Finally, some of the men escape the chapel, Malcolm encouraging everyone but the original Dirty Aces members and new Knights to leave.
He doesn’t shut the door, though, making sure that they can listen if they want, proving he has nothing to hide and won’t be giving me any special treatment just because I’m part of his crew.
“You told Maeve our plan?” Malcolm asks as I keep rubbing my aching jaw that feels displaced when I open my mouth.
“I only told her so that she could get her brother out of there. He’s all the family she has left. She wasn’t supposed to tell them all. Rian’s only eighteen.”
“Eighteen-year-old boys can fight for their country, so they won’t be getting a free pass from me,” Malcolm says when he lowers himself into his chair at the head of the table. “Was he one of the shooters?”
“Yes.”
“Then he’s man enough to pay the fucking consequences!”
“If the pub hadn’t been empty, sure, yeah, we could’ve taken out a few, maybe even the ones responsible for the shooting. But we would’ve lost men too!” I point out. “So, to me, I guess it was worth the chance. I don’t regret telling her, and I won’t fucking apologize.”
“He has to be punished for his fucking betrayal!” Hunt declares.
“So that’s it, huh? You turning in your cut?” Malcolm asks.
“If that’s what you tell me I have to do, then I guess I won’t have a choice, will I?” I ask him.
“Not unless you’re going to set shit right on your own.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“You made this mess. Now you need to clean it up,” Malcolm explains.
“I won’t let you hurt Maeve,” I tell him.
“That bitch is mine,” Hunt says through clenched teeth while cracking his knuckles. It’s good to see his gun is no longer in his hands, but there’s only one thing for me to say to that.
“Over my cold, dead body.”
“That can be arranged,” Hunt replies and then reaches again for the gun in his shoulder harness. Malcolm is faster, pulling his out and shooting it about two inches over the man’s head.
“What the actual fuck?” Hunt yells when he ducks down, his eyes wide in surprise, mouth gaping in disbelief.
“You touch that goddamn gun again and I’ll blow your head off myself, Hunt,” Malcolm warns him. “This is all your fucking fault for not telling us about the Irish before you patched in and for not keeping your girls in line.”
“My fault?” Hunt scoffs as he straightens again.
“That’s right,” Malcolm agrees. “Glad you’re starting to get it.”
“This is all on him,” Hunt says, pointing his finger at me.
“I didn’t get anyone shot or killed,” I respond. “Fiasco still isn’t on his feet because of you. So, turn your fucking finger right the hell around.”
That finally shuts him up. Hunt leans his back against the far wall and slips his hands into his pockets. The man is a hothead. I think he could make a decent president eventually; he just needs to take responsibility for shit.
“What the fuck were you thinking, man?” Malcolm asks me.
I consider his question for a moment before responding. “Probably the same thing you were thinking when you kept Naomi around even after you knew she was stealing from you.”
Malcolm’s jaw clenches in anger, but I’m not finished.
“Maybe I thought the same thing that Devlin was thinking when we had to go on a murder spree to save his girl.”
Dev holds his palms up in surrender. “You got me there.”
“Do I need to call out Nash and Silas too, or are you all getting the fucking point?”
“There’s a difference. Maeve can’t ever be trusted,” Malcolm says. “She’ll never choose you over her own brother.”
“She didn’t know the Irish were going to shoot up the bar that night! She thought they were only going to damage the bikes to try and scare the Knights away,” I explain.
“Bullshit,” Hunt huffs from where he’s still holding up the wall.
“Was she naive? Hell yes,” I tell them. “But she did it to try and protect her brother. I think we can all understand that on some level, right?”
“The Irish are still our enemy for drawing blood first,” Malcolm says. “And with her brother part of them, she’s still our enemy too.”
“I know that,” I reply. “But if you give me one more chance to clean this shit up like you said, I think I may be able to smooth things out.”
“Oh yeah? And what if you fail?” Nash asks.
“Then you can take my cut and kill me if that’s what the table votes to do.”
Chapter Eighteen
Maeve
Even after Rian called last night saying he was safe, I knew the beef between the MC and the Irish wasn’t even close to being finished. That’s why I couldn’t sleep a wink. In my mind, I kept trying to figure out a way to get both sides to back down and have come up empty.
I’m not sure if there’s nothing to be done or…
When I hear someone knock on my door late that afternoon, I’m shocked speechless when I look out the peephole and see Wirth on the other side. A pair of aviator sunglasses cover his eyes, and the rest of him is, well, bigger, angrier and sexier than he has any right to look. Except…something is missing. He’s not wearing his leather cut over his t-shirt, which is odd.
I didn’t think I would ever see him again. In fact, his last words to me were that we were done. I wish he’d told me he was coming so I could’ve changed. Instead, I’m wearing a pair of ratty old boy short panties and thin tank top with no bra, but I don’t think he’ll care what I have on. He looks too pissed to even notice.
I quickly flip the locks and open the door to let him in. “Hey,” I say, sounding out of breath from just seeing him again.
“You fucked me over,” he grits out, face tense,
