His Other Half (Patches Tarkio MC, #3) - Debra Kayn Page 0,44
Paco refused to let go of her hand. She could hear what he had to talk to his president about because it involved her.
"What's going on?" Priest ignored Josie and gave his attention to Paco while shutting the door behind him to the meeting room and standing in the hallway.
"I need to talk to you." Paco hitched his chin, stepped a few doors down, and entered one of the vacant bedrooms where the single Tarkio members often crashed.
Priest stayed at the entrance and left the door open. Paco put Josie's hand on his lower back, wanting her to hold on. Her fingers wrapped around his belt.
"I'll be staying at Josie's apartment until I stop the men from the Blackfoot reservation from coming after her," he announced. "I'll leave her phone number with Curley again to make sure he has it."
Priest glanced at Josie and back to him. "It's over. She's out. We're not going back in."
He suspected Priest's stance before he'd voiced his decision. It was one thing to eliminate a threat to a committed wife or old lady, but Priest only knew Josie as an employee at Banks' Body Shop, who he'd taken an interest in.
"She's a WAG now," he said.
"That doesn't change my opinion." Priest's gaze hardened.
He went by the rules of the club. If he claimed Josie, he had a right to go after Shaw. Security was probably sky high all over the casino and resort. It was a job to do alone. He wasn't asking for the club's help.
Josie's hand pulled at his belt. He put his arm around her. No matter how much she wanted to keep the reasons why Robert Shaw was after her, she would need to accept that Tarkio Motorcycle Club was the reason why she was standing with him today.
He'd signed his life over to the club and wore the patch. Tarkio would need to give him permission to go after Shaw.
"I'm not going to risk one of my men or put the club in jeopardy. One look at you, and the cops on the reservation would swarm and arrest you. If we rode in as a club, we'd all go down." Priest folded his arms across his chest. "We'll discuss this in the morning at the table. In the meantime, I'll put someone on you and make damn sure your ass stays in Missoula."
"That's bullshit, prez." Under the watchful eye of the club, he couldn't do shit.
"We'll talk in the morning." Priest clamped his hand on his shoulder. "In the meantime, go relax and know we have you and your WAG covered."
He escorted Josie out of the hallway and stopped at the side of the main room. Needing a few minutes to calm down, he put her in front of him—her back against his front—and let the music settle over him.
Priest gave him the answer he expected. But he was far from finished. He would go after Shaw.
If someone went after Prez's old lady, Nicole, Priest would be the first one to go. Any of the Tarkio members wearing a patch would do the same thing for their woman, their daughter.
He'd learned long ago not to hesitate and to go with his gut. If he had listened to his instinct years ago and not waited another day, Penny would be alive.
Josie squirmed in his arms and turned around to face him. He loosened his hold, not realizing he was holding on to her too tightly.
She stretched to her tiptoes and whispered in his ear. "What did you call me?"
He frowned, not understanding her question.
"You called me a wag?" she said.
He kissed her softly. "It's a status, meaning you belong to me. I claimed you."
Two tiny creases marred her brow, and she pulled away from him. He grabbed her wrist, not letting her leave.
"I..." She met his gaze, her mouth drawn in a straight line. "Give me a few minutes."
He let go of her. She walked away from him and headed toward the door. Halfway there, she veered over to the couch and approached Cami.
The two women whispered together, then walked out of the clubhouse leaning closely. Chrischris looked around the room and connected with Paco. His MC brother had the same curiosity about what was going on and why the women were leaving.
He shrugged, not having any clue about what had happened. Every woman he'd been with had tried to become a WAG. Every chick that hung around, hooking up with whatever biker wanted her for a few minutes of