22. Cam

twenty-two

Cam

The freedom and reverberation of the ride had always chased away everything. If something bothered me, a long ride could fix it. Here lately, the only thing that did that was Riley.

Now, the angry growl matched my mood as I shifted gears and accelerated into the night.

I squeezed Riley’s knee as I changed lanes, casting a quick glance in the mirror at the bikes that followed us. Riding in a large group like this drew attention, but in Hayes County we were invincible.

Except from the inside. Preacher was a cancer. If I’d needed proof, I had it now.

There was a time he’d have jumped in that fight, just like the rest of us. Now he’d have some explaining to do—I had my proof he was putting his own shit above the Kings. That wouldn’t fly.

A different kind of fight was coming, and I was more than ready for it.

Preacher’s bike wasn’t in the parking lot as I whipped in. No one’s was. Behind me, the lot filled up fast. The whoops and shouts echoed across the desert as bike engines shut down and guys climbed off. This level of testosterone and adrenaline were cause for celebration.

I pulled Riley to my side and lit a cigarette as I turned back to watch the revelry. I never thought I could lose all of this, all of them. But I would if it meant this…that the Kings remained. The finality of that decision broke something inside me.

“They’re happy.” She chuckled, surprise lifting her brow.

“A good fight always boosts morale.” The sound of her voice was a soothing balm. It was unfair of me to count on that to keep me whole if I lost this.

Inside, Dylan was sitting on the bar with a beer bottle in hand, and her feet swinging. The eerie quiet fit her, like a calm before the storm. Family . “I heard y’all made a mess of Wanda’s boys.”

“You damn right we did!” someone shouted from the door as others spilled in.

The Desert Kings had wanted this fight since the day they’d chased Riley and me. Preacher denying that taste for blood would be his downfall. Merc’s plan had been executed to perfection.

Almost immediately, the clubhouse was rocking with music and people—patches and groupies alike. Friends of the club who’d been at the fight were here, too. I sat at a round booth in the corner facing the door, the one Preacher himself often sat at, my arm over Riley’s shoulder. It was a statement; one Merc didn’t miss.

He slid into the booth and whistled. “Jester texted me, stopped by his house to drop his shit off and Preacher rode by—heading out from the Bends.”

The twisty, turning road lined with trailer parks that hugged the dried-up riverbed. Peckerwood central. I appreciated the heads up but didn’t need it. I was tense enough.

Riley didn’t ask me what was up, but her fingers trembled when she dropped a hand to my knee beneath the table. I picked those elegant digits up and brought them to my lips.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” She cast a nervous glance up at me. The confrontation was coming. She knew it and didn’t like it.

I kissed her fingers again, placed her hand back in my lap, then nuzzled her head. “I have to do this, baby.”

“I know.”

Even if she didn’t, she understood. It was that part of Riley that had made me care so much so fast. Fuck if she didn’t understand me all the damn time.

It was several minutes before the door was flung open. Drop Top blustered and stalked across the room, slapped a hand on the bar, and barked orders at Dylan. When he looked at me, it was with a half accusatory, half curious glance. His already disorderly frizzy hair had sprouted from the tie in the back, and he was sporting a mostly black eye.

The grimy bastard hated fights. Mostly because he always got his ass kicked. Those short little arms didn’t swing very far.

Regardless of what he thought, even the old fucker had fought with us.

Dylan cut the music with a remote, just as AP joined Drop Top at the bar. His annoyance was evident in the bristle of his back. He didn’t like the way the other man was talking to his daughter. I couldn’t hear their quiet argument over the din of nervous conversation as people looked around.

“Chapel, now!” Preacher boomed as he pushed open the door and let it slam shut behind, like he was some sort of fucked up biker messiah.

Drop Top turned toward the back hallway, Preacher’s bitch Paul followed. But nobody else moved. Dekes leaned against the pool table and propped the cue under his chin. “Brother, it’s a party, relax.”

The vein in Preacher’s neck popped. He was the hothead, always had been. As a probie, I’d learned to read him. It was a damn good thing, too. I was out of the booth before Preacher could take a step, and in front of Dekes before he could jerk him up. His fat fingers clenched into a fist in front of my face.

I grinned in challenge. Do it. One swing was all I needed, and I’d lay his old ass out, right here in front of everyone. Vice President be damned.

“He’s right, Preach.” Jester came up behind him. “I won, and we fucked some peckerwoods up. It was a good night.”

“Chapel,” he growled.

When he tried to shoulder past me, I was ready for it. I didn’t move, his beefy body half bouncing off me. He sputtered and stomped into the room, followed by his two flunkies.

The rest of the table glanced at me, waiting for me to decide what came next. Even AP. On a sigh with a half grin, I lit a cigarette and shrugged.

I made him wait, watching the minute hand tick by on the giant neon clock over the door. At three, I turned toward Riley, pulled her close, and kissed her. The tender press of her lips was the sort of thing I’d never expected from this life. . “Have Dylan take you home.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She tilted her chin in a proud way that reminded me of Archer. I could demand she go back, turn the simmering anger inside me on her. And no doubt she’d do as I said. But what would it cost her?

I leaned down to her ear. “Listen, I need to go in here and take care of shit without worrying about you being here if it goes sideways. Please go home.”

She pressed her lips to mine. “Don’t make me wait long.”

“I won’t.” I watched her walk to Dylan, whose brow was creased with worry.

Then I motioned the other guys toward the Tribute Hall. I was the last one to enter the room, making damn sure Dylan and Riley were leaving. Everyone else was at their seat. I kicked the door shut with the back of my heel and went to mine, spinning it around backward, and straddled it.

It was an insolent move, knowing Preacher hated the sound of the chair dragging across the floor as much as he’d hated having to wait on me. I crushed my cigarette out in the ashtray on the table and blew my smoke right at him. I fucking smiled as I did it.

“I don’t know which one of you started that stupid shit at the fight—”

“Peckerwoods started it when they came after Cam,” Puck stated simply.

Preacher glowered at him. “And we settled that. Starting a full out brawl at an event is bullshit. I’m trying to keep peace in the Valley, not start a god damned war.”

“That why you dipped out the back with Wanda?” I didn’t wait for him to get a full head of steam.

“Who said I did? Your little princess up there with Soletsky? After you told us she wasn’t going to be a problem? Now the little bitch is lying on me?”

I jumped across the table, slapping the gavel so that it flew against the wall, and shoved him in the chest so hard the chair clattered from beneath him, and he spilled onto the floor. Someone jerked me back across the table, and Puck grabbed my fist before I could shove it into the bastard’s red, sputtering face.

He jumped to his feet as several guys pulled me away. I shook with anger, hatred, and the overwhelming desire to beat the fucking shit out of him.

“She wasn’t the only one who saw you,” AP drawled lazily. “And fuck face here was with you.” He tossed a hand toward Paul.

The younger man’s face went tight, and he said absolutely nothing.

I shrugged out of Puck’s grasp. “Call her a liar again. I fucking dare you.”

“Sit down, boy,” Preacher snarled, standing behind his chair now. He definitely wasn’t moving closer to me. “You’ve caused enough problems. Your shit after the cartel meet and starting this shit tonight is going to tear this club apart.”

“The only person doing that is you,” I said with a sneer.

“Me?” His eyes flew wide, actual shock registering on his face. “I’m not the one palling around with the fucking cartel and bringing that shit into the Valley.”

“Nah, brother , Garza showed up looking for you. Personal business. Care to share that with the rest of the table?”

It seemed all the air sucked out of the room, and he narrowed his eyes on me. “You got something else bothering you, son ?”

Yeah, you killed Archer, you piece of shit . I just couldn’t prove it yet.

“I want to know why you’re so chummy with the fuckers who try to undercut our business and pose the biggest threat to the club—hell, to the whole damn county.” I was shouting now and didn’t fucking care.

“From where I’m standing, boy, the biggest threat is in this room.”

He had no idea. But it wasn’t me.

“I move for a cool down, meet back here in forty-eight hours, and hash it all back out.” This from Drop Top, who now looked impossibly old and desperately tired.

“I second it.” AP stood. “And everything stays in this room. I shouldn’t have to remind any of you reprobates.”

Preacher stormed out, Paul on his heels.

Drop Top laid his head on the table. “I don’t have time for this shit, man,” he whined, but he got up with the rest of the table and walked out.

Before I could leave, Merc stood and shook his head. I lingered and lit a cigarette.

At a wordless gesture from his father, Merc shut the door behind Jester.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” AP’s usually calm demeanor cracked. Shock and anger echoed in his voice.

I lowered myself slowly into my seat, head down, taking a calming drag as I did. If AP Merrick was shouting at me, I’d fucked up.

Only four of us remained at the table. Dekes lounged back in his seat, lighting a small cigar. One whiff of the aromatic smoke told me it wasn’t tobacco. I took a long hit when he passed it to me and thought about my next move.

“He shouldn’t be president.” I passed it to Merc.

I was still pissed about Preacher’s shit talking Riley—again. About all of it, if I was being honest, my anger was turning quickly into hatred.

“You still can’t go around throwing punches in chapel, kid.” AP’s voice was quieter now, like he was too tired to be having this conversation. “Not after he’s already tried to come for your patch.”

“Not like Preach was going to throw any tonight for the Kings.” Dekes took the blunt from Merc when AP refrained.

“He’s doing a lot of sketchy shit, Dad. Likely he’s the reason the peckerwoods went after Cam and Riley.”

AP sighed. “That doesn’t excuse what Cam did. He’ll have to pay for that.”

“We caught him in a lie,” I pointed out. “When does he pay?”

“And nobody’s going to remember that because you blew your top.” AP settled a hard, fatherly gaze on me.

“I’ll remember it, so will Puck and Jester.” Dekes surprised me with the unwavering support. “When we sit down, I’ll use it to call for a new vote. Never liked that bastard being near the head of the table, anyway.”

“And who are you nominating in his place?” AP asked, tossing his hands up.

“The kid.” Dekes shook an elbow toward me.

“No.” I took a hit, then passed it. I was mentally halfway out the fucking door without Archer here. “I don’t want it, but I’m not going to sit quietly with Preacher at the helm.”

AP rolled his eyes. “Son, you can’t just blow-up what Archer built because you’re shacked up with his daughter and Preacher doesn’t like it. This club, what it means to all of us, to this town—it’s too important for a childish pissing contest.”

I spun the keys to Archer’s bike between my fingers, missing him more than I thought I could miss anyone. “It’s more than that.” I held his gaze. “Archer didn’t shoot himself, and I’m pretty sure I know who did.”

Dekes choked and coughed, shocked. Which I’d expected. What I didn’t expect was AP’s lack of reaction.

He wasn’t surprised at all. “You’ve got two days to .”

“Then we handle it.” Dekes crushed out the roach.

Merc stopped me at the door. “What if we can’t prove it?”

I shrugged. “Then I’m out.”