Page 72 of Fire Meets Fire

“We going to patch her in?” Mac innocently asks.

There’s a stunned silence. It had never crossed my mind to have a female member. Truthfully, if she had a dick, there’d be no question. She’s got all the qualities we’d look for in a brother.

“No fuckin’ way.” Bull’s the first to speak. “I have a fuck load of respect for her, but she ain’t a brother. She’s a bitch.”

“We’d be a fuckin’ laughingstock,” Fire states.

For a fleeting moment, I’d had a vision of her riding up front with the brothers. But there’s the rub. She can’t ride. And she’s not got the right equipment hanging between her legs. Two good reasons to exclude her. But hell, it fucking stinks. “She’ll go as my old lady.” I shut down this shit.

“So, she’ll need a property patch.” StoryTeller says through a laugh.

“Are you brave enough to tell her?” Claw directs the question to me with a smirk, miming slitting his throat.

“I want a front-row seat for that conversation.” Iron slaps the table, making some paperwork bounce.

I grimace. I can just imagine how that will go over. But they have got a point. While Queenie will fast disavow anyone for thinking her a sweet butt when we visit a different charter, she’s likely to speak with her fists if someone puts a hand on her. I have no doubt my woman can look after herself, but brothersin other charters aren’t going to look kindly on a club that can’t control their bitches. And that will blow back on the rest of us.

There’d be bloodshed and broken bones that’s for certain. On our fight nights there’s barely anyone who can take her. And on the firing range, we shoot beside her, but don’t let her enter our competitions at all. We’re men, for fuck’s sake, and we have to draw the line somewhere. Secretly we know she can outshoot any one of us.

A loud sniff makes me look up in time to see Skunk wiping his nose on his sleeve, then raising his hand. “I got a suggestion.”

“Hey, you got on new deodorant again?” Pothead asks from beside him. He sniffs the air. “You know, brother, for once you don’t smell too bad.”

“Sure have.” Skunk chuckles, bringing a roll-on out of his cut as if it was a prize possession. “It’s new forty-eight hour sports protection. I just have to apply it every couple of hours is all.”

I don’t need to ask if it’s another gift from Queenie. She’s made it her mission to find Skunk something that works. This must be try number fifty-two. It’s the little things like this that she does which have made my brothers as well as my self have high regard for her.

“What you thinking?” Bull asks the now, I think of it, fresher smelling man, when I’m too slow to.

“She has a rag with Chaz’s Queen written on it. Respectful to her, but shows ownership too.”

My eyes crease and my brow furrows. Not quite a property patch but will show who she belongs to. And it’s nothing but the truth. She is my queen, and I totally worship her.

“And,” Skunk continues, his gaze firmly on me, a side of his mouth suspiciously quirking. “She can carry a bag with the inscription, Chaz’s Balls.”

“Bag? Just a small pouch.” Fire interjects.

The table erupts. Beard snorts, Legend bends his head over, his belly laughs sounding loud. Claw’s trying to keep a straight face and StoryTeller’s trying hard not to crack up. Mac is regarding me carefully, our newest patched member not totally sure how I’m going to react, while Pothead just takes advantage of the break in proceedings to start rolling a joint.

“You fuckin’ done?” I roar, as the last of the laughter fades.

Luckily I’ve not completely lost my touch, as they go from yanking my chain to shifting uneasily in their seats. Skunk, in particular, seems to want to disappear into his.

“Yup,” Iron states, giving the table his best sergeant-at-arms glare. “I think they’re done, Prez.”

Thank fuck I haven’t lost my touch.

Momentarily I remember how at one point I thought I’d lost this, that I’d lost not only the respect of my club but also my patch. How I would have given it all up for Queenie.

But my brothers had come through for me. Lucky bastard that I am, I have everything.

I pick up the gavel and snarl. “Get out of my fuckin’ sight before I decide to prove to you all that my balls are firmly in the right place.”

I keep the stern expression and only grin when the room is empty.

EPILOGUE

TWELVE MONTHS LATER…

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