Page 65 of Gunner

Chapter Seventeen

Gunner

“What? Did you forget to say something else? How about how I failed seventh grade math three times? Or how about the time I came home drunk and accidentally laid down your bike in the yard?” I questioned, as I walked into his office without knocking. Fucker wanted to belittle me and my woman. He didn’t deserve common courtesy in my book.

Dickhead was lucky I showed up.

Maybe I should have done that first because, doing so now, I saw my brothers, all of them, lounging around the room.

All eyes on me.

“That was you!” King sat up, narrowing his eyes as I heard Scribe snicker. “I thought it was Scribe!”

Gulping, I quickly replied, snapping my finger. “You’re right. It was Scribe.”

Scribe rolled his eyes as King grumbled. “Sit the hell down, Cord,”

Shit. That was close.

Sitting in the only vacant chair, I cringed. I hated sitting front and center. Fuckers set me up. I glared at my brother and sat. I didn’t give a fuck what they wanted at the moment. I was mad at them. King specifically. So, pushing my luck, I scoffed, “Oh, I’m Cord now? Does that mean I can call you Callum now or are you still King?”

“Just fucking shut up,” King sighed, leaning forward against his desk. “I’m sorry, okay? I know I give you a hard time about a lot of shit, Cord, but you’re my baby brother.”

I was about to respond when he held up his hand. “Let me finish. You’re a fuck-up. You’ve always been a fuck-up and will more than likely die a fuck-up. You do shit that doesn’t benefit anyone but yourself. None of us say anything because the shit you do generally aligns with the club, minus your nocturnal activities.”

“Gee thanks. I think,” I muttered.

“What I’m trying to say is none of us wants to change you, Cord.”

“No, you just don’t want me to fuck up anymore.”

“Can you blame us? You are one of the best damn brothers in this club. If ever any of us need help, you are the first to show up. You don’t complain, you just do what needs to be done. No questions asked. But your fuckups are legendary, man. From the time you bagged the girls’ chess team to you and Holly getting stuck on the water tower. Even you have to admit, your dick has gotten you in trouble many times.”

Yeah, those were some damn fun times, too.

I totally forgot about the ladies’ chess league.

“But this shit with Sarah...brother, none of us know what to think. You’ve never shown any interest in anyone longer than five minutes and now you want to claim Sarah? It makes no sense.”

I growled, all pretenses gone. “I claimed her. She’s mine.”

“See!” King shouted, pointing his finger at me. “That right there. That’s not your normal behavior. I need you to explain this to me. Is it because she’s pregnant? Because if that’s the case, you understand you don’t have to marry her, right?”

My head snapped to his.

“Who said anything about marriage?” I asked, confused. “I’m just claiming her.”

King’s head dropped to his desk as he sighed loudly.

“Gunner,” he moaned.

“Jesus Christ,” Pyro groaned, whipping out his wallet, handing a smiling Scribe a wad of cash. Scribe said nothing as he kissed the money before giving me a thumbs up.

“It’s a gift,” Priest muttered, crossing the crucifix over his chest before kissing the gold cross that always hangs from his neck. “It has to be. No one can be that stupid.”

“Gunner ain’t stupid,” Frank said, between bites of the large sub sandwich in his hands. “He’s just slow on the uptake. Give him another clue, King. He will figure it out.”

What? Was I missing something? I thought I was pretty clear. Sarah was mine. I claimed her. What did they want me to do? Hire a damn plane and have it written in the sky for all to see? What’s the problem now?

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