White Lies (Lost Kings MC 15)

“Working there isn’t bad,” Rav says. “I’m a night owl anyway. I get to watch naked chicks work the pole. Once in a while, I get to knock some handsy motherfucker out. What’s not to love?” He slides his gaze Sparky’s way. “Willow keeps me fed and hydrated.”

Sparky glares at him, and I almost choke on my laughter. Maybe Sparky’s planning to step up and claim Willow’s ass one day soon. Stranger things have happened around here.

“Thank you, Rav.” Rock turns to Teller. “He’ll need a bump in salary.”

“Got it.”

“Jigsaw and Steer said they’re willing to ride up and help out whenever we’re short-handed at CB,” Z says. “Or just in general.”

“Appreciate that.” Rock glances at Dex with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’m cool with that. Got to hang with Jiggy more on the trip.” Dex slides his gaze Rav’s way. “He’s got some motormouth issues like numbskull over there, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Hey now!” Rav throws his arms wide like he’s offended, but he’s laughing too hard for anyone to take him seriously.

Rock taps the gavel. “All right. I think we’re done.”

General members may have been dismissed, but I know damn well not to leave the room.

I stand and grip the back of my chair, running my thumb over the slick wood edge and smooth leather. Been in this chair since I was eighteen years old. Never expected to stitch any other patch besides Road Captain on my cut.

Rock stands and pulls Z in for a hug. “Thanks for coming up.”

“Hell yeah.” Z slaps Rock’s back then takes a few steps my way, to hook one arm around my neck for a choke-hug. “Wouldn’t miss nominating little bro for anything.”

“Why don’t you give him a noogie while you’re at it.” From his tone, it’s hard to tell if Wrath’s defending me or handing out suggestions.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

“Get off me.” I slap Z’s knuckles off my scalp and shoot a glare at him. “You out of your mind?”

Wrath leans back. “So, I should close the door for this, huh?”

“Nah, let him talk it out with Dad solo,” Z says.

“Don’t give a fuck what patch you’re wearing, I will knock you the fuck out if you call me ‘dad’ again,” Rock growls, giving Z a sideways shove.

The warning seems to calm Z down. He looks at each one of us and shakes his head. “I can’t believe this. We’ve been…we built this club together.” His gaze lands on Teller and then me. “I had a hand in corrupting you two since you were wee big.” He holds his hand a few feet off the floor.

Teller rolls his eyes. “Don’t give yourself too much credit.”

Z’s mood swings back to solemn. “Sway’s club wasn’t in as bad a shape as we were back then, but it’s still weird without you two around. We wouldn’t have survived all the shit Ruger tried to do to the club if it wasn’t for the risks you two took.”

“Teller’s the one who ended up in Juvie,” I remind them.

“Only because you were too young to go,” Wrath says. “That pudgy baby face fooled people for a long time.”

I slap my cheeks. “I’m not pudgy or baby-faced.”

“Not anymore.” Z reaches out and tugs on my beard. “Besides, how would we know? No one’s seen your face in over a decade.”

“Fuck me, are we really old enough to measure things by the decade?” Teller grumbles.

“Welcome to this thing called life,” Wrath says.

“You should shave that off before the wedding.” Z nods like it’s the best idea he’s ever had. “Make sure Heidi knows what she’s hitching herself to.”

“Probably scare the shit out of Alexa if you came home with no beard.” Teller laughs.

“That’s mean.”

Rock aims his patient-president face at Z. “Were you in the middle of contributing something useful a few seconds ago?”

“Probably afraid he was going to cry,” Teller says.

Wrath points at Z. “Your eyes are a little misty. What’s going on, bro?”

“I don’t know why I’m worried about missing any of you assholes.” Z wraps his hands around the back of his chair and leans over it. “I’m bummed, all right? For some reason, I—”

“We’re going to miss you, too,” Rock says quietly. “There’s a Z-shaped hole in this clubhouse, brother.”

“It’s more Michelin-Man-shaped.” Wrath waves a hand at Z’s middle. “What the fuck you eating down there?”

“Now you did it.” Teller claps his hands. “Everyone knows Wrath gets meaner when he catches feelings.” He gestures toward Wrath. “Tell Z you love him and get it over with.”

Still bristling over the Michelin-Man comment, Z pats his middle. “Turns out my wife’s a fucking amazing cook.” He lifts his shirt, showing off that he still has his abs and the rest of us groan.

“Put that away.” Teller slaps one hand over his eyes. “No one wants to see your misery trail.”

“Trail of tears,” Z corrects. He leans over and grabs Teller’s shirt, lifting it. “What’s wrong, little bro? Still not enough testosterone to grow your own happy trail?”

Teller shoves Z and runs his hands through his hair. “I’m fair-haired everywhere. Stop molesting me, you big gorilla.”

“That was more information than anyone needed.” Wrath rolls his eyes.

“Is this your version of reverse psychology?” Rock’s dry tone does plenty to convey his annoyance. “Be as irritating as possible so we won’t miss you?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s working,” Teller grumbles.

Z shakes off all the jokes and drills me with a serious stare. “That VP patch is yours, brother. You’ve more than earned it.”

My gaze goes to Rock then Wrath. “I always thought maybe I’d take over SAA if Wrath went to National or wanted to step down.”

“Fuck National,” Wrath growls.

“And you see why I can’t have him as VP,” Rock says. “I may possess slightly more tact than Mr. Cheerful over here.” He tilts his head toward Wrath who smirks. “But I still can’t stand most people. We have certain…alliances I have to deal with personally, but the rest of ’em? I need someone as the face of the club who can at least pretend to be friendly and charming.”

I blink and stare at him. “And you think that’s me?”

Rock lifts his chin Teller’s way. “Well, it sure as fuck isn’t that Knucklehead who feels the need to voice every thought that pops in his head.”

“Hey now.” Teller presses his hands over his heart as if he’s mortally offended. “I’ve gotten much better.”

“Can you see me sending him to town hall to finagle the permits we need for the new clubhouse without him giving them an earful about why all the red tape is bullshit designed to justify their pointless jobs that drain taxpayer dollars?” Rock asks.

Teller grins.

“So, if I act like an asshole, can I get out of work, too?” I ask with my own shit-eating grin.

“Teller does plenty.” Rock’s expression hardens. “Money doesn’t care

about his piss-poor personality skills.”

“Speaking of.” Teller sits up. “There’s a payment for Z.”

Z holds up his hands. “I’m technically not—”

“Fuck off,” Teller says. “This was years in the making. You’re entitled to your share.”

Z stares at the table for a few seconds. “We got a lot more coming?”

“Enough to put a few kids through college.”

Z snorts. “Can you set up some sort of trust-thingie I can draw from for downstate? I don’t feel right…I don’t know. I get that downstate had nothing to do with those investments, but they’re my responsibility now.”

“Whatever you want, brother.”

“It still needs to stay between us,” Wrath reminds him.

Z raises his right hand. “I’ll take it to my grave.”

“I set Hustler up with some investments, and I’ll continue to monitor them,” Teller says. “Hopefully that helps. From what I saw, now that it’s being managed better, your “classy” pornos should bring in the dollars.”

“Bro.” Z slaps Teller’s shoulder. “I appreciate it, but you don’t need to do the work for two clubs.”

“The day-to-day shit is Hustler’s problem. But he doesn’t know dick about balancing a portfolio.” Teller taps his chin a few times and grins. “Think of me as your investment consultant.”

“Thanks, brother.”

Once the money talk’s over, Rock gives everyone a leave-us-alone head jerk.

Teller nods at me before closing the door.

“Sit,” Rock says, pointing to Z’s chair.

“Prez, I’m honored to be nominated.” Might as well get to the point. Honesty is right up there with loyalty as qualities Rock respects the most. “I don’t know if I’m ready for Vice President.”

“Would I let you take the job if I didn’t think you were the right person?”

There’s no denying that from the day Rock stitched that President patch onto his cut, every decision has been in the best interest of the club. “I guess not.”

“The VP’s job is to make my life easier.” One corner of his mouth tips up. “I’m getting too old for this shit. I’m certainly not doing anything to make my job harder.”