down for another kiss. “That’s what you were talking about last night, how you’d stay in the area and work with Gunny and Truck?”
Bane smiled against her lips. “And here I thought you were fast asleep, me talkin’ to myself.” He brushed his mouth against hers a final time, his focus still on her. “Yeah, I get to keep my patch and my brothers, and those two’ll leave the RWMC and come over to play for our team for a while. We all know it’s only for a couple of years, then we’ll all be under the Rebel skull and key. But it means a lot, them giving me the president patch and takin’ a chance I’ll be a half-decent leader.”
“And your old president, he’s happier with this than you leaving his club, no matter where you’d go?”
“He sure as fuck is.” The booming voice from behind her startled Myrt, and she jumped forwards, plastering herself against Bane, ducking underneath the dark leather of his vest. “Shit fire, I scared your woman, Bane. Your little mouse needs to get used to me. Y’all are gonna be seein’ a lot of me and my old lady.”
She turned to see the man who’d fetched them from Truck’s house standing next to the woman she’d met yesterday, Peaches. “You’re Blackie?” Peaches’ grin was wide as her husband’s when he nodded, shoving a hand towards Myrt. She carefully accepted, shocked as hers was enfolded entirely by his. Tugging free, she angled her body against Bane, loving the strength at her back. “Pleased’ta meetcha.” She paused a breath, then remembered he was in essence Bane’s boss and added, “Sir. Blackie, sir.”
Chin lifting, Blackie stroked a hand down his beard, grinning widely. “I like that. Sir Blackie.” He flung an arm out, finger pointing to everyone in the room. “You heard it, she named me. I’m keepin’ it. She’s Bane’s Little Mouse, and I’m Sir Blackie. Write alla this shit down, woman.” He looked down at Peaches, who had threaded her fingers around his belt, holding herself upright while laughing. “Write. It. Down. This just fuckin’ happened.”
“Gonna get her situated, then I’ll come outside.” Bane pulled a chair out for Myrt and put his hands on her shoulders, guiding her down. “Where you wanna do this thing, Blackie?” His lips grazed her cheek, and a hand stroked down her braid to her back, heat settling where he touched her. “Who you want there?”
“Like he could keep any of us away.” Myrt looked past Blackie at several men who’d crowded in behind him, all faces familiar from the brief greetings in the yard yesterday. The speaker had hair nearly as long as hers, and his face split with a grin as he flipped it over his shoulder. “Me, Mason, Twisted, Wrench—fuck, everybody is still here, man. We all want to see this shit happen. Historic. The dominants of the area not only allowing a new charter, but actively encouraging it by allowing their own men to patch over. Hell, even one of my Bastards has expressed interest, and there’s another guy I’d been eyeing who’s on his way down now to talk to you. This news has already spread far and wide, and has been well received.”
Longer hair seemed to be the norm for some of these men, and another spoke up from his position leaning against the wall near the entrance to the dining room. “I heard tell a couple of my boys are interested too, Bane. Gonna fill your fuckin’ roster before you even have to go out recruitin’. That’s some shit right there.” He glanced at the other man. “Retro, who you got comin’ down?” Their conversation faded as Myrt turned her attention back to Bane, who seemed to be holding a staring contest with a man standing beside Blackie.
“Mason, you standing witness today, too?” Bane’s fingers tightened on her shoulder, and Myrt twisted to look up at him. His expression was cautious, and she looked back at the man to whom he’d spoken, seeing lines of strain there.
Mason nodded. “You’ve learned of our struggles along the Gulf Coast; hell, you’ve lived some of them. You’re the man for the job, and I want everyone in our worlds to know you’ve my full support. Hundred percent, brother. Rebels stand with Freed Riders, no matter the charter. My hand to God.” He lifted a palm, then reached out and laid it on Blackie’s shoulder, much as Bane’s rested on hers. “My brother here is a