12. The Iron Shield

Chapter 12

The Iron Shield

S abre

The morning after the family argument, I kissed Grace goodbye and thanked her aunt for the hospitality. It was early morning, and we were preparing to ride back in time for Monday morning church. As we walked out to the bikes, I reached for my back pocket, intending to call Grizz. No one had heard from him after he'd chased Meredith out the front door. Just as I pulled out my phone, I saw Grizz sitting on his bike in the driveway, waiting for us.

Riding back as a pack, we stopped for breakfast at a roadside diner.

"So, you going to spill the deets?" Pretty asked Grizz, buttering a piece of toast.

"It's over. There's nothing to tell," Grizz said, not bothering to look up as he took a sip of his coffee.

"Come on. Don't leave us hanging." Pretty never knew when to quit, and Grizz was the wrong bear to poke.

"What? You want me to tell you about how she screamed for two hours straight?" Grizz shot him a look over the rim of the coffee mug.

"Well, yeah." Pretty smiled at Grizz with chunks of toast in his teeth.

"How old are you?" Grizz said.

"Old enough for you to suck my dick, bitch."

Grizz pointed a finger at Wreck. "You better get your boy under control, or the only thing you'll be topping is your pillow."

"Who says I am the bottom?" Pretty smiled again with more toast in his teeth.

Grizz was about to stand up from his chair and reach over the table when Wreck slapped his hand over Pretty's mouth .

"Settle down," he said. Pulling his hand back quickly, he looked at his palm. "You licked me?" He wiped away the toast with his napkin.

"I licked it so it's mine." Pretty continued eating as if he hadn't just tried to claim Wreck.

I steered the conversation back towards Meredith. I wanted to know what she'd screamed about and how this was going to affect Grace.

"It boils down to Grace is the perfect one and Meredith is the fuck up."

"What the fuck do you mean?" I asked.

"I didn't stutter." Grizz took a bite of his burrito. "I don't know if it's some sick older sister idolization bullshit or what. Meredith lives her life, and when it comes too close to Grace's, she runs in the opposite direction. Grace married Matt, and until recently, it was the perfect marriage. Meredith goes to marry Brandon, realizes he's just like Matt, and runs because it will never be good enough. Not because he's a fucking cheater and didn't deserve her."

"So, where do you fall in?" I asked.

"Meredith didn't know you were interested in Grace until this weekend. When she found out, she wanted to run, but I told her it didn't matter, and that she needed to calm down because we're two totally different people. It didn't go over well. Told me I didn't know what I was talking about and threw me out. I slept on the bench in the dog park in the complex. Tried again to get her to talk to me, and she wouldn't. It's fucking over. I will not let some bitch lead me around by my dick."

I watched Grizz shut down over breakfast. No matter what any of us said, the conversation was on hold until Grizz was ready to talk again.

***

It had been a few weeks since Grace had moved to the pool house. True to my word, I drove down every Friday afternoon. I wasn't crazy about making the trip each week, but I kept telling myself it was temporary. The miles fucking sucked, but watching her walk towards me made up for it. I'd sit on my bike, and when she'd reach me, she'd tilt her head for a kiss.

I didn't miss the Thursday night warm-ups and the Friday night parties. I'd rather be with Grace, even if it meant we ate take out in front of the TV. Fuck, I was becoming domesticated.

Monday would roll around, and I wouldn't want to leave her. I wanted to pack her up in her car, leave my bike in the driveway, and just head north. I had to remind myself it wouldn't be long before they lived with me permanently.

Grizz wasn't happy. If I was with Grace, he had to be at the clubhouse as vice president.

Monday morning rolled around again, and I was pulling into the driveway that led to the clubhouse. Stopping at the guard shack, I waited for a prospect to approach me.

I waited.

I waited.

No one came.

Motherfucker better not be sleeping.

I took my helmet off and threw my leg over my bike. Putting the kickstand down, I made my way to the shack. We had a double gate system, where the first gate let you into a holding pen and the second opened into the yard. The shack was large enough to straddle both openings, with windows on either side of the gates.

I walked up to the closest window. Holding my hand up to the glass, I looked in. Sure as shit, my prospect was sound asleep, reclining in the chair, his feet crossed at the ankles, propped up on the desk. His mouth was wide open. Motherfucker was snoring.

I pounded on the window and watched him fall backwards out of the chair.

When he realized it was me, he understood perfectly that he was fucked. It was one thing if another brother had caught him, but I was the president. He'd serve punishment for this .

The prospect opened the window. "Mornin' Prez," he said.

"Open the gate."

He smiled really widely. "Sure, thing," he said, trying to play this situation off.

I pulled into the yard and parked my bike at the front of the line. Inspecting the clubhouse, I couldn't help but wonder. What would Grace think when she saw this place for the first time? When the club had first started, they'd bought an old farm and told the farmer to leave everything as is. Using the barns and the old ranch house, they'd melded it together to form the clubhouse, but it constantly needed rehabbing. The outside wasn't pretty, but a lot of us called the inside home.

I decided right there that she'd have to deal with it. The club was non-negotiable, and the clubhouse was just a part of that. I was born an Iron Shield. It pulsed through my blood, like it had my father's. It'd pulse in my boy's blood and anyone else Grace gave me. They wouldn't know anything different.

When I walked through the front doors, it was back to business. Monday meant church at nine in the morning. You better have been dead or dying not to attend.

Grabbing a cup of coffee, I dropped my phone and keys into my cubicle outside the door and made my way to my chair at the head of the table. I wasn't stupid. We lived in a digital world now, so when I had taken over, I had made sure the room deadened any digital signal once you crossed the threshold. I didn't even allow Cyph to have his computer. I only wanted to see the reports from each business, and Pretty usually brought his notepad as secretary.

The brothers trickled in, and at nine sharp, the prospect closed the door.

I banged the gavel and said, "Who wants to start with their reports?"

No one said a word.

"We're not fucking doing this today. Those of you that manage club businesses know that you have to submit your reports to the rest of the class."

"I'll go first," Grease said. He never said much, but the man knew his way around anything with a motor. Last year, he had asked me if he could have a few more men to build custom cars and bikes. I saw nothing wrong with that, as long as they could keep up with the projects.

"We're early on the bike for that whale, and he's bringing a new restoration when he picks it up. The soccer moms have started showing since we got our first Google review." He handed his papers to Count, our treasurer, to review.

It broke the ice.

Everything was running smoothly until we got to Jigsaw. Jig was a layover brother from my father's era. Too old to really be useful but not old enough to retire. The girls at the strip club thought of him as a fatherly figure, which was why he had kept his job over the years. He handed his papers over. "We're up twenty-five percent," he rushed.

Scanning the reports, Count frowned. It deepened as he read further in to the report. A math whiz, Count's favorite pastime was screwing the IRS. As our treasurer, we used the same loopholes as those other rich bastards.

"You're full of shit," Count said. "You're actually down twenty-five percent, and it looks like you have too much inventory for the volume of sales. This wouldn't have been a problem, but customers are down. How could customers be down? It's a fucking titty show."

I held out my hand for the report. Taking a quick look, I found Count was right. There was too much liquor in inventory to account for the lack of customers. We were down.

"Jig, you're being removed from manager permanently. For now, Count will have to run it and rebalance your books. How did this happen in a week?" I asked, staring at him over the papers in my hand.

He tripped over his words, and sweat was pouring from his hairline. "I don't know, Prez. Everything was fine last week, but I went to print the reports, and that's what I saw. I don't know."

"You can bounce for now. I'll have the new schedule out later today, and there will be a mandatory staff meeting." I wasn't happy, but until I knew the complete story, I wouldn't dish out the punishment. It would come later for Jig .

"Anything else?" I scanned the rest of the room, pausing on each brother's face for a few seconds. My father had done the same thing when he'd been president. He'd told me it was the little things that mattered. Reminding the brothers that you were open to them was a part of creating a close-knit family.

One of the wise men raised his hand, like this was a classroom. They no longer took part in runs, but they still worked hard for the club, and we relied on them for basic things. They'd served their time, and now they could rest.

"Yeah, Thunder," I addressed him.

"Permission to speak freely, Prez?" His loud, booming voice cracked like a storm, ensuring everyone knew exactly where he was in the clubhouse.

"What the fuck?" Did he think I was going to beat his ass over whatever he had to say? I wasn't. Thunder was normally the only one who never consistently annoyed me.

"Well, it's about Flo, and I am too old to have my ass beat."

"Flo?" I was confused.

"You know, Prez. Flo." Thunder looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. When I didn't respond, he explained it to me as if I was five. "You're the president of the club. She's your first lady, so some brothers started calling her Flo. It sounded better that way, and it's still respectful."

"You mean Grace?" I asked the room, sitting back in my chair, watching each brother nod their head. They'd never called her Flo in front of me, but it was obvious that tongues had been wagging. "Tread carefully." I rested my elbow against the table and rubbed my temple, feeling a headache coming on. It was too early for hard liquor, but I didn't know what to think about this. When my mom had been First Lady of the Club, everyone had loved her, but no one had given her a road name based on her position.

"Alright well, some brothers and I were talking. We were in the kitchen the day she disappeared. You were out the door in under ten minutes. Now, if that had been my Old Lady, I would have done the same thing."

I was getting angry. "Get to the point. "

"We don't know her, and she's your Old Lady." I tried to read his face, but he was telling me the truth from their perspectives.

"What are you trying to say? You want to meet her?" I looked around the room. Almost every brother was nodding their head yes.

"Scrub, can she travel at seven months?" I asked our resident doctor. Scrub had been born in the club and was the only one of us smart enough for med school. He hadn't had a choice.

"Yes, but she'd have to stop at least once an hour to stretch and walk around, provided she's not having any complications." She had had an appointment this past Friday, and the OB had told us everything looked good.

I didn't like the thought of her on the road.

Thunder popped up again. "The Old Ladies would like to welcome her into the club with a baby shower, but they weren't sure how to bring it up to you."

I had to give them something, or they would ride my ass over this more so than they already had.

"Most of you know how I met Grace. Most of you know that she's pregnant. It's not my kid, but I am claiming them. That's not up for debate."

Grizz was angry. His hands clenched on the table, and I could tell he was gritting his teeth. He was probably cursing Meredith's name.

"When Grace delivers in two months, I'll bring them here permanently."

"Is that why you're fixing Mom and Dad's house?" Pretty piped up. It was unusual for him to be so quiet.

"Yeah. If she doesn't like it, I'll get something else, but for now, it'll do."

I steepled my fingers and rested my chin on them. Thunder was right. I couldn't ask them to give their lives for her when they hadn't met her. I'd just have to make sure she understood what she was walking into.

"We haven't had a Family Sunday in a while." I was thinking out loud. "Chef, do we have enough supplies for one?" I asked. Chef ran our diner and cooked nightly for whomever was here.

"It shouldn't be a problem, Prez. "

"Let's do that. We'll have a Family Sunday in two weeks, and I'll figure out how to get her here. I don't want her on the road by herself." It placated them for now. "One more thing. We had a sleeping prospect this morning." There were moans and groans throughout the room. "How many women are in the clubhouse right now?" I asked the room.

Grizz popped up. "Just the club girls, and there's six of them."

"We're losing a prospect, but I won't have someone here that can't protect the club." There was agreement, but no one spoke. "He'll get six hits and then we'll promptly dump him on the side of the road."