Chapter 4

King/Dante

I strode into the clubhouse a little before ten the next morning and was immediately approached by Star, one of our longtime club bunnies.

"Lookin' good this mornin', Prez," she drawled throatily, stepping closer and running her finger down the front of my leather cut. I pinned her with a glare, which stopped her finger mid-stroke. She dropped her hand and took a step back as disappointment and a hint of anger flashed across her face. I kept on walking.

She'd been with us for a few years now, and I'd noticed that she was getting a little bolder lately. It had started a few months ago, when she reported Paisley for mouthing off to Abby. That bitch had said some fucked-up shit to my daughter-in-law by the time Star had alerted Bull. He'd put a stop to it and Paisley had been tossed out on her ass.

I'd apparently given Star the wrong impression when I'd told her how much I appreciated her loyalty to the brothers and to the MC. It probably hadn't helped matters that I'd let her suck me off later that night, because now she took every opportunity to talk to me, and had upped her flirting game, trying to eye-fuck me every chance she got.

Normally, the club bunnies knew better than to approach me first. If I wanted them, I'd let them know, and I rarely did. I used to fuck them all the time, until Jag and Rome had started prospecting nine years ago. The idea of fucking the same bitches my sons were with didn't sit right with me, so I'd started looking elsewhere. There were always plenty of hangarounds to choose from – non-club women who came to party with us so they could brag they'd fucked a biker. I'd also pick up women at The Inferno, the bar Jag ran for the club. I wasn't hurting for women to ride my dick, so I didn't need to turn to the bunnies very often these days. Besides, they all wanted the prestige of fucking the club president, and I didn't need the kind of drama that came with that shit.

"Church in ten minutes," I shouted a reminder on my way through the common room. I detoured into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee, seeing several of my brothers finishing breakfast. I watched in distaste as Skid reached into the fridge for a piece of leftover pizza, shoving half the slice in his mouth in one bite. I was too damned old to think cold pizza was a good way to start the day. Of course, I'd eaten the last of Eleanor's brownies for breakfast, so I guess I really wasn't in a position to judge someone else's eating habits. They were fucking delicious, though, and I hadn't been able to resist.

I made my way into the room that we called our chapel, taking my seat at the head of the table. Over the next few minutes, the brothers wandered in to take their seats, stopping to drop their cell phones in the box just outside the door. I was the only one who kept my phone with me during Church, in case of emergencies. It was a safety precaution since we did discuss things that skirted the law from time to time; things that we wouldn't want to be recorded or listened in on. The room was soundproofed for the same reason and was swept for cameras and listening devices by Bull before each meeting.

My half-brother Ace was the last one through the door, as usual. It was some kind of passive-aggressive bullshit he pulled every Sunday, taking his seat with mere seconds to spare before he was late. He was still pissed off over being passed over as president when Sinner retired ten years ago, since he was actually the first-born son. Our club didn't work that way, though. Our by-laws required that officers, including the president, be voted in. I'd beaten Ace by a landslide, since most of the other patched members couldn't stand him either. He was a racist, homophobic piece of shit who only had the support of a couple of old-timers, neither of whom were involved much in the club anymore.

I still remembered the day when Sinner had punched Ace right in the face for mouthing off about the club not "sticking to its own kind" anymore, after Sinner had invited Joker to prospect years ago. When he was patched in a year later, the color barrier had thankfully been broken, and we were better for it. When Saint and Skid, originally from the Dominican Republic and Mexico respectively, had patched in shortly after I took over, it pretty much sent Ace over the edge. I'd offered to let him turn in his cut and leave the MC with no repercussions, but he'd refused and had done his best to make me miserable ever since.

I called the meeting to order, and we got right down to business. After the usual rundown on club finances from Irish, our treasurer, we got a report for each of the club-owned businesses, then moved onto the next item on the agenda.

"We finally have a new bunny to replace that crazy bitch, Destiny," I announced, and several of the brothers groaned while others laughed at the mention of the bunny we'd kicked out a month ago. She'd been Paisley's replacement. She also had the distinction of getting kicked out faster than any bunny in club history, after repeatedly making unwanted advances on married brothers, including Jagger and Rome. When she'd plopped down on Brick's lap and started kissing all over him, that had been the last straw. He'd stood up so fast she'd fallen on her ass, right about the time his Ol' Lady came flying out of the kitchen. The resulting ass-kicking had been quite the sight, as tiny Theresa laid into Destiny like a woman possessed, with Brick trying to hold her back while swearing he hadn't wanted her anywhere near him. He'd been telling the truth. The poor bastard had been stunned when she'd pulled that shit.

"Her name is Danielle DeSanto – she apparently goes by her initials, DD." My mouth turned up in a smirk as I thought about how fitting the nickname was. I'd met her, briefly, and I'd bet my left nut that her tits were indeed a double D-cup.

"She was referred to us by Diamond. They went to school together or some shit. She's moving into one of the rooms over the garage today, so you'll all meet her tonight. She seems to have her shit together but let me or Trick know if you have any problems with her. We don't want a repeat of the Destiny incident."

"As long as she stays the fuck away from me, I'll be fine with her, Prez." I snorted a laugh at Brick's heartfelt sentiment. He only had eyes for his wife, and still felt guilty about the whole Destiny thing, even though it hadn't been his fault. Luckily, Theresa hadn't blamed him for it, knowing full well that her man was faithful.

"OK, next order of business. That rogue gangbanger from K-Dog's crew seems to be peddling his shit in our territory again. Jag found a couple of customers trying to sell heroin in the bathroom at the bar a few days ago. Trick and his Louisville slugger had a little heart-to-heart conversation with both of ‘em, and they claimed they'd bought the stuff from T-Bone and decided to resell it for profit for themselves."

I glanced across the table at Trick, our club's sergeant-at-arms, who sat with his arms crossed over his massive chest and a satisfied smirk on his face. He not only enforced the rules of the club with our members, he also was first in line to deal with any threats against the club. He and his baseball bat were almost as legendary as he had been in the ring as an MMA fighter. He liked to use the bat, rather than his fists, for club business though. Honestly, the bat was probably less lethal.

I nodded at Bull, who handed over a piece of paper with the information he'd been able to find on the slippery motherfucker. I glanced at it, holding the paper a little further away from my face to be able to read it without putting on my reading glasses, then passed it around. Getting older fucking sucked.

"To refresh your memory, Tyson Cox, better known as T-Bone," I said, ignoring the snickers as they heard his government name and made the connection to his street name. These guys were like a bunch of twelve-year-old boys sometimes. "Look at his picture, remember his face. If you see him, call me, Trick, or Cowboy immediately."

"This is the same guy who ripped off K-Dog's stash last fall, right?"

I nodded at Bodhi, the assistant manager at Fallen Angels, the strip club Ace ran for the MC. They'd had problems with people – customers and dancers – dealing drugs there on occasion, too.

"Yeah, that's the dumbass street rat who thought it would be a good idea to relieve his boss of an entire smorgasbord of drugs – pills, meth, crack, and heroin. K-Dog's still offering a marker to the club if we find him. I'm not as concerned with that as I am with keeping that shit out of our businesses. We don't need that kind of reputation, and we sure as fuck don't need to land on the cops' radar because of it."

Our MC wasn't a one-percent club, and we didn't mess with that kind of hardcore shit. Several of the brothers smoked a little pot, but that was about it. Anything harder, and I'd kick them out on their asses. We didn't need a bunch of junkies and meth-heads running around fucking with our livelihood or our freedom.

Our businesses were legitimate, with the exception of a side hustle we did for La Famiglia Rossi through the MMA gym Trick managed for the club. The gym's secondary purpose was to serve as the spot for an underground fight club Luca Rossi and his family ran. We also provided security for the fights and were well-paid for our trouble. Dabbling with the Rossi family was as far over the legal line as most of us were willing to go. Everything else – the bar Jagger managed, the tattoo shop Rome ran, the security alarm company that Brick was in charge of, the custom bike shop that Viking and Lucky handled, and even the strip club, were all law-abiding, tax-paying enterprises that gave us all a pretty comfortable standard of living.

"Any more news on Pic?" Rome asked, causing me to grimace as I shook my head.

"No, that fucker's still in the wind," I groused, not fucking happy about it at all.

"He's dropped off the grid since that last report of him picking up work at that tattoo studio in Aspen," Bull said. "No sign of him since." I'd spent three weeks in Colorado back in April, trying to track the bastard down. I followed his activity from Denver to Aspen, before the trail went cold and I'd come home pissed off all over again.

I was still fucking livid about the entire clusterfuck. Pic had been a club brother for years. I'd even sponsored the rat-bastard when he started prospecting for us and had personally fronted part of the money to start up Guardian Ink. I wasn't sure when exactly he'd started going off the rails, but Rome had noticed it first, when Pic started slacking off at work. As his co-manager, my son had stepped up and handled shit, hoping Pic would get himself together. He hadn't, and it had finally gotten so bad that Rome had no choice but to alert me to the problems.

Turns out, Pic was doing drugs, running around on his wife with multiple women, and had almost fucked up a long-standing alliance with another club by fucking the Ol' Lady of one of their patched members. It had been a complete shitshow, and we'd had to fine him and even suspended him for a month. Despite it all, I had still been shocked when Pic had skipped town with Cynnamon, the stripper that Rome had a drunken encounter with.

I was happy he'd taken Cyn with him, but I'd been fucking furious when I found out he'd also taken the club's money from Guardian Ink's bank accounts. He'd left behind his cut, his estranged wife and kids, and a fuck-ton of enemies who used to consider him a brother. Whenever we found him, he was in for a world of hurt. That was assuming that his wife's family didn't find him first. Lola was Luca Rossi's cousin, and the mafia don wasn't exactly happy that a member of his family had been disrespected like that, especially since Pic had cleaned out his and Lola's joint accounts, too.

"The fucker better hope he's dead," Ace snarled, and for once I agreed with my half-brother. I'd been surprised that Ace had cared much one way or another when Pic first left, but he'd been almost as angry as I had.

Ace hadn't taken much of an interest in the MC since he'd been passed over for the president's patch. He did a half-assed job managing Fallen Angels, leaving most of the day-to-day operations to Bodhi. I would have fired him if I didn't think it would cause more trouble than it was worth. Besides, at least with him close, Cowboy and I could keep an eye on him. We had both suspected that Ace was involved in a few side hustles that weren't club-sanctioned, including the drugs that occasionally made their way into the strip club. As soon as we could prove that shit, Ace would be out of a job, out of the MC, and out of the fucking family. He would not be missed.

"I have feelers out to every tattoo shop and strip club I can find in Colorado and the surrounding states. If he or Slutty Spice show their faces, we'll know about it." I snorted a laugh at the nickname Bull had given Cynnamon a few weeks back. "They won't be able to live on the money he stole from us forever, so they'll have to find work again." I nodded at Bull, pleased that he was staying on top of things. Not only was he the club's secretary, but he was the closest thing we had to a tech guru. He'd picked up some impressive hacking skills along the way, which had come in handy more than once. I had faith that Bull would be able to track Pic down sooner or later.

After a little more grumbling from various brothers about what a shithead Pic was, I wrapped up Church as I always did, with a bang of my fist on the table, and a reminder to the men sitting there to stay safe and to keep their asses out of trouble.

"Who's staying for lunch today?" Cowboy asked as he grabbed his cell phone from the box and followed me into the common room. The men in our family had a tradition of having lunch together after Church, a practice we'd had since I took over from my dad. Since Sinner retired, he rarely joined us for Church, unless we had something big going on. By meeting for lunch, he could still be kept in the loop about club business.

"I'm in," Rome said, and I was glad. He'd avoided spending any more time than necessary here since the night he'd gotten drunk at one of the parties and cheated on Abby. I couldn't blame him for trying to avoid the memories of that night, but I hated to see him distance himself from the brothers. He was coming around a little more now that he and Abby had gotten back together, although they hadn't come to any of the parties yet. I wasn't sure they ever would, but that was OK. Whatever they needed to do to make their marriage work was fine with me.

"Can we order Mexican?" Lucky asked over his shoulder as he headed for our usual table. I saw Ace stomping out the front door of the clubhouse and figured that meant he wasn't joining us for lunch. He rarely did, and I was glad for it. I couldn't stand the sonofabitch, even if Morgan blood did run in his veins.

"I could go for some enchiladas," Jagger said, and Lincoln nodded in agreement. I glanced at the "Prospect" patch on his cut and made a mental note that we needed to vote on patching him in as a brother in a few weeks. I was sure it would be a unanimous vote. He was a good kid and had been a great Prospect. Rod, one of our newer prospects, took our order and went off to call it in to the place down the road. From past experience, I knew they'd have the food ready to be picked up by the time he got there.

We settled in around the table, and I looked up as Sinner joined us. He took the seat across from me and eyed me with an expression that I knew better than to trust.

"So, are you going to go apologize to Eleanor after we finish lunch?" Yep, there it was. I should have known he was going to bust my balls over that.

Rome and Jagger both snickered as Cowboy and Lucky looked at me in confusion.

"What the hell did you do to her?"

I glared at Cowboy, who ignored me with the ease of a long-time friend. Before I could answer him, Jagger piped up to regale the group with the tale of my epic fuck-up.

By the time they were all finished laughing at me, one of the other prospects, Tony, had walked over with a tray of bottled waters and sodas for us. Out of respect for Rome's sobriety, we now kept our family lunches booze-free.

I reached for a water, twisting the cap off and downing half the bottle in one gulp as Cowboy ragged on my dumb ass.

"So, King, what are you planning to do to make up for that clusterfuck?" he asked with a shit-eating grin.

I shrugged. "I'm just going to apologize for saying what I did. What the hell else am I supposed to do?"

Cowboy and Sinner shared a knowing look and smirked.

"You poor dumb fuck," Cowboy said with a sorrowful shake of his head, causing every man at the table to laugh. At our family lunches, I wasn't the club president. I was just King, and I clearly didn't command the respect I did as president.

Viking called out for Sinner to join him for a game of darts, and Sinner got to his feet and told us to save his seat.

"I'll be back when the food gets here. I need to go kick that old man's ass," he grumbled as he ambled across the room to grab the darts from Viking's hand. He and Viking had been best friends for more than fifty years and squabbled like an old married couple half the time. I figured that would be me and Cowboy in another twenty-five years or so.

I turned my attention back to my VP. "OK, oh wise one, what the hell am I supposed to do besides telling her I'm sorry? What do you do when you have an argument with Michelle?"

Cowboy just gave me that slow, lazy smile of his, looking too damned pleased with himself. "I haven't pissed her off yet, so I haven't had to do anything," he drawled in his faint Texas accent. He'd lived in Indiana for almost three decades, but that drawl of his had never quite disappeared.

I glanced at Jagger, who was fiddling with his phone. By the grin on his face, I assumed he was texting his wife.

"What do you give Molly when you fuck up?" I asked him, and he glanced up in surprise. Before he could say a word, Lucky snorted and offered his own answer.

"His dick. I've heard them goin' at it up in his room, remember? The walls in this place are too fuckin' thin."

Jagger glared at him and Lucky reared back in his chair to avoid the fist that Jag sent flying his way as the rest of us laughed.

I caught Rome's eye, and he just shook his head. "I had to give my wife a marriage counselor and a divorce, so I'm the wrong fuckin' man to ask." I winced as Rome shrugged. Joker, one of our long-time club members, wandered over to offer his two cents.

"Couldn't help but overhear your predicament, Prez, and I've got an important piece of advice for you." I eyed him doubtfully. Joker had been through three different Ol' Ladies in his eighteen years with our MC, so I wasn't sure how helpful his advice would actually be.

"Be sure that whatever you give her, it's too heavy for her to pick up and throw at you." He ran a finger over the scar in the middle of his forehead, the small mark contrasting sharply against the darkness of his skin. "I learned that with Ol' Lady number two. I got her a bottle of really nice perfume after I'd pissed her off one too many times. She chucked it at me, and it took four stitches to get the bleeding to stop."

I remembered that night. He'd bled like a stuck pig while she'd packed her shit and left him without a backward glance. I had no idea what had brought on that particular fight, but I knew it had something to do with the club bunnies. Joker had proven time and time again that he was not a one-woman man. He'd finally given up on Ol' Ladies and stuck to the club bunnies and hangarounds these days. He often tag-teamed them with Skid, although I didn't really understand why. Sharing a woman had never been my thing.

"I'll keep that in mind," I assured him dryly, and he nodded confidently before strolling over to the bar. I noticed that Star and some of the other bunnies had come out to play, and I cast a jaded eye over them. Maybe I was just getting old, but damned if a single one of them stirred anything in me except the desire to avoid them.

"Look, man, you can't show up empty handed," Cowboy said as he finally took pity on me. "Stop on the way and buy her some flowers."

Flowers seemed pretty cliché to me, and I told him so.

He just snorted and shook his head. "That's what I did whenever BeBe and I fought, and it worked every time," he assured me. Shit, as much as he and my sister had fought over the years, he'd probably kept the florist in business.

Luckily, the food arrived then, so all talk of me and my fuck-up with Eleanor was forgotten for the moment.

A little over an hour later, I pulled open the door of the flower shop. A tiny little bell tinkled overhead, announcing the presence of a new customer, and an older woman came around the corner from the back of the shop to greet me. Her brows rose in surprise as she took in my appearance, but she didn't seem afraid of the sight of me in my leather MC cut. That was something, anyway.

"How may I help you?"

"I need to buy some flowers." I glanced around as I stated the obvious, feeling out of my element in the midst of all the dainty little flower arrangements on display. The only time I'd ever bought flowers in my life was when my mom was in the hospital, and when Abby gave birth to the kids, and then I'd just called and placed the orders to be delivered. I sure as hell had never bought them for my ex-wife. She was the type of woman to prefer cold, hard cash anyway.

She nodded, then asked if it was for a special occasion.

"No," I grunted, bringing my hand up to massage the sudden tension in my neck. "I just need to apologize to someone and thought flowers might help."

"Ah," the little old lady said with a twinkle in her eye. "You need a butthead bouquet then."

My eyebrows rose in surprise at her words. "A what?" I asked, not sure I'd heard correctly.

"A butthead bouquet," she explained patiently. "You've been a butthead, so now you need a bouquet."

I chuckled, amazed at the balls on this woman, who was all of five-foot tall and had to be pushing seventy years old. She clearly gave zero fucks that she was talking to a biker twice her size.

"Yeah, that sounds about right," I admitted wryly.

"OK, dear, I can help you with that. Now, are these for your wife, or a girlfriend? A sister, perhaps?"

I just looked at her blankly, and she tsked under her breath.

"It will help me determine what kind of flowers you need if I understand the relationship you have with the woman you're giving them to."

"I just met the lady, but I really put my foot in my mouth and said some things that offended her."

"I see," she said, and I could see her trying to hide her smile.

After I rejected her first couple of suggestions – I wanted something a little more impressive than a measly little vase of daisies – we settled on a large display of mixed flowers that Dorothy the florist assured me any woman would be thrilled to receive. I eyed the glass vase she put them in, remembering Joker's warning. I mentally shrugged, pretty sure my reflexes were good enough to duck before the vase could make contact with my skull if Eleanor ended up heaving it at me.

After paying for them and accepting Dorothy's well wishes that I'd be forgiven, I carefully secured them in the front passenger seat of my truck. I was thankful that Cowboy had reminded me to swing by my house to switch my bike out for the truck, since there was no way a vase of flowers would fit in my saddlebags. This apology shit was getting complicated, so I was glad I'd never had to fuck around with it before.

I found myself standing on Eleanor's porch a few minutes later, holding onto the vase with one hand as I rang the doorbell and waited for her to answer.

I straightened to my full height as she pulled the door open, looking up at me in surprise. Her eyes widened as they darted from me to the flowers, and I held them out to her with my most charming smile – the one I usually used to melt the panties off my chosen hookup for the night.

"These are for you. Could I come in for a few minutes? I'd like to apologize for yesterday."

Her eyes widened even further as she accepted the flowers, then stepped back to allow me to slide past her. She closed the door, clutching the vase to her chest and looking everywhere but at me.

A timer went off in the kitchen at the same time I noticed the incredible aroma of something delicious in the air. She darted across the living room and into the kitchen, setting the vase on the kitchen table as she called out an apology over her shoulder.

"I need to get something out of the oven. I'll be right with you."

"No problem," I said, trailing after her. I leaned against the center island, which was almost completely covered with various baked goods on metal cooling racks. I saw several batches of muffins, as well as what appeared to be sugar cookies. I watched as she pulled another tray of cookies out of the oven – chocolate chip this time, by the look of them. My mouth watered, as much from the food as from the sight of her ass as she bent over to close the oven door. My cock twitched behind my zipper, and I forced myself to look away.

She slid the cookies onto on an empty cooling rack then took the oven mitt off and set it down on the island in front of her. I spotted a mixing bowl half-filled with more cookie dough on the counter behind her, and wondered why she was baking so much, and what the odds were that she'd let me sample any of it before I left.

"Sorry about that," she said, and I could see the question in her eyes. She reached for the oven mitt again, nervously running her fingertips over the seam on the fabric as she fidgeted uncomfortably.

My eyes roved over her from head to toe. She was gorgeous, and I didn't say a word as I took in her pretty blue eyes, her cute little nose that turned up just slightly at the tip, and her wide, plush lips that would look fucking perfect wrapped around my cock. I shifted slightly, reminding myself that getting a goddamned hard-on right now wouldn't exactly help me convey the sincerity of my apology.

I could see her pulse pounding under the delicate skin of her neck, and I flexed my fingers against the urge to wrap my hand around the base of her throat and feel her pulse fluttering for myself. She cleared her throat, then dropped her gaze back down to the oven mitt she was now crumpling in her fist, and I realized I was making her even more uncomfortable with my staring. That thought spurred my ass into action.

"I wanted to apologize for yesterday, Eleanor. I was crude, and I was out of line. I hope you'll forgive me, and that things won't be awkward between us." I was damned proud of myself for remembering the words I'd rehearsed on my way here, since the sight of her was enough to drive every other thought right out of my head.

She snapped her gaze up to meet mine, and she nodded before offering a small smile.

"Call me Ella, please. I was named after my grandmother, but I've always shortened it. Pop is the only one who uses my full name." My lips twitched as she explained about Pop's childhood sweetheart with the same name. That sounded like the old man.

"It's OK, really," she continued huskily. "I won't hold anything you said against you. I know you didn't actually mean it anyway."

I cocked my head as I looked at her closely. I wasn't sure exactly what she meant by that, but I sure as hell didn't like the self-deprecating tone she used. Her cheeks were flushed, and I got the feeling it was from embarrassment more than from the heat of the oven.

The apron she was wearing hid most of her mouth-watering curves from me, but I could make out the fullness of her tits underneath the thick fabric. My blood heated as I remembered how she looked yesterday doing her yoga workout. Memories of the way she'd contorted her body and bent over double had filled my mind as I'd rubbed one out in the shower this morning, imagining her lush, round ass pressed against me as I had shot my load all over the tiled wall.

Now, standing close enough to reach out and touch her, those memories came rushing back with a cock-hardening vengeance. My eyes narrowed on her full bottom lip, now caught between perfectly straight, white teeth. I wondered briefly if she was biting her lip due to nerves, or if she was feeling the same physical pull I was.

I decided I needed to find out even more than I needed my next fucking breath. I took a step toward her, then another, before I plucked the oven mitt out of her hand and tossed it aside. She tried to take a step back, only to realize that she was trapped against the island. I placed my hands on the countertop on either side of her, caging her in, and I smiled as I recognized the look of arousal on her face, and in the widening of her eyes.

"I think you misunderstood, sweetheart. I wasn't apologizing for what I said. I was just apologizing for the way I said it." The pulse at the base of her throat pounded wildly as she softly gasped, and I grinned in satisfaction as I leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"You'd better believe that I meant every damned word of it, and then some. I just shouldn't have said it to anybody else but you."