Once I’ve collected the Texas rockers, my role here is finished—at least far as I’m concerned. Pony’s still the president here, so I wait a minute.
“Thank you for your help.” Pony sweeps his hand through the air, indicating me and my crew. “Why don’t you head back to the clubhouse and relax. I know you’re ridin’ out early tomorrow. We can take it from here.”
“You sure?” I ask.
“Yup. You know the way back, right?”
“We got it,” Dex says, stepping up to shake Pony’s hand. “See you back at the clubhouse, Prez.”
We head outside, stopping at our bikes. “You sure you’re okay to ride?” I ask Pants.
He rubs his shoulder near the spot Doc had stitched and winces. “Yeah, I can make it there.”
“Let’s take it slow,” I say to everyone.
Jiggy and I lead the way since we’re the most familiar with the area. Dex rides at the back to keep an eye on Pants. It’s kind of nice traveling with two road captains who both know what the fuck they’re doing.
The clubhouse parking lot has more cars filling it up than when we left. Muffler bunnies, I’m sure. Almost like no one knows there was a situation and half the club’s not even here.
Sure enough, inside seems to be mostly club girls. I scan the main room and don’t see Shelby anywhere.
“Where’s she at?” Jiggy asks.
“Good question.” I pull out my phone to text her. “Half the time she doesn’t even pay attention to her phone,” I mutter.
“I’ll check the kitchen,” Jiggy offers.
Dana rushes over to offer Pants some “comfort” for his aching shoulder, treating him like he just returned from war. He gives me a smirk and fist bump before draping his arm over her shoulders and limping away. “You got shot in the shoulder,” I call after him. “Not the leg.”
He flips me off without turning around.
My phone buzzes.
Shelby: In our room.
Fuck yes. I need my own comfort with my girl.
First, I want to call Z and let him know what’s up.
Jiggy returns from the kitchen.
“She’s upstairs,” I tell him.
“Go get her.”
“I gotta call Z.” I jerk my head toward the black double doors of the clubhouse’s chapel, the only place I’ll have the privacy to make the phone call.
“Go on. I’ll wait out here,” Jiggy promises.
Satisfied no one should interrupt me, I step into the chapel and slide the doors closed behind me. Still solid. Hardly any noise from the other room trickles inside. I circle the long, pine table and drop into a cracked leather couch to dial Z.
“Cock-a-doodle-do,” he answers.
I glance at the ceiling. “That never gets old, Prez.”
“I know, right?” He laughs. “What’s up?”
I relay the least incriminating version of the story possible.
“Well, fuck,” he says when I finish. “Sounds like Pony handled it the best way possible. Something Priest’s been stressing about.”
With all my own personal drama clouding this trip, I’d forgotten about Priest’s interest in how Pony’s running things. “I honestly don’t see how he could’ve handled it any differently.”
“No civilians got in the way?”
“Not that I saw. Pony says the station owner is a friend of the club, so we’re clear there.”
He’s slow to answer. “Good.”
“You worried I created a bigger problem?”
“No. Red Storm’s been around long enough to know better. Rolling through our territory unannounced, wearing the rocker of an area they can’t claim. It’s like they wanted to cause trouble.”
“Yeah, I thought that too.”
“Fuck ’em. We need to keep those southwest alliances tight,” he says, referencing the Iron Bulls and Savage Dragons without naming the clubs. “That was the whole point of our Texas Summit, right?”
“Right.” And thank fuck for it. Otherwise, I might never have met Shelby.
“Call Blaise. Make sure he knows you’re responsible, so Pony’s not taking the credit.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to make the call? Prez to prez?”
“I wasn’t there.”
Yeah, I’m trying so hard not to step on Z’s toes that I’m probably just irritating the shit out of him.
“I’ll take care of it,” I assure him. “Gotta call him before we get to Texas anyway.”
“Good boy,” he jokes.
“That reminds me. Guess who showed his face here? Smoke.”
“That old fucker,” he grumbles.
“Yeah, Pony seems just as enthusiastic about it.”
“How’s Shelby doing?” he asks.
The fact that he’s asking is the reason I threw my support behind Z to run our charter. “Good. Shows are giving her a lot of exposure. Heard from Jackson again.”
“What’d that prick want?”
“Guess Suggs left everything he had to Shelby in his will.”
He whistles. “Shit. That’s fucked up. Is it a lot?”
“Don’t know yet. She’s plannin’ to donate it.”
“Good for her. If she needs advice, I’m sure Charlotte or Hope can help her out.”
“And I’m sure Teller and Rock appreciate you volunteering their ol’ ladies’ services.”
He rumbles with laughter. “Steer behaving himself?”
Z’s been awfully generous about lettin’ me take half his officers out on the road with me. “Yeah, he’s been a big help, really. Dawson’s got him working with his crew half the time.”