Page 71 of Filthy Liar

Pulling up to the front of the bakery, I throw the car intoParkand hurry into the building. Shawn isn’t behind the counter when I walk in. The bell rings above my head, but there is nobody to be seen.

“I’ll be right there,” a voice calls out from the back.

I assume it’s Ryan.

What feels like seconds later, a frazzled Ryan appears in front of me. Her eyes widen, then she lets out an exhale. Then she rushes toward me and wraps her arms around me.

“My savior,” she whispers against my ear.

She releases me and takes a step backward. “Okay, the after-lunch rush is about to start. The people getting afternoon pick-me-ups, along with the ones who will be buying food for their desserts and whatnot. It’s going to get busy. Let me give you a crash course on the register.”

Nodding a couple of times, I move toward the back of the counter and listen to Ryan as she gives me the crash course. Luckily, it’s not too difficult because she disappears a few moments later.

I’m not sure why she says it’s going to be so busy. Nobody has walked into the bakery in at least ten minutes.

Then it happens.

One group walks in almost simultaneously, then more and more. I move so fast that I don’t know what’s what. People call out their wants, and I throw them in boxes. I’m sure I’m screwing everything up, but I’m trying, and I hope that Shawn realizes that when she starts to get complaints about me.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

CLINK

“We’re donewith this shit. I know I’m not the president, but we’re fucking done. And if I have to make myself known, I’ll do that,” Nash growls in response to Atomic explaining what happened and the situation.

I look down at my lap, not sure what the fuck to say. I mean, Nash is not wrong. This stuff has gotten completely out of hand. We need to be done, and I know I’m not the only one who thinks so, either.

The whole fucking club is feeling the same way.

They just won’t say it to Atomic. Nobody wants to piss him off. Not because they’re afraid of him but more because they respect him and his decisions. But if he’s not careful, people are going to retaliate.

This shit is fucking exhausting.

“What do we do?” Atomic asks. “What the fuck do you suggest?”

I growl, ready to say something, but surprisingly, it’s King who stands and then speaks. His voice is calm and cool. It’sclear he’s been thinking about this, and as the vice president, he knows a lot more of the inner workings than anyone else.

“We love you, Atomic. You’re our brother. Nobody here thinks that you’re doing a bad job as president. But at the same time, we’ve gone with your suggestions, with your contracts and deals, and they’ve been shit. Not by any fault of your own, but they’ve been shit.”

He’s not wrong. They have been out of this world horrific. And we’ve been nothing but betrayed by these bastards. Sure, we made a little money, but it wasn’t fucking worth what we’ve gone through in the process.

“Then I’m open to suggestions,” he says, but you can hear the defensiveness in his voice.

I’m sure that if I were in his shoes, I would be feeling the same way. Clearing my throat, I watch them. King rocks back on his heels. He already knows what he’s going to say, but he’s weighing his words and choosing them carefully. I don’t blame him, considering all eyes are on him right now.

“We need to end the Demon Guns and the Southern Mafia for good,” King announces.

I can hear the people around us murmur among one another, but I can’t make out any words. I am far too focused on King and Atomic. This is truly between them. They are the president and the vice president.

The men who are running this club.

Sure, we make decisions as a collective group, but they run shit. I know they haven’t seen eye to eye on a lot of this over the years, and since I was in prison most of the time this shit was being handled, I know I am nothing but an outsider looking in.

“How do you want to do that?” Atomic asks. “I’m open to suggestions. It’s clear that I don’t know everything. What do you, as a club, want to do? As fathers, as husbands?”

“That’s not fair,” I growl. “Throwing that shit in our faces. We are husbands, and some of us are fathers, but the club is the club, and they’re shitting on us and making us look weak as fuck. They don’t give a shit that we have kids. That we have old ladies. They just want what we’ve worked our asses off for.”

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