Page 83 of Pulse

“Thanks, guys… sorry I’m late.” Curly strode into the chapel and then shut the heavy doors behind him. “Had a call from Copper up in Tennessee.”

“No worries, boss,” Jinx said. “I was just telling everyone how I learned Spec’s ol’ lady cut him off because he did something dickish.”

Curly’s gaze landed on Pulse for a beat before returning to Jinx. “I’d expect nothing less from you, Jinx.”

“You know me well, Prez.” Jinx sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest with a satisfied smirk.

“All right, I don’t wanna drag down the fun, but I gotta take shit to a serious place for now.” Curly stood in front of his chair at the head of the table. All eyes focused on him. The man had the respect, loyalty, and love of every man in the room. Never had someone been more deserving of the president’s patch on their chest.

“Before I turn this over to Pulse because it is his story to tell, I want to make a few things perfectly fucking clear, hear me?”

“Shit,” Jinx muttered. His typical snark disappeared, replaced by a solemn nod. “We hear you, Prez.”

“You asses stay in your seats, and your mouths stay fucking shut. We have a way of doing things in this club, and violence against a brother will not be tolerated. Is that clear?”

He stared straight at Spec as he spoke.

That’s right, asshole, he’s looking at you.

“Clear, Prez,” Spec ground out through clenched teeth.

Such enthusiasm.

This was fucked before Pulse even opened his mouth.

“One more thing,” Curly planted his palms on the table, leaning forward. “I wasn’t going to say this at first because I don’t want to sway anyone’s opinion, but I think you can all speak your mind even if you disagree with me, so I’m gonna say my piece. I have Pulse’s back, and I support him in this.”

Oh shit.

His chest tightened to the point of uncomfortable. He wanted to thank his president, but his lungs wouldn’t expand to draw in air so he could speak.

Across the table, Jinx frowned. “Think it goes without saying, Prez, that we all have his back too.”

“Might wanna wait till you fucking hear what’s going on,” Spec muttered.

Jinx’s expression went from concerned to downright panicked.

“We’re ready to hear it,” Ty said. “Whatever it is.”

“The floor is yours, Pulse.” Curly sat and reached for his scotch.

If ever there was a time for liquid courage, this was it. Pulse had been dumb to skip pouring himself a drink. Jinx must have sensed his unease because he pushed his whisky across the table. “Drink up, brother.”

“Thanks.” He slammed back the few swallows of whisky and then cleared his throat. “I appreciate you all hearing me out. I’m just gonna rip the Band-Aid off and say the shitty part straight-up. I spent about a decade, most of my twenties, working as a federal agent for the Drug Enforcement Agency.”

The only sound was that of jaws hitting the floor.

Everyone stared at him as though they’d never seen him before and with varying degrees of disgust.

Fuck it. Getting shot by Spec had to be less painful than this.

“Wanna run that by us again?” Jinx asked. He stuck a finger in his ear and mimed cleaning it out. “Couldn’ta heard you right. Sounded like you said once upon a time, you were a cop.”

Pulse’s shoulders slumped. “You heard right. I was a fed. DEA for ten years. I worked undercover mostly, infiltrating the Del Rios Cartel.”

The admission seemed to have stunned Jinx silent, which was no easy task.

But it didn’t last long.

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