“Not sure.” I grinned. “Depends on your mood.”
Montana narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want you killing the messenger.”
“Just fucking tell me.”
“Remember when I offered my help when you were having issues with your pretty bartender?”
Fucknuts stiffened, then growled.
“You should have taken me up on my offer.”
Zach
Silver Shadows’ clubhouse, Diamond Creek, Nebraska.
My God, King was right. Bikers were nothing more than overgrown children with too much fucking time on their hands. I now had a newfound respect for what my Prez dealt with on a daily basis. While I knew my club was nothing like the Soulless Sinners, or the Golden Skulls for that matter, we did have a few boneheads. Jackass quickly came to mind as I remembered the shit he put the club through to lockdown Sam and I wasn’t even going to mention the shit Blade pulled with Beck. He was fucking lucky King didn’t kick his ass.
Yet, it still boggled my mind how Sypher stayed freaking sane. He dealt with several clubs on the daily, while also working with other underworld organizations. The man was a freaking saint. He deserved an award or something.
I had only been in his shoes for a week and I was about to let the whole fucking world destroy itself.
This shit was nuts!
But these two fucking morons took the cake.
When they weren’t screaming at each other, they actually worked well together, but that was short-lived because both men refused to clear the air. The fact was, they had more in common than either realized and if they ever stopped comparing their dick sizes, they might actually end up surviving this fucking mess.
I got that Montana sat at the table and Reaper did whatever the hell he wanted, but something had to give soon. At the rate they were going, they would surely end up killing each other.
The number of secrets between them was enough to drive anyone insane, and while those secrets were coming to light, neither one stopped to consider the ramifications.
They were connected by blood.
A blood link between two sitting presidents was something most clubs avoided at all costs. There was a reason biker clubs rarely aligned themselves with another, because no club truly trusted the other. So mixing blood was never done. Yet, these two idiots were too busy sniping at each other to see the bigger picture. Thanks to their fucking fathers, both clubs had a bullseye on their backs and at the center was a young, innocent girl, and if they weren’t careful, she would become the next victim to their folly.
“You should have told me!”
“Why are you yelling at me?”
“I had a right to know!”
“You said you didn’t want my help.”
“Since when do you listen to anything I say?”
“I listen.” Reaper chuckled. “When you have something important to say.”
“I fucking hate you.”
“Feeling’s mutual.”
“Asshole.”
“Fucknuts.”
Rolling my eyes, I leaned back in my chair and groaned as I wiped my hands down my face. There was a fucking reason I stayed hidden in my office because I didn’t want to have to deal with other people’s shit. Bad enough I had crap to do for my club, but babysitting two of the crankiest, most stubborn presidents in the biker world was plain annoying.
