“I don’t think Rocco is Fred’s client. He said they work for the same guy and that whoever it is expects results or information or whatever—information on the Wild Stallions. He said, um, something about if you stay in your lane and how it’s not a betrayal, just business. But he wanted—he wanted me to tell him what business I had with the Stallions.” I hiccupped, still trying to calm down. “And when I said I wouldn’t tell him anything, he said I had three options. Stop working for you, keep working for you but funnel him information, or—or—he said—Jed, he said if I remained a problem, he’d get rid of me.”
My tears came back, but I kept going anyway.
“He gave me twenty-four hours to make up my mind, and if I don’t—the third option is the default. And I want this. I want you and the job and the chance to hang my own shingle, but I can’t hang my own shingle if I’mdead!”
“Fuck,” Jed muttered, pulling me into his chest.
I closed my eyes as I rested myself in his hold, and I remembered the first time he took my hand. I’d felt so safe. Safer than I ever felt. He’d been my Prince Charming then; and as he held me, absorbing my fear, I acknowledged he was now, too.
It wasn’t until he spoke next that I realized he pulled out his phone.
“We need to round table, right fuckin’ now.”
I shifted so I could look up at him while he listened to whomever was speaking on the other end of the line. I had a pretty good guess what that meant. The table in the conference room at the clubhouse was round.
“Hoffman,” was Jed’s short reply.
Not two seconds later, he disconnected the call without a word of goodbye.
“Clothes. Change ‘em. We’re ridin’,” he told me.
I hesitated, wanting to ask questions, but the look in his eyes made me change my mind. I hurried to my bedroom, drying my cheeks as I went.
Not much thought went into my outfit. In under two minutes, I was headed back to the living room in jeans, a gray tee-shirt, and black ankle booties. Jed held out his hand, I took it, and we were out the door.
Fifteen minutes later, I was trying to keep up with his stride as he led me through the clubhouse doors. The first time I was inside, the place was sparsely occupied. Now, the workday done, there were a few more bodies present—not all of them fully clothed. But I didn’t have time to take it in. We were there for a reason, and Jed wasn’t slowing down for anyone.
When we entered the conference room, it appeared we were the last to arrive. Roy stood on the far side of the room, his arms folded across his chest and an impatient frown on his face. Mustang stood next to him, with his shoulder propped against the wall. Kade was in a chair, pushed back far enough for him to rest his booted feet on the table, his long legs crossed at his ankles. Hank and Benson were at the table, too. Then there was one other Stallion I didn’t know. He sat with his chair turned backwards, his arms folded across the top.
Round table.
When used as a verb, it meant all the ranked members of the club in the same room.
Jed shut the door behind us.
“Who’s the stunner?” drawled the man I didn’t know.
“Why the nine-one-one?” asked Roy.
Jed ignored the first question and looked to me in response to the second. “Tell them what happened.”
I took a deep breath and nodded, hoping I’d gotten all my tears out earlier. When I looked around the room, all eyes were on me. I squeezed Jed’s hand, he squeezed back, and I told them as much as I could remember. Clearer headed than I was at my apartment, I was able to recall a few more details I didn’t hesitate to share. By the time I was finished, Kade’s feet were no longer on the table, Mustang was no longer leaning against the wall, and Bull was pacing.
“Hoffman’s a fuckin’ mole?” muttered Benson. “How long do you think he’s been feeding information to Alvarez?”
“Probably since Scorpion started stirrin’ shit from the inside,” replied Mustang.
“But it’s been quiet since we dealt with Viper,” added Kade.
“Yeah, cause we don’t got beef with the cartel,” said Hank. “At least, wedidn’t.”
I was doing my best to keep up, but it was obvious there was a whole lot of history, and what happened to me was only a fraction of the story.
“Wedon’t,” interjected Roy, coming to a halt. “This all started with Scorpion tryin’ to piss on Alvarez’s turf.”
“Hold on a second,” said Benson, turning to face Roy directly. “You gonna stand there and say Alvarez is innocent in all of this? Who knows what Hoffman has told him?”
“Nobody said he was innocent. But he doesn’t have shit, either. If he did, he’d act on it. The only way Alvarez could touch us is if he were in this room. Seein’ as I was lookin’ to replace Hoffman in the first place, safe to say I haven’t trusted him in months. He ain’t got dick. Alvarez has that fucker in his pocket to make sure we stay out of his way. But we’ve kept our word, even if he doubted we would.”
