already did for the unfortunate turn his life had taken.
“Knock, knock,” he said as he reached the open door of Copper’s office. It had taken more than a few minutes to worm his way through the bustling clubhouse.
“Curly, hey, come on in, man.” The ginger-headed, bearded giant waved him into his office. “Grab a seat. Want me to have a prospect grab you a drink?”
“No, I’m good.”
Lowering himself into a chair opposite Copper’s desk, Curly scanned the office as he always did when in Copper’s space. Back in the day, his own office had a desk, a shelf with a bunch of liquor bottles, and a few chairs.
Copper, on the other hand, had a basket of kids toys in on corner, pictures of him and his club brothers on the walls, a framed wedding picture of him and his gorgeous bride on the desk, and no less than ten hand-drawn pictures taped to the walls right about the height a five-year-old could reach.
The stark contrast between the offices was the perfect representation of the differences between their clubs. The True Outlaws MC had been just that. True fucking outlaws. They’d participated in just about every illegal operation there was. Drug, guns, money laundering, theft, prostitution, you name it, they had their grimy hands in it. He and his brothers had been cocky, thought themselves above the law, and didn’t give a shit about anyone other than themselves. Sometimes they didn’t even give a shit about their supposed brothers.
Curly had been as guilty as of being a world-class jackoff as any of them. Maybe more so since he led the club.
Copper’s club didn’t run that way. They had several profitable legal businesses as well as some less than legal ventures, but they kept their noses cleaner than Curly ever had.
And the men had each other’s backs one hundred percent. Even the women were close. Sisters more than friends, which was mind-blowing. If his memory served him right, the women associated with the TOs were catty bitches who’d claw each other’s faces off at the slightest provocation.
“So,” Copper said, steepling his fingers. “You asked for this meeting. What can I do for you?”
“Shit, sorry. Been lost in my head a lot lately.”
With a shrug, Copper leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard. Early on, LJ informed him that their prez did it when deep in thought himself. “You finally thinking about patching in?”
Same question as Holly.
“No,” he said, cringing when Copper frowned. “Not exactly. Copper, I’m gonna try not to sound like an ungrateful fucker here because you and your club have welcomed me in a way I never expected, but I don’t think I can stay here and be one of you guys.”
Copper’s hand stilled on his beard before he dropped it to the desk. “You’re thinking of leaving town?”
Hearing Copper say it helped solidify the decision as the right one. Much as he’d enjoyed his time in Tennessee with the Handlers, it wasn’t where he belonged. “I am. Nothing against your leadership, but I’m not sure I can be part of a club and not be the prez. I’m sorry. I suppose I have good reason, but I’ve got trust issues coming out my fucking ears.”
“Hmm,” Copper said. “I’m not even gonna pretend to understand the shit that must have gone through your head every day since the conviction. That kinda thing would destroy most of us. You’ve more than earned the right to have problems trusting. Feel what you’re gonna feel, man. We’re not big on judgment around here.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” And that acceptance was one of the things that impressed him most about the club. “Actually, watching you with your men has given me an idea, which is what I was hoping to talk to you about.”
“Okay? Shoot.” Copper leaned back in his chair and folded those massive arms across his chest. His was of settling in to listen.
Curly swallowed down a torrent of nerves he hadn’t noticed until right then. He only had a few years on Copper’s almost forty-one, but it seemed like a lifetime with what he’d gone through over the past decade. He felt like an old, bitter, has-been compared to the vital and commanding Copper.
Curly had been like that once and mourned those parts of himself.
But maybe with the right motivation, he could get them back. He cleared his throat. “I’m thinking it’s about time I head down to Florida.”
Copper’s face morphed into a dropped-jaw expression of shock that made Curly