Chapter 29

CHAPTER

TWENTY-NINE

DILLION

As I stand beside Humble, my eyes scan the room. There are a lot of men standing around for almost four in the morning. I’m not sure what’s happening, but they’re all staring at Wackie, and I have a feeling it’s not good.

“Where is Fate?” Humble asks.

Wackie shrugs a shoulder. “I have no clue. He called me, though. He's the enforcer, and I wanted to follow the rules.”

Pressing my lips together, I roll them a few times as I try to think of a way out of this room. The testosterone is so thick that I am practically choking on it. But at the same time, I want to know if I was in any danger. I’m thinking I may have been.

Before I can even take another breath, the door opens, and in waltz Atomic, King, Gnaw, and Brew. It’s all the men who are married, but I don’t see their women or this elusive Fate.

Although, I wouldn’t know what he looked like anyway. I don’t really know anyone here that well. The only reason I recognize the ones I do is because I’ve become friends with their wives.

“Go up to my room and get some sleep. I’ll be there in a few. Lock yourself inside. I have the key,” Humble murmurs.

Hesitantly, I agree. I start to walk back to my bag, but Humble snaps behind me, and suddenly, someone grabs my bag and wheels it over to me. Dipping my chin in a single nod, I look into his eyes.

He looks like he’s about my age, maybe even a little younger. I watch as he tugs the handle from my suitcase up and smiles at me. He looks even younger when he smiles, almost like an older teenager.

Reaching out, I take the bag from his grasp. My fingers brush his, which causes him to take a step backward as he clears his throat. His head dips down, and his focus goes straight to his shoes.

“To my room, baby.”

I do what Humble says, but only because I feel like being locked in his room may be the safest place for me. There is something seriously sketchy about this whole thing. The fact that it wasn’t Humble who told Wackie to bring me here and a million other things.

Nothing really adds up.

I’ve been in weird situations like this with my own family, and I know that nothing good comes from them. A thick sensation of tension fills the whole building. As I climb the stairs, I have a hard time not only seeing but breathing through the thickness.

When I walk into Humble’s room, I pull my bag behind me and lock the door. Taking a look around the room, I am shocked at the state of it. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

The room is clean.

Not just a little clean but spotless.

I’ve never seen a single man’s space this way before.

Everything is perfect.

I’m too exhausted to worry about it, though. Stripping out of my clothes, I am too tired to even open my suitcase. Humble’s dresser comes into view. I tiptoe in my bra and panties toward it.

Tugging open the bottom drawer, I reach inside and slide my fingers along the soft cotton fabric of a tee. It’s so worn. Like it’s been washed a million times. It’s probably his favorite one. I think about leaving it there, wondering if he has a special attachment to it.

But then I decide that even if he does, it feels far too delicious to leave in the drawer. Pulling it out, I reach behind my back and unhook my bra. The straps slide down my arms, and I feel the cool air slide over my breasts.

My nipples tighten as I pull the shirt over my body. Gripping the collar, I lift it to my nose and inhale deeply. It smells like him. Closing my eyes, I sit on the floor for a long moment, just inhaling and exhaling Humble’s scent.

Before I fall asleep on the floor, I force myself to stand and walk over to the bed. When I tug the comforter back, the fresh scent of clean laundry assaults my senses. There was no way he was asleep in this bed when I called him.

It’s as if the sheets were freshly changed just a few hours ago.

Looking back at the door, I shift my attention to the bed again. It’s clean, and I’m tired. I decide I’ll start asking questions later. Because I do have some serious questions. When I slide under the sheets, I let out a heavy sigh, and I decide that I don’t give a damn about the questions because this feels amazing.

My head hits the pillow, and the entire room goes completely dark. At the same time, my mind goes completely blank. Sleep consumes me. I know I shouldn’t feel safe, that there is something going on in this clubhouse, in this group, that is unnerving, but I don’t care right now.

This bed feels too good, and I feel too tired to give a shit about any of it.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep when I feel the bed dip beside me. The sudden jostling wakes me up, but not enough that I can open my eyes. I feel like I’m in a dreamlike state, not quite awake, but clearly not asleep. Almost as if I’m on the outside looking in on what’s happening.

Fingertips dance up my arm from my wrist. Then I feel lips at the side of my neck. I turn my head slightly, and my mouth meets his. The scent, the taste, I know it’s him. Reaching my hand behind him, I wrap my fingers around the back of his neck and squeeze.

Humble’s hand slides around my waist, then dips between my legs. I close my eyes, and my breath comes out in a single heavy exhale as his fingers slide through my folds. Turning my head, I touch my lips to the underside of his jaw.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps. “You’re so goddamn wet. It’s so sexy.”

“Humble,” I breathe.

He hums as his fingers work between my legs. He doesn’t stop, though. He moves them quickly and with purpose, bringing me toward the edge. I’m so close to falling over that I am surprised by how quickly he’s brought me this close.

“Please,” I beg. “Please.”

And please, he does… or at least his fingers do. Pinching my eyes closed at the same time his fingers pinch my clit, I come. It’s fast. Humble already knows every place to touch me. Every button to push. And how to make me come faster than anyone else ever has… not that many have tried. He certainly can do it faster than I ever have.

CLINK

We can’t lose any more of our men. We’re on the verge of war. We already have enough shit going on. We’ve also experienced more betrayal in this club than I could have ever imagined possible. If Fate is fucking us over, I’m not sure what the fuck we’re gonna do.

But when Fate walks into the bar about two minutes after Dillion goes up to her room, it is clear that his expression is not one of betrayal but of concern. His eyes meet mine, and he makes a beeline for me.

Fate doesn’t bother asking me to speak privately. There’s no need in this bar, with these men. He knows that everyone who is in this room right now is family, the most trusted men in my world—in this world.

I watch as he jerks his chin, his gaze looking down his nose at me before he grunts. I watch him, unable to take my eyes off his. I know that this shit is serious, whatever it is. It is very clear that he’s not fucking around.

“We got a big fucking problem,” he states.

“What?” I demand.

He clears his throat and rocks back on his heels. He doesn’t want to say any of it out loud, but he knows he doesn’t have a choice. Atomic growls from beside me, and Fate clears his throat again, then begins to explain himself, and when he does, I understand his hesitation.

“There’s been a bounty put on Dillion’s head. Fifty grand to whoever can bring her to the OG charter of the Demon Guns MC in Memphis.”

The silence that fills the room threatens to choke me. Fifty grand. But it’s not the money. It’s the fact that someone felt it necessary to put a price on my woman’s head. I don’t know why they want her. I’m sure it has to do with the Southern Mafia, but there isn’t much of the Southern Mafia left.

That doesn’t mean that they didn’t have something already set in place. We haven’t had the time to really research anything yet. To figure out how deep and how far the Southern Mafia goes.

I know that their leader is from their main charter in Richmond, but past that, they haven’t ever really been on our radar, aside from the shit they pulled in Shreveport, but we got rid of that chapter, too.

They aren’t an MC, so they haven’t really been a focus of ours until all this shitstorm started a little over three years ago. And stupidly, as a group, we assumed that the contract we had with Conrad would be enough to keep them at bay until we were ready to end it.

But that’s not what happened, and now it’s time for us to adapt. This shit with my woman, with a price being on her head, that is not adaptation. That is outright war, and I’m ready to pounce.

“When do we attack?” I ask, swinging my gaze to Atomic.

He frowns. “I thought we could have at least started with this war tomorrow. Fuck, I guess we start tonight. Fate?” he calls out.

Fate jerks his chin, his gaze focusing on Atomic’s for a moment while he waits for him to speak. Atomic smirks. “You got any way of researching those dicks at the Demon Guns?”

“What do you want to know?” Fate asks.

“How many strong they are. Any info that I have on them is old as fuck.”

That right there pisses me off. Someone should always keep a running tally of what other nearby MCs are doing. There’s no way in fuck that we should be so self-focused that we don’t know what’s happening in the political aspects of other one-percent clubs that are our friends, enemies, or frenemies.

Fate’s eyes flick from Atomic to Nash, then back to Atomic. “I’ll see what I can find,” he murmurs.

I can tell that he isn’t very confident in his search. “Fate,” I call out. He jerks his chin toward me. “I’m going to get a couple of hours of sleep, then I’ll help you.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “Meet down here at seven in the morning.”

“I’ll be here,” I say.

“Nash?” Atomic calls out.

He grunts as his response, but I can tell that none of this makes him happy. If I had to guess, he’s probably regretting the fact that he stepped down. I know he wanted to give the new generation a chance to take over.

King didn’t want to be the president. He also wasn’t super close with his dad at that time, so it wasn’t something that anyone was surprised about. Atomic seemed to be the way to go. A new generation that was trained by the old.

But he’s sucking ass and fucking up.

“Can you help King figure out what the Southern Mafia numbers look like? You still have the most contacts.”

Nash jerks his chin but doesn’t respond verbally. He’d probably rather work with King than anyone else right now, anyway. I don’t blame him. This entire situation is nothing but a complete fucking clusterfuck.

I’m ready to be done. To attack and get on with life. I know we won’t lose. It’s just not fucking possible. We’re going to win and have at least five minutes of calm before the next fucking storm. I manifest that shit.

We all agree to get a few more hours of sleep and start fresh in the morning. Which is good because some of the guys are still fucking drunk and just passed out. They’re swaying from side to side, just sitting in their chairs. I can’t imagine how useful they would be in doing any kind of research.

Moving toward the stairs, I make my way to my woman. I need to feel her. Touch her. I need to know that she’s safe. Alive. Mine.