Page 54 of Clash
“You were a new man.”
Chuckling, I nodded my head. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“Come by tomorrow after she leaves for work. I’d like to have a chat with you without having to sneak around.”
“But what if Alex sees me?”
“He won’t. He’s going to help his momma at work tomorrow.” She paused, then carefully removed her hand from my cut. “The coffee will be hot by eight.”
Before I could protest, the woman shuffled away, leaving me completely dumfounded and vulnerable all at the same time.
Walking into the clubhouse, my thoughts were running crazy in my mind. How did the old woman know I was watching?What could she possibly want to talk to me about that she didn’t already say?
I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, and ended up slamming into a warm, soft body. Those familiar doe eyes rounded as she looked up at me, catching the sneer I always sent her way since she returned here to fuck with us all.
“Hey, Clash.”
“Yeah? Hey to you too…”
I started to walk away, but her familiar hand curled around my bicep, forcing me to look at her again. “I know you hate me, but I think we should talk.”
Talk? What the fuck do we have to talk about?
“Look, I know the way things played out didn’t go as everyone had planned. But we both know you never cared about me… at least not like that, so I don’t understand why you’re being so hateful to me now?”
Rage was an all-consuming emotion—one that was fucking with every cell in my body at the current moment. I didn’t have time for this shit. Those big brown eyes won’t work on me—not this time.
My hand gripped hers and I moved it from off my bicep, right before my nasty come back flew straight out of my mouth. “You’re a fucking disease to this club, Shasta. Ever since you came here, people have fucking died. Leppard… your fault. Warrant… your fault. Sabbath… your fault. Everything is your goddamn fault, and you know it!” My voice carried through the hallway, catching the attention of some of the others, and one that wasn’t particularly happy with me and currently marching my way.
“What the fuck, Clash? What the hell did you just say to my woman?” Snyder growled, stepping in between me and Shasta who now had tears streaming down her pretty little face. I hated that I was the reason she was crying, it made me think of Gina,but right now, I had better things to do then to worry about some other bitch’s feelings. Not when the love of my life fucking hated my very existence right now.
Love of my life? Who the fuck talks like that? Certainly not me. But yet, the words just flew into my brain like a paper airplane caught on a lonely gust of wind. Wild. Absolutely fucking wild.
Violently pushing Snyder back, my chest puffed up, and I encroached his space. “We all know she’s to blame for this club’s downfall. It’s not my fault you can’t fucking deal with that little realization, Snyder. Just keep her away from me, okay? I have better things to do than deal with your club-wrecking woman.”
Snyder grabbed my arm, his grip powerful and menacing. He definitely was possessive and protective over his woman—something I respected, because if any man dared to talk about Gina like that, I’d end his fucking life. But this wasn’t about me and Gina. This was about the woman who disrupted our club’s peace and burned it to the ground.
“I just want you and I to be okay again, Clash… do you think you can ever do that?”
I shrugged. “I dunno, baby girl. I’m not the type of asshole that forgives easily.” This is where I normally would drop some line about her dropping to her knees and sucking my cock to start this forgiveness shit off, but the thought of it just leaves me unfulfilled.What the fuck has happened to me?
“I don’t have time for this shit. Can I go now?”
“No,” Snyder said with gritted teeth. “We got Church.”
“Fuck! Now? Why?”
“Just get your ass to the war room. Church in ten.”
I swear to God, if this has something to do with me disrespecting his woman, I’m going to off myself right there on the oak table. BAM.Goodbye Clash. Fuck them both.
Ten minutes later, I sat just to the right from the head of the table, drumming my fingers on the solid oak finish, wishing I was anywhere but here. The rest of my brothers filtered in behind me, all of them looking as lost as I am about why we were being called to order.
When Snyder finally walked in, he was carrying a box—one that smelled like decaying flesh.
“The Crows sent us a little care package,” he roared, placing the box on the table. “I’m lucky I found it and not one of the club girls.”
“What is it?” Ranger asked, eyeing it curiously.
