Page 53 of His Loyal Rebel

"They wouldn't try to burn down the clubhouse." Hammer crossed his arms. "There's too many of us here at any given time. They couldn't get close without one of us seeing them."

"That kind of thinking will get you killed." Priest exhaled heavily. "Cusclan is making their move."

Every motorcycle club in the Pacific Northwest and inner PNW knew the bloodthirsty club wanted to be bigger and more powerful than any other. Greedy sons of a bitches, they were moving while the iron was hot and the weapons were in their hands.

"They took using Twyla personal." Whip looked at each of his brothers. "I've already put my life on the line for her. She doesn't belong to Big. She never will. I'm not sending her away."

Priest walked away, stopped, and looked out on the street, then returned to them. "It's going to come down to mergers."

"No." Whip's body tensed. "That's bullshit."

The worst thing Tarkio could do was merge with another club to get bigger. There were over three hundred members. They could handle Cusclan. They only had to play it smart.

"Moroad is losing men left and right." Priest pulled his beard straight down. "Up in Haugan, Ronacks Motorcycle Club is already talking about ripping off the patch. Soon, Tarkio will have to decide what we're going to do."

"I'd rather die fighting." Whip's spine stiffened. "I'll never wear a Cusclan patch."

"You might not have any choice if we lose the upper hand," said Priest.

His lip curled. He wouldn't do that in honor of his family. He'd rather be six feet deep than go with those that killed his parents and ruined his sister's life.

Stepping back, he left the conversation. He wanted no part in dissolving Tarkio.

He walked straight to Twyla's bedroom. She'd left the door unlocked.

She raised her head as he entered. He made it to her in two strides. She stood. His balls constricted. He hated not being in control.

Undoing the snap on her jeans, he ripped the material down, taking her panties, too. She kicked her legs, freeing them of the material without questioning him. Turning her around, he pushed the upper half of her body forward until she was bent over in front of him.

Desperately needing to regain the control he felt slipping from his fingers, he grabbed a condom off the nightstand and undid his belt, yanking his jeans past his hips. Already hard, he put on the protection.

Grabbing her hips, he plunged inside of her with a hardness he always held back, too afraid of hurting her. She needed to know. She needed to feel. She needed to understand.

Twyla meant more to him than he could give her.

Tarkio needed him.

And, he needed her.

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