.

“Sheesh. All right. Go on.”

Trip pulled his cap off his head, raked fingers through his hair, slapped the hat back on and blew out a noisy breath. He glanced at Deacon, shook his head and then looked back at her. “Pushin’ my buttons, Lee,” he warned.