Free Outlaw's Bride by Nicole Snow Page B

man in this club ever got over the shock of having the Prez get physical.
    “What the fuck's your malfunction? You could've saved your bullets for another day, and you know it. I'm disappointed, son. These asshole informants don't grow like plums. You just trashed our best chance this month to find the vermin embedded in our own house.”
    His voice hit me in a harsh whisper. Angry, intense, and so fucking disappointed. Only the last one really got to me.
    I tensed up, stood as straight as I could, and lowered my fists. “He had your ear, Prez. I had to step in. You know my job's to keep order, inside the club and out. I gotta protect you, even when you think you can protect yourself.”
    “Your job's keeping this club safe. If that means pulling brothers off each others' throats, or turning up the traitors who'd like to put a dagger in our backs, you know your duty. You know it so damned well I don't need to remind you. Just like I don't need to tell you I know how to protect my own body – he'd have never ripped my ear off. Somebody would've beaten him out cold first if you hadn't fired that popgun.” Blackjack relaxed his death grip on my cut, spun around, and turned back after a minute of collecting his breath. “I thought keeping you away from the Jennings place would do us all some good. Clearly, I'm mistaken.”
    My guts twisted up in knots. “What? Come the fuck on, Prez. This shit's not about her. That motherfucker I blasted would've strung us around for hours. He wasn't like the other bitch boys who tense up and cry because they've got nothing valuable to tell us. I've seen his type before. He'd let us wreck him before he told us shit.”
    “Maybe,” Blackjack said, narrowing his eyes “Or maybe we would've gotten him so delirious he'd sing like a goddamned rock star. Killing him wasn't your call, son. Unless he's got a gun to a brothers' head, that's mine, and mine alone. You went over the chain of command.”
    I lowered my eyes. Fuck. There was nothing to say to that when it was true.
    “I want you to look at me and admit you're having trouble dealing with your old flame. Because if it's not her screwing up your skull, we just might have a bigger problem. No man who's drunk or hooked on the shadier shit deserves to be my Enforcer. And if it's not her scrambling your brain, I'm going to assume it's something worse.”
    “It's not that. I never touched that shit, and I drink half as much as the other fucks hanging around the clubhouse on a good night. I'm not a goddamned junkie, Prez.”
    Blackjack nodded, but he didn't take his eyes off me.
    Fucker wanted me to say the rest. Admit the way she'd twisted me up in knots, sent me into a fury of fucking and drinking and storming tempers that still hadn't settled down.
    I refused. I'd let him slice my tongue out before I admitted how bad Sally busted my balls, leaving me ringing with the aftershocks.
    “Okay. We both know what happens from here.” Without looking away, he stepped back, reaching into his pocket for a fresh smoke. “Pack up your shit and head out to the Jennings' place. You're gonna trade places with Rabid and oversee the little crew out there on patrol.”
    Fuck! I wasn't sure if he'd just realized my worst fear, or granted me some fucked up secret wish that wouldn't quit humming in the back of my skull.
    I shrugged, tightening the impassable mask I called my face. “An order's an order. I'll be there. Put me wherever I'll make you happy, Prez. Just don't treat me like you're trying to save me from your own damned fate. It's not the same. I'm not getting back with her. The woman hates my fucking guts, and the feeling's mutual.”
    No, not quite. Fuck if I'll ever admit it, though.
    His face darkened, and he gave me a stern look, tearing the cig outta his mouth. “You're flying very close to the sun, and you're going to burn if you don't stop talking. Of course it's different. I can control my own damned business, and you can't. Your little