Page 34 of Choices

“All I ever wanted was to be with Jericho, become an ol’lady. I’d be a good ol’lady, I’ll always be loyal to the club.”

“Don’t ever threaten me again.”

“I wasn’t.” Tears leak from her eyes, panic seizing her throat.

“The kid is mine. We’ll figure the rest of the shit out later,” I declare. If I say it enough, maybe people will believe it.

Her head bobs. “Thank you.”

“You should stay in here today. I have some club business to take care of and it’s better if you’re out of the pres’s way.”

“Okay.”

“Help yourself to a clean shirt. I’ll get Diamond to bring you some food.”

Grabbing some fresh clothes, I slam the bathroom door, foregoing the Kitty shower. I’m too pissed to allow myself to tug my cock to the thought of her when I’m about to shatter her heart.

Changing into the new clothes, I brush my teeth, splash cold water over my face, and finger-comb through the mess of my hair, pulling it back into a ponytail at the nape of my neck.

Claire’s under the comforter sleeping when I come back through.

Closing the door behind me, I avoid the zombies lingering through the clubhouse and head straight for Pres’s office.

I rap my knuckles on the door, and his commanding bark orders, “Get in here.”

Tension hangs thick over the room, a storm cloud waiting to erupt. I was hoping Callan would already be here to play Switzerland.

“I know I fucked up with Claire.” The words fall out of my mouth like a kid scared of being scorned. Being the focus of his anger unsettles me. I’ve looked up to him my whole life. The day he patched me in was one of the best of my life, second to the first time Kitty came on my cock and told me she hated me.

“You been fucking up a lot lately.” I deserve that. “So, what’s your plan? She keeping the kid?” He leans back in his chair, resting his head against clasped hands.

“Yeah, and I think you’re right about her wanting to be an ol’ lady.”

“Then make her one. Give her a ring. Keep her happy. Keep herquiet.” Cracks splinter from my soul, webbing around my heart.

Callan enters the office, drags the chair out, and sits, tapping his phone against his thigh. “Everything good?” he asks, eyeballing us both.

“Fine. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Here I am.”

Pres drops his hands and leans forward. “This isn’t a business meet. Michael reached out to Callan personally. I haven’t had a request from Senior,” Pres informs me.

Pocketing his phone, Callan says, “We can’t go with numbers. It’ll look like we’re expecting trouble.”

“You’re not going to that house alone,” Pres scoffs, stroking his hand down his beard.

“He won’t be alone,” I interject.

Dark, accusing eyes crinkle around the edges, narrowing on me. “Usually, that would mean something. Today, not so much.”

Ouch. I don’t rise to the bait. He’s a proud man and will need time to wrap his head around the whole Claire and me thing. Hell, I need time to wrap my head around it.

“The meet isn’t at the house.”

Pres and I frown at that information.

“I don’t think he wants his old man to know we’re meeting.”

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