Standing, I left the room, went to the club’s living space, and sank onto the worn leather couch. I leaned forward with my elbows on my thighs, cradling my head in my hands. My head was throbbing, the tension radiating outward from my temples.
What a shitshow that had been.
I could hear the Sinners leaving, and my thoughts drifted back to when I had first joined the crew as a prospect, so hopeful to earn my way into their ranks.
It happened by chance—right place, right time.
My bike had broken down on the side of the road shortly after I moved to Shadow Hills. I commuted on the highway almost every day, to and from my shitty job in Ridgewood, when the damn thing just quit on me. I’d called for a tow, and the driver hauled my busted motorcycle back to a hole-in-the-wall garage called Dave’s in Ridgewood. They weren’t super busy that day, so the owner had time to look at it right then and there.
That’s how I met Pops.
He lectured me about not having the know-how to fix my own ride and took me under his wing, showing me the basics. He gave me a job and told me to quit my other one. Introduced me to myfamilyand taught me everything I needed to know about leadership, loyalty, and club business. I owed my adult life to Pops. Without his trust in me, I wasn’t sure what I’d be up to right now.
A knock rapped on the edge of the doorframe to the living room, pushing me from my thoughts. Heavy footsteps followed as whoever was interrupting my silence came further into the room.
“Fuck off,” I growled, even though I knew it wouldn’t deter them.
“I know you’re not talking to me like that, boy,” King shot back. He took a seat on the couch next to me, relaxing into it with his feet crossed at the ankles. “Pops taught you better than to disrespect your elders.”
“You’re twelve years older than me, King, in your late forties. Hardly qualifies you as an elder.”
“Still older than you by over a decade. What has you so pissed tonight?”
I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, welcoming the pain that shot behind them from the pressure. “The better question is, what doesn’t? Rose was drugged, the P.D. gave me attitude about his death, and now there’s talk of The Reaper's Wings putting a target on us. Then, to top it off, the Sinners think I’m not doing my job right. That enough of a reason for you?”
“Alright, let's break this down one problem at a time, like Pops used to do when one of us would go off the deep end.”
“Can’t we just get Pops on the phone? The last thing I want is to talk about my problems with you. What next? Are we going to do each other's nails and braid our hair, too?”
“Your hair’s just a little too short for me to braid, and Pops is in Turks and Caicos with his newly wed old lady. You’re stuck with me, so like I said, let’s address this one problem at a time, like Pops would.”
Groaning, I sat back, mirroring King’s relaxed position. “Rose was drugged.”
“She was, but she didn’t consume the roofied drink. She’s fine. Next?”
I forced the irritation of his quick dismissal back down. “The P.D.’s questioned me twice now.”
“Likely because you’re close to this particular case, Cain. Had it been any other woman at any other bar, they wouldn’t have batted an eye. But because it was Rosie and her bar, they’re making sure all their i’s are dotted and their t’s crossed.”
“The lieutenant is one of her best fucking friends!” My voice raised in argument, and again, I pushed the vexation down. “The lieutenant is one of her best friends. He, out of all people, shouldn’t be giving me grief about killing the man who wanted torapeher.”
“He is one of her best friends,” King repeated. “Which is exactly why he’s being extra careful with this case. There’s a lot at stake, a lot of blurred lines and conflicts of interest. Step out of the situation as Cain and look at it from an outside perspective. It needs to be handled with concentration and care.”
Looking away, I found a fist-sized hole in the wall across the room that one of the Sinners had punched through the drywall, and stared at it until my body forced my eyes to blink.
“The crew doesn’t trust my judgment,” I stated hollowly.
King leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs. For the first time, I saw softness behind his hardened eyes. “The crew trusts you, Cain. It’s why they appointed you as prez. You’re doing right by them, they can just see how close this all is to you, and I’d imagine that puts them on edge. No one wants a target on their back, especially from The Reaper’s Wings. They’re a trigger-happy shitstorm and the last thing anyone wants is to deal with those fucks.”
“Yeah.”
He clapped his hand against the top of my leg. “You out of that head yet? How’d I do?”
“You’re no Pops,” I deadpanned.
“Yeah, well. Quit sulking and go do something that makes you feel alive.” He stood and left the room without another word.
Kicking my feet up on our new coffee table, I ran my hand down my face and thought about King's theory on why the P.D. was breathing down my neck about this when usually they don’t. About how The Reaper’s Wings putting a target on us was the worst possible thing that could happen. Heading into Bridge Point to talk to Rifton was a terrible idea, but if Damon came back with any credibility that the threat was real, I just might have to.
