eye on them, but these bikes belonged to my brothers from Coeur d’Alene.
“Pic inside?” I asked the prospect. He nodded, and I opened the door to find the men sitting around, laughing and talking. I took in the scene, spotting Picnic, Hunter, and Cord sitting around a table in the back having what looked to be an intense talk. Then Pic spotted me and waved me over.
“How was your date?” he asked, smirking. “Looks like it ended earlier than you planned.”
Rolling my eyes, I pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. Pic slid an unopened beer toward me. Popping the top, I took a drink and then set it down. “That cunt Talia showed up at Jack’s. Tried to attack Tinker, made a hell of a scene.”
Cord raised a brow. “You keep your shit tight?”
“Yeah,” I told him. “Got Talia out of there. Gave her some money and suggested she leave town. She talked to Marsh somehow—they’re out to get us, no question. Marsh made threats, too.”
“Marsh won’t be coming back, not for years,” Hunter said, leaning forward against the table. “I like that Dobie Coales guy—doesn’t blink, doesn’t back down. If he says it’s covered, I tend to believe him.”
“If Marsh gets out somehow, we’ll deal with him,” Cord added grimly. “Fucker sets foot in this town, we’ll put him in the ground. Still can’t believe it got to this. We’re lucky you didn’t take our colors and call it good.”
“Nobody wins if we lose good men who’ve been loyal for years,” Pic said. “And the brothers in prison are counting on us. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, but it’s not like you voted for him.”
“No, he already had the club under control when I finished my term,” Cord said, sighing.
Pic turned to me. “So why are you here and not standing outside Tinker’s window with a boom box?”
“Because I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid,” I answered, shrugging. “Last time you told me to cool off before going to see her—I didn’t and things fell to shit. Even I can learn. I’ll go talk to her after I finish here.”
“You gonna bring her to the party tomorrow night? London wants to meet her. All the girls do, actually. You’ll be providing our entertainment for the evening.”
“In that case, I’m definitely not bringing her,” I announced, folding my arms and leaning back in my chair. Pic snorted, and I shook my head for emphasis. Then my president frowned.
“Ah fuck,” he said. “You win. We’ll be good, but for the love of God, bring the woman. Otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it. Consider that a direct order from your president, for what it’s worth.”
Raising my beer, I gave him a little salute, then looked to Hunter.
“You taking good care of our Emmy girl?” I asked. Hunter and Picnic’s daughter—Em—had been together for nearly two years now, and while the two men could stand to be in the same room together, I wouldn’t have called them close.
“Em’s gorgeous, like always,” Hunter said, grinning. “I’m a lucky man.”
“She pretty wild in the sack?” I asked, shooting a sly glance toward my president.
Pic stiffened. “Shut your fucking mouth. We’re not having a conversation about my daughter’s sex life. Ever.”
Mission accomplished. I took another healthy swallow of beer, then pulled out my phone to see what time it was.
“Think I’ll go check on Tinker before it gets too late.”
TINKER
GAGE: I’ll be at your place in 20 minutes so we can talk
ME: Tomorrow. Too much drama for one night
GAGE: I’m not going away Tinker. We need to deal with this
ME: Too tired. Grumpy. I have to be up early tomorrow anyway.
GAGE: 20 minutes
I dropped the phone on the couch, flopping back to stare at the ceiling. God, but I was sick of pushy men. Suddenly the strains of “The Imperial March” burst out of my phone, and I jumped.
You summoned him with your thoughts, I told myself darkly, reaching for the cell. Sure enough, Brandon was calling me, because I hadn’t suffered enough for one night. Some people die from weird, rare diseases. I’m going to die from a pushy-male overdose.
“Yes?” I asked, my voice sharp.
“Just listen to me,” he said. “Okay?”
I considered the request. “If I give you five minutes, once I hang up you don’t call again. Ever. All further communication goes through the lawyers.”
“Five minutes,” he agreed, although I knew him far too well to believe he actually meant it. Whatever. Worst-case scenario, maybe I could get a restraining order. That’d