and went back to work.
Every time she glanced at Falcon and Rubble, she caught them looking at her. She had no idea what was going through their heads.
She counted the hours, the minutes, the seconds until she could go home.
Chapter 22
BLOOD COATED DUTCH'S face, blurring his vision. He swung his arm. His fist made a connection with a pop.
Tackled from the side, he landed on the table and rolled to the floor. Striking out, he wasn't finished with Poker. He'd break his fucking jaw to keep the fucker from opening his mouth again.
"Jesus, will you stop." Skull roared, throwing his body on top of Dutch.
"Get off me." He bellowed, swinging his fists.
Skull's body rolled off him with an oomph. Dutch turned to push off the floor, and someone behind him put him in a headlock, dropping him to his knees.
"You're done causing damage to any more of my members." Woody's arm tightened, cutting off Dutch's breathing. "I'll drop you right here and let every fucking member have a chance at you."
His chest heaved. He wasn't done.
Nobody could speak Marla Marie's name and walk away alive. Brother or no brother.
"Everyone, get out of here," shouted Woody.
Spots invaded Dutch's vision. Rage boiled inside of him. Prison had taken everything from him. He'd walked out with nothing, not even his freedom.
Taken off the road, Woody had him staying in Bellevue. He'd put fourteen fucking miles on his Harley since arriving. He couldn't live cooped up in one place.
None of the women available at the clubhouse replaced Marla Marie.
The drinks, the drugs, the fights only temporarily numbed him.
Every time he fucking turned around, something reminded him of what he'd lost. Even the clubhouse was filled with memories of Marla Marie. He couldn't go around Rachel and Skull's house because he expected her to be there. Every time he walked out of the clubhouse to get on his Harley, he expected to see her standing beside his motorcycle, bouncing up and down in excitement. The women hanging around touched him, and it was Marla Marie's hand he felt on his skin. Marla Marie's pussy, he imagined around his dick. Marla Marie's breasts, warming his chest.
He'd spent the last five years keeping to himself in prison, on guard, and fighting to keep the other gangs away from him. He wanted to sit in silence and have Marla Marie at his side, understanding his need to just fucking be—no questions, no irritating jabbing, no demands.
He couldn't sleep.
Hell, he couldn't breathe.
Woody let go of him. Dutch sagged forward, gasping for air.
It took him two attempts to gain his feet under him and stand. Even then, the room spun, threatening to knock him back down.
Skull slapped him on the back. He rocked forward onto the toes of his boots before landing flat-footed. He needed a drink.
Woody threw a towel at him. He caught it before it bounced off his chest to the floor. Wiping his face, he could feel the trickle of blood running down his forehead where Poker busted a damn beer bottle against his head.
"You need to stop fighting." Wood widened his stance. "I look around at my men, and half of them are wearing damage that came from you."
"Then, send me back on the road." He tongued his lower lip, swollen and sore. "If the cops want to come after me, they're going to nail me if I'm riding around Bellevue or out on the interstate."
"That risk is too big for WAKOM."
"Come on, man." He held the towel against his forehead. "If that was the case, the whole club would be sitting in prison. I took their interrogations and kept the club free. Five fucking years, fighting to stay alive in prison, so everyone else could sit pretty at home."
Woody exhaled heavily. His president knew what he'd done. His loyalty wasn't in question. It was the second time in his life he could've caved and handed over names in exchange for a lighter sentence or no sentence at all. He'd paid his dues in blood.
"We've regrouped and changed things since you've been here." Woody met his gaze.
"You're still laundering money. It can't change that much that you'd take me off the road."
Woody sighed. "The Feds will be watching you."
"Who's riding between the chapters now?" he asked.
"Allman."
"Keep him on the road, but let me be in charge of communication." He gritted his teeth as nausea hit him. "I'll take the brunt of the danger off him if the Feds are watching. It's harder to catch two of