“Yes,” everyone in the entire room says in unison.
He curses under his breath, his gaze flicking around to each of us. “Fine,” he grinds out. “Plans to attack begin in the morning.”
“What kind of attack?” Worm asks.
“Financial, physical, deadly.”
“Good,” I grunt.
His gaze finds mine. “I hope you can live with yourself once this is all said and done.”
“Is it marriage or your age?” I ask.
He arches a brow.
“That has suddenly made you a fucking pussy. Marriage or your age?” I ask again.
“Watch how you fucking talk to me,” he grinds out.
“I killed my ex-Old Lady for this club. We all have sacrificed, and right now you’re acting as though we should have some sort of fucking conscience about a goddamn club who started this war against us.”
Dragon’s gaze narrows as anger slides throughout his body, I can practically see it flowing through him. He stands slowly, obviously over my back-talking and second-guessing. Good. Maybe it’ll make his fucking balls grow a little between his legs.
“They’re done, Hawk. And I would watch how you fucking talk to me. I’m not soft, I’m just not as hot-headed as I used to be. I think before I act or react. It’s a good goddamn trait to have, and maybe you should consider looking into it. This meeting is adjourned.”
He slams his gavel down, then jerks his chin toward me. “Figure out what you’re going to do with the girl. I don’t want her here.”
I don’t bother saying a fucking word, turning away from him, I walk out of the room. The girl in question is locked away in one of the guest rooms. Marching toward her, my anger filling my body and attempting to spill out of me, I rip the door open and look at the girl.
She’s sitting on the edge of the bed and slowly she turns her head, her eyes finding mine. She looks terrified, and she should be. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I send a text to someone that I am going to meet up with in about an hour.
“What happens now?” she asks softly, the first time I’ve heard her speak since Jaguar handed her off.
“Now?” I ask.
She nods her head.
“Now you go to the Sinister Skulls. They’ll take care of you… just the way you deserve.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she whispers.
Shaking my head slowly, I arch a brow. “It doesn’t matter. Your father did, and that’s all that matters.”
“I have to pay for my father’s sins?” she asks.
Jerking my chin, I step to the side to let her walk past me. “Pretty fuckin’ much, babe.”
Without another word, I load her up in one of the pickups and I drive her straight toward the Sinister Skulls clubhouse. Bones is already standing outside, his hands on his hips as I pull up, just as I asked in my text to him earlier.
Climbing out of the truck, I walk around and yank open the passenger side door. Wrapping my hand around her bicep, I pull her out of the truck.
“What’s her name?” he asks.
“Not a fucking clue,” I grunt.
“Maci,” she announces softly.
“Maci Marshall?” I ask.
She nods her head. Lifting my brows, I thrust her toward Bones. “She’s yours to deal with now,” I grunt.
He shakes his head. “Seems I’m always getting your issues,” he rasps.
“Better than what would happen to her at the clubhouse, yeah?” I ask.
He looks down at her, then up at me. “Do what I can, but no promises it’ll be any better here.”
“War can be ugly,” I say in response.
Leaving her there, I know that I should be feeling guilty, but I just fucking don’t, not even slightly. Climbing back in the truck, I head back to the clubhouse, back to the only things I really care about right now. I head back to Avah and Trista—my girls.
The club is my priority, it always will be, but my life is my girls. I live and breathe for them and from now on, protecting them is going to be at the top of my fucking list and if that means killing every single Donkey Puncher on this fucking earth, then I’ll goddamn do it—happily.
Epilogue
ONE WEEK LATER
AVAH
Inhaling a deep breath, I look at my reflection in the mirror. How did this happen? How did I turn into this woman? Sliding my hands down the gray ombre dipped skirt, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as I look at my top. All-lace, long-sleeve crop top with a bandeau strip of fabric that strains beneath it to hold my breasts in, it’s nothing like a traditional wedding dress.
Then again, I’m not a traditional bride and Hawk is no traditional groom.
My black hair is pulled up in a half updo, the rest is long and straight down my back. A few inches of my waist is on display and my makeup is flawless, if I do say so myself. This is my wedding day and although I don’t feel like a bride, I feel beautiful.
“I know it should be gross or something, but can I say that I’m really happy you’re going to marry my dad?” Trista announces as she walks into the room.
Turning my head, I look back over my shoulder at her. “I’m sure it should be, but I think this is how it was always meant to be,” I say.
She nods her head once, taking a step closer to me. She’s my only attendant in the bridal party and she looks smoking in her charcoal fitted sheath dress that hits just below mid-thigh. The only groomsman is Taz, and that’s probably only because I insisted on just Trista being my matron of honor.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
Shifting back to look in the mirror, I take one last long look at myself. If you look hard enough, you can see the raised skin of my brand beneath the sheer lace of my top, but otherwise, I look
