Family Ties (Ashby Crime Family)

He barked out a laugh and accepted the joint I handed him. “When Gunnar left for Texas and wanted to form a Texas chapter, Cross was furious. Thought it was some backhanded bullshit way for him to take over, but he trusted Gunnar. He had our back all along even though he’s got his own thing. Now we’re trusting you.”

“It’s worked out well for us—and them—over the years.”

He pointed at me with a knowing smile. “Exactly. It’s been handy as fuck to have more brothers who have our backs. Remember that.”

I nodded and stared at the land that expanded behind the clubhouse. It was dry and gold from a hot summer, completely flat so no one could ever get the drop on us.

“But Opey, Texas is no different than Mayhem. We are family. What if some of this Black Jacks shit is aimed at the Ashbys?”

“Then we deal with it. Reckless Bastards will always come first, but Maisie is Gunnar’s sister, that makes her family, real, OG family and that will always mean something. The fact that Sadie has come through for us, that does too.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, Charlie. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

I nodded and motioned for him to keep the joint as I headed for my bike. I needed to clear my head and the best way to do that was to eat up the pavement on a long, solitary ride.

“You going for a ride alone?” Jameson’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked up into concerned gray eyes so similar to my own.

“Yeah. Got some thinkin’ to do. You need something?”

“No, but should the Prez really be going off alone with all this shit going down? I heard about the girls at Bungalow Three.”

I sighed and shook my head. “I’m strapped, little brother, don’t worry. I need to figure this shit out, and I need to do it on my own.”

A look of understanding flashed on his face and Jameson nodded. “All right. I’m just a call away if you need backup.”

“I know.” I could always count on my brother to have my back. “Hey, can you look into any properties owned by those fucking Jacks and their associates?”

“Consider it done.”

I took off on my bike, driving the back roads of Mayhem that led into Vegas and through Glitz, thinking about the kind of leader I wanted to be. Feared by my enemies and respected by my men. Ruthless when I had to be, understanding when it was called for.

Right now, though, I just needed to act like the goddamn president I was and get my girls back. And make the Jacks sorry they ever fucked with the Reckless Bastards.

Chapter Eight

Savannah

God, Jesus, universe, anybody? If you’re real and you’re out there listening to me, I just need one favor. One fucking favor. Please just let me die. Let the next hit or the next man who walks in here kill me. I can’t do this anymore. End my suffering now. Please.

I laid across the filthy motel bed that hadn’t been washed or changed since Blade fucked me up. In nothing but a pair of panties, I stared at the chipped and cracked ceiling, willing for death to take me. That bitch never came, though. Instead of death, I was met with the chills of withdrawal, the nausea that came from too many days without getting a fix, my punishment for not being fit to fuck.

It didn’t matter that Blade was the reason because he ran the Black Jacks MC, and he did it with a ruthless iron fist that no one dared question. Roadkill hadn’t even visited my room since the beating, a punishment for him as much as me, I supposed. But my punishment was worse. Much worse.

With no drugs to take the sting off my split lip and right eye still swollen shut, I had to suffer the pain sober. The sore, possibly broken ribs on my left side meant fuck-all to Blade, who made sure to send the roughest, most brutal clients to my room for the past forty-eight hours, with not even time off to sleep. I don’t know how many men came in and out of that door. I stopped counting at thirty.

Now I just counted the cracks in the ceiling and hoped drugs, withdrawals, or some crazy dude with a fucked up need would kill me quickly. Hell, I’d even settle for one of my ribs puncturing a lung. A long painful death was better than living another day of this miserable fucking existence.

The door flew open dramatically, and I didn’t even flinch, didn’t even respond to whoever had entered my room. I just waited for the customer to do whatever he’d come to do, hoping that maybe he’d get a little too rough and kill me.

But I heard, “Holy shit, girl.”