Page 117 of Dagger

Honestly, without Cara, Wilder, and a fuck ton of therapy, I wasn’t sure he would’ve ever got there.

Taking a mug of coffee from the tray, I took a swig before placing it back on the table. “Men. I wanna convey my thanks that you came here on short notice. Your prez has told me all about your skills, and I’m grateful you’re using ‘em to protectnot what’s just ours, but now, what’s yours too. When I took over this club from my pop, it was fucked up. Over the years, I’ve recruited men like Hendrix to elevate what we are and what we’re about. I gotta say, he’s done well in Virginia. I’ve always been hesitant in opening new chapters ‘cause it’s easy to let standards slip, but it’s clear he’s excelled.”

The man called Fletch leaned forward, and his eyes slid toward my youngest. “Breaker, right?”

Kit jerked a nod.

“Blade tells us you’re married to Kitten Carmichael. Got two kids.”

“Yep,” Kit confirmed, adding, “And another one on the way.” He cocked his head. “What of it?”

“Saw her in Vegas years ago,” Fletch grinned. “Gotta poster of her on my wall wearing an itty bitty little…” his voice trailed off. “Well, you get the picture. Anyway, if I get one of the boys to post it down, will you get her to sign it for me?”

Kit’s warning growl came from low in his chest.

My eyes narrowed.

Oh, fuck no.

“That’s my daughter you’re disrespectin’, boy,” I snarled.

Hendrix slowly closed his eyes.

Diablo cursed under his breath.

Blade turned to his left, grabbed Fletch by the scruff of his neck, and stood, hauling him from his seat. “What did I tell your punk ass before we came here?” he hissed; marching Fletch away from the camera.

“Whoa, Veep, I was only having fun,” Fletch protested in the background.

I heard a door open, a muffled curse, and then it slammed shut.

“What’s goin’ on?” I demanded.

Hendrix’s lips twitched. “My VP won’t take disrespect, especially when it comes from one of his men.”

Blade appeared back on camera, taking his seat again next to Hendrix. “Sorry ‘bout that. Just had to take the trash out.” His stare slid to Hendrix, and he shook his head.

“Fuck,” Picasso muttered under his breath, glancing at Diablo.

The SAA sat back and folded his arms across his beefy chest, his stare sliding to his brother. “He’s been warned about his mouth. You don’t come to the mother chapter and dog an officer’s ol’ lady. If someone said that shit to me, I’d beat their ass.” His eyes came back to camera. “Apologies, Breaker. Fletch is a talented soldier, but he’s also got a big mouth. I’ll keep a closer eye on him.”

Breaker jerked his chin.

I gave him a nod of appreciation.

“Have you spoken to Colt?” Hendrix asked me.

“Not today. He’s movin’ in on the Sinners and watching both towns. Henderson’s holed up over in Mapletree with his new piece, so Colt will be concentrating on that area. Now we’ve sent the women and kids off, we’re quiet, at least D-Day.”

“I’ll head over there again soon,” Hendrix stated. “I like making sure the players are sitting pretty, right where they’re meant to be. Speaking of which, tell Shotgun to stay the fuck away from the town. He’s not helping matters; in fact, he’s gettin’ in my way. If I’d have had to pull him outta that bar last night, it would’ve blown my cover.” He shook his head frustratedly. “He always was a pain in my ass. I blame you for letting him get away with too much shit.”

A cold feeling washed over me. “Huh?”

Hendrix’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t know?”

My head whipped toward Atlas. “Does his aunt still live over there?”

“Nah,” my SAA rumbled. “She moved to Fort Lauderdale a couple of years ago.”

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