“Thanks, President.” Dash turned the box over in his palms, removing a cut. “You don’t know what this means.”
Yeah, I fucking did. Dad trusted in me and gave me my big break when his VP and some of his men thought me disruptive and irresponsible. Showed those fuckers, didn’t I? Some of them were still here today. Rusty, Robbie, Pitbull, and God rest his soul, Kill Bill. Now they looked at me with respect, even fear sometimes, and that was the way it would stay.
I threaded my arm over Dash’s shoulder. “I remember when Dad gave me my Vice President cut.” Fuck. Listen to me getting nostalgic. “I had to earn my title, gain respect, and put fear into hearts.”
Dash nodded, clutching the box to his hip and rubbing at his chin with his thumb. Set’s powers let me peer into Dash’s heart. The new president had the confidence and charm to pull this off, even the propensity for violence and killing where required. What I needed to protect the club at all costs.
Time for some words of wisdom, handed down to me from my father. “Don’t give your men or me a reason to lose faith in you.” I clapped Dash’s chest.
No fucking pressure. Poor asshole felt it just as I did when Dad handed me the reigns. Immovable weight on his shoulders. Ambition to succeed. Drive to prove himself within his pack. Passion to lead men in dangerous and risky conditions without showing fear. Alpha’s instinct to protect his pack. Tasks for a man with a solid and unbreakable constitution.
Working for Set for twenty-six years taught me a thing or two about men. Lions and sheep. Heroes and cowards. Dash was a fucking lion, like me. Born to lead with honor, integrity, adaptability, resilience, and competence. He didn’t impress me as a man to lead by fear. Each to our own. Fear served me well, warning my competition not to menace with what was rightfully mine. My new president would find out soon what kind of man he needed to be to assume this mantle. I had fucking faith in him, but given his spate of bad luck with finances and working three jobs to pay the bills, it seemed like he needed to find the same faith in himself. The same belief I built in myself throughout the years.
Dash folded the box closed, crushing it to his torso. “I won’t fucking let you down, Slade.”
My magick detected the heat of ambition burning white-hot in his chest.My fucking man!The kind who wouldn’t fail.
“Come on.” Dash escaped my hold to set the box down. “Let me show you around the clubhouse.”
They rented a huge place with plenty of space. Five bedrooms, two bathrooms. More than what we had. A giant party room. Slightly smaller church hall than ours but they didn’t have as many men yet. Porch out back for plenty of barbeques and parties. The place would look good when renovated a bit.
The new member of the Jackals introduced Aaliyah, Zethan, and me to his ten men, a few I had to murder with my gaze for looking at my woman wrong. Most of his men were below thirty except for his VP, who looked our age or slightly older.
“Pretty good set-up,” I noted.
“Come check out the garage.” Dash took us through his shed, recently swept free of dust and cobwebs, the residual prickling my nose.
Clean concrete floors would soon be stained from bike repairs, oil changes, and leaks. Soon it would smell of gas fumes, leather, oil, and money. Late model bikes in desperate need of new parts and replacements altogether crowded the space. A few Harleys—a Cruiser, Dyna, Road King, and Softails.
Dash stroked a Honda Shadow. “It’s not much, but we’ll upgrade these as soon as we can.”
Bonuses earned from the delivery of Pharaoh would more than accommodate upgrades to new bikes, which I expected for my club. I wasn’t having men from my new chapter riding around on old motorcycles unless they were in top condition, like Castor and Alaric’s models.
Perceptive, Dash read the unease in my expression. “Don’t worry, they’ll do the job of delivering your product. They’re good bikes. Sturdy. Stubborn.” He chuckled. “Got me out of trouble more than once.”
I chuckled, and I felt my woman’s smile along the bond too. Just what I wanted to hear. The knot in my stomach started to unwind. Things were looking up for once. The cops off our backs. The Wolves off our heels. And once we were done with Colton Raine, no more fucking drama.
Zethan eyed off a bike with love-heart fucking eyes. “A Victory Gunner. Sweet ride. They don’t make these babies anymore.”
My enforcer loved his bikes, knew all the brands, models down to a T. Read all the bike and biker magazines, blogs, and followed their social media channels. Bike-fucking-freak.
Something told me he’d enjoy getting down here, conducting maintenance on these rides, getting them ready for delivery and up to my expectations.
Dash’s shoulders tensed, his body alert and edgy. “Dad gave me the Gunner as a gift for my wedding.”
Wedding? He didn’t sound too happy about it. Set’s Love god powers told me there was more to that story. Heartbreak. A fight. Break-up.
“Good for you.” He mentioned his pop put pressure on him to settle down. “When’s the date?”
Dash leaned on the Gunner, bouncing it to test the suspension. “Not for a few months.”
My astute old lady picked up on it and asked, “Where’s your fiancée?”
Tension crackled in the air.
“At work.” Dash’s clipped tone told us to keep our noses out of it.
His love life was none of our business, and I nudged my woman in warning. She fell silent and rubbed my back, my jackal rumbling with satisfaction at the contact.
