Wirth (Dirty Aces MC #5) - Lane Hart Page 0,40

down, his eyes wide in surprise, mouth gaping in disbelief.

“You touch that goddamn gun again and I’ll blow your head off myself, Hunt,” Malcolm warns him. “This is all your fucking fault for not telling us about the Irish before you patched in and for not keeping your girls in line.”

“My fault?” Hunt scoffs as he straightens again.

“That’s right,” Malcolm agrees. “Glad you’re starting to get it.”

“This is all on him,” Hunt says, pointing his finger at me.

“I didn’t get anyone shot or killed,” I respond. “Fiasco still isn’t on his feet because of you. So, turn your fucking finger right the hell around.”

That finally shuts him up. Hunt leans his back against the far wall and slips his hands into his pockets. The man is a hothead. I think he could make a decent president eventually; he just needs to take responsibility for shit.

“What the fuck were you thinking, man?” Malcolm asks me.

I consider his question for a moment before responding. “Probably the same thing you were thinking when you kept Naomi around even after you knew she was stealing from you.”

Malcolm’s jaw clenches in anger, but I’m not finished.

“Maybe I thought the same thing that Devlin was thinking when we had to go on a murder spree to save his girl.”

Dev holds his palms up in surrender. “You got me there.”

“Do I need to call out Nash and Silas too, or are you all getting the fucking point?”

“There’s a difference. Maeve can’t ever be trusted,” Malcolm says. “She’ll never choose you over her own brother.”

“She didn’t know the Irish were going to shoot up the bar that night! She thought they were only going to damage the bikes to try and scare the Knights away,” I explain.

“Bullshit,” Hunt huffs from where he’s still holding up the wall.

“Was she naive? Hell yes,” I tell them. “But she did it to try and protect her brother. I think we can all understand that on some level, right?”

“The Irish are still our enemy for drawing blood first,” Malcolm says. “And with her brother part of them, she’s still our enemy too.”

“I know that,” I reply. “But if you give me one more chance to clean this shit up like you said, I think I may be able to smooth things out.”

“Oh yeah? And what if you fail?” Nash asks.

“Then you can take my cut and kill me if that’s what the table votes to do.”

Chapter Eighteen

Maeve

Even after Rian called last night saying he was safe, I knew the beef between the MC and the Irish wasn’t even close to being finished. That’s why I couldn’t sleep a wink. In my mind, I kept trying to figure out a way to get both sides to back down and have come up empty.

I’m not sure if there’s nothing to be done or…

When I hear someone knock on my door late that afternoon, I’m shocked speechless when I look out the peephole and see Wirth on the other side. A pair of aviator sunglasses cover his eyes, and the rest of him is, well, bigger, angrier and sexier than he has any right to look. Except…something is missing. He’s not wearing his leather cut over his t-shirt, which is odd.

I didn’t think I would ever see him again. In fact, his last words to me were that we were done. I wish he’d told me he was coming so I could’ve changed. Instead, I’m wearing a pair of ratty old boy short panties and thin tank top with no bra, but I don’t think he’ll care what I have on. He looks too pissed to even notice.

I quickly flip the locks and open the door to let him in. “Hey,” I say, sounding out of breath from just seeing him again.

“You fucked me over,” he grits out, face tense, making me wish I could see his eyes to see if there’s any chance he’ll ever forgive me.

“What I did…it was for the best,” I reply, crossing my arms under my breasts defensively. “None of your friends died and none of the Irish did either!”

“No, they didn’t, but my neck is on the line now. Everyone figured out it was me who told you about our plan. Do you know what the MC does to assholes who betray them?” he asks.

“H-how did they find out? Do they know what I did?”

“Hell yes they know what you did, that you were only fucking the Knights to give intel back to the Irish. Hunt wants you dead.”

“Oh,”