have to be any talking. This is more than club business,” Kimber insisted. “We are total assists.”
Rhino tipped his head. “Did you say asshats?”
“Petra,” Fancy growled, “you better get your man.”
“This,” Quinn boomed, “this is why you three aren’t coming into church. I need some kind of fucking order which isn’t possible when you guys are butting in and saying whatever the hell you want.”
“He called us asshats,” Kimber pouted.
Rhino held up his hands. “I heard asshats. I was just trying to clarify.”
Quinn ran his fingers through his hair. “A fucking circus instead of a motorcycle club.” He stormed off down the hallway. “Get your asses to church, now!”
Kimber cringed. “Maybe we should just stay here. You know we’ll get all the info once they come out.”
Fancy flopped back on the couch. “Fine, but just know since we’re doing this now, we’re never going to be let into church.”
And that would be a good thing.
“I’ll let you guys know what happens,” Queenie promised.
“You better, girlfriend.” Kimber grabbed the remote and turned back on the TV. “I bet they’re gonna air the Gunner story again at six. We should watch it again and record it this time.”
We all filed into church and Queenie sat next to me.
“You good?” I asked softly.
She looked up at me, hope in her eyes. “You always ask me that.”
“Because I can’t ever tell if you are good. You seem good, but I know you’re also good at faking being good.” Queenie acted like an open book, but she really wasn’t. Years of being put on the back burner had perfected her ability to fade into the background while she helped everyone else. Queenie wasn’t going to do that with me.
“Oh, yeah?” she laughed. “You think I’m a faker?”
I leaned close. “Not what I meant, sugar.” Queenie had said herself she kept her shit bottled inside and didn’t let it out.
“Well, I’m good, Sledge, and I’m not a faker,” she insisted.
“If you say so, Queenie.”
“Do you think this is going to be good news?” She looked around the table. “You guys do this kind of thing often?”
“Church?” I laughed. “Yeah, sugar. They’re like work meetings.”
“Because being a badass biker is your job, right?”
“That and other things.”
Quinn stood at the head of the table and folded his arms over his chest.
“We’re gonna talk about those other things once this is all over,” she whispered.
“Let’s get to it,” Quinn barked.
Queenie leaned into me and held her breath.
“Dyno and I talked to Brick today. Four of the five guys panned out to not have any connection with Duchess.”
Queenie dropped her hand to my leg and squeezed.
“Raymond Clark is a different story, though.”
“You guys ready for a wild story?” Dyno asked. “Because this shit is going to get insane.”
“I’m gonna ban your ass from church, too,” Quinn growled.
“Come on,” Dyno insisted. “You gotta admit this shit is crazy, Quinn. Gunner has royalty in his blood.”
Queenie scrunched up her nose. “Uh, what?”
Quinn pointed his finger at Dyno. “Keep your mouth shut and stop confusing everyone.”
“Royalty,” Dyno whispered.
“Fucking Christ.” Quinn shook his head. “Raymond Clark is the son of Bella and Jimmy Clark. Third born and third in line to take over the family business.”
“At least, he was until he got strung out on meth and killed his dealer,” Dyno mumbled.
“What is the family business?” Point asked.
Quinn sighed. “Donuts.”
“No, no,” Dyno interrupted. “Not just any donuts. Mother fucking King Donuts.”
“That’s what you meant by royalty?” Queenie asked.
“Have you ever had a King Donut? They’re the best shit around.” Dyno licked his lips. “They have three locations just in Whitmore with twenty-five more in the state.”
“You really know your donut facts,” Rhino laughed.
Dyno pointed his finger at Rhino. “When they are as good as King Donuts, you can bet your ass I know my facts.”
“So Gunner’s dad is Raymond Clark, heir to the donut crown,” I summarized.
Dyno pointed at me. “Third in line to the crown. His older twin brothers get first crack at it.”
“But he’s in prison. Pretty sure that shot isn’t going to happen,” Zephyr laughed.
“It’s not, at least not for the next twenty-seven years. Ol’ Raymond was unlucky and landed him a judge who wasn’t dazzled by his parents’ money.” Quinn laid his hand on the table.
“So what does this all mean? Raymond couldn’t have been trying to kill me since he’s in prison and his family is in the donut business. Hardly murderers.” Queenie sighed. “Are you about to tell me that we’ve hit another dead end?”
Quinn shook his head.