Vicious Heart (Desert Kings MC #2)

30. Cam

thirty

Cam

At this point, I knew everything I needed to. Preacher had pushed too far. He wanted me to snap, and I’d come damn close.

I closed my eyes for a moment on an open stretch of deserted highway, tossing my hands out wide in a fucked-up game of chicken I played every so often since I’d got my first bike.

One…two…three…

Then Riley, naked and moving above me, flashed through my mind, and I opened my eyes, dropped my arms back to the handlebars, and kicked the throttle up a notch. The nerves that twisted in my gut weren’t as strong as the image of her, the memory of the feel of her.

God, I’d never loved anything as much as I did her. Not even the fucking Desert Kings.

Of the current table, only two weren’t with me. Drop Top, who would remain neutral in all club business until the day he died, and Paul.

The rest were mine. And Ivan and his crew were on the way in as backup.

No, I wasn’t going to accuse Preacher of murdering Archer. My gut instinct wasn’t proof enough.

The decision had been made. I was leaving the club. And if he wouldn’t let me go Nomad, this was the last time I’d ride this bike. Maybe the last time I’d ride at all. Preacher wouldn’t let them take it easy on me.

Skin for the patch. They didn’t just take the leather, they took it out of me. A beat down, one that would leave me looking worse than Ro. I didn’t fear that, if it meant Riley was safe. To be honest with myself, I had never feared pain. Even before her.

I took the long way around, through the hills and past the rock formations. The midday sun had warmed my leather as I pulled into the clubhouse. I was resolute in my decision. Riley’s safety, a life with her, was more important than anything else.

Archer had known that. I knew now why he’d brought her here to me.

To get me out.

Everyone was there. Merc and AP waiting outside the clubhouse door, Ivan’s entire table milling around the parking lot, cutting up with Puck and the others.

“This what you really want?” over his bald head as I climbed off the bike.

He meant the Nomad vote. As it would take another president to make that happen, a second voice to agree to let me ride wherever I wanted with no accounting. No charter to answer to.

“Yup.”

He gripped my arm, forcing me to look at him. Ivan was only a few years older than me and had been in the club since he was old enough to ride. He bled Desert King gold. But he was a friend. “You better be damn sure, because I don’t think the old guy’s gonna budge.”

And Preacher would have to. As president, he could veto any vote. Even this one.

“Then I’ve got one other option,” I said with solemn honesty.

Ivan balked, his skin going pale and his eyes widening in something adjacent to fear. “Cam, bro, that’s—”

“What will probably happen,” Merc finished for him, tossed the cigarette he’d been smoking to the ground, and crushed it out with his boot. “Ain’t no way Preacher is letting him go. Not like this.”

Not when I had something he wanted.

“Jesus, man. There are other ways.”

I knew what ways he meant. “Absolutely fucking not. He won’t touch her; I’ll kill him first.” The anger that flashed through me could have set me on fire. There were club rules. I wanted out, I could get beat out—my arms broken, give them my bike. Or let Preacher fuck Riley.

Never. Fucking. Happen.

“It’s a button he’ll push,” Ivan whispered, so that only I heard him. He’d made it obvious he’d never been Preacher’s biggest fan.

I just shrugged, jerked open the door, and strolled in. This early, none of the pass-arounds were here, but some of the patches had heard rumors of shit. They milled about the clubhouse waiting on shit to hit the fan.

followed me through, while Ivan and his crew took up residence just outside the hallway.

Preacher was there, sitting at the head of the table like a proud father. As if he’d done something worthy, other than beat a woman to within an inch of her life. I hadn’t been fully prepared to see him. Rage ripped through me like molten iron, scorching everything in its path until the corners of my vision blurred red.

I glared at him, willing him to say something, anything.

But I wasn’t the one who had called the meeting. We’d decided that last night, so he ignored me and turned his attention to AP.

“What’s up?”

“I think you know,” AP sat beside him, the air in the room as heavy as his sigh.

Preacher made an innocent gesture with his hands palm up. “The MC can’t get involved in a domestic altercation.”

“She’s my godmother, Preach,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Not my problem,” he pointed out.

Rage coiled violently in my gut, ready to strike.

“Except that it is,” AP responded quietly, drawing his line in the sand.

Preacher, for the first time, realized he’d overstepped. The smugness evaporated from his face and he sat straighter. “We got drunk, she got mouthy, and things got out of control,” he said slowly, as if that made it all better.

This was the plan: Use what happened to Ro to let me go Nomad. AP’s idea. He figured it would keep the drama as low as possible. And when I could prove Preacher had a hand in Archer’s death, we’d handle the rest.

Or we’d ditch him in the annual vote in a few months. Either way, getting me the fuck out of here was the best option for the club.

For Riley.

But every word Preacher said about Ro pulled me tighter than a bowstring.

“Fuck, did she talk to the cops?” Drop Top rubbed a hand through his beard. “The sheriff won’t look past a domestic violence case, not even for us.”

I caught Merc’s gaze and held it.

“Pay the hospital, toss her some cash.” This from Paul.

Dekes, Puck, Jester, and Merc didn’t say a word.

Preacher shrugged. “That why we’re here? To appease the kid so he minds his own fucking business?”

“How about you learn to keep your fucking hands off women?” I shot back, annoyed. “Stop being a little bitch when you can’t win an argument.”

“We going down this road again, boy ?”

I shook my head and pursed my lips. “Nah, Preach. No roads, not with you. I want Nomad. I’d rather rock by myself than stick around with a pussy who beats women.”

He laughed, relaxing back in his chair. “Kid, you know too damn much.”

“Cam wouldn’t tell shit,” Merc said simply. “Put it to a vote.”

“Explains why White Pine is down today.” Preacher huffed. But his brain was turning, like he couldn’t quite figure out why I’d want to go Nomad. “Lone Wolf ain’t going to keep her safe, kid. Archer’s enemies are still out there.”

“Even the one who killed him.” His veiled threat to Riley’s life nearly pushed me over the edge. I crossed my arms over my chest, let my right hand rest on the nine-millimeter resting there.

I’d blow his god-damned head off. Right here at this table.

He caught my gaze, held it, but gave away nothing save the few beads of sweat that formed across the wrinkle on his forehead. “Archer’s demons killed him.”

“They sure the fuck did. He should have left them in the desert.” I never blinked.

He looked away first. “I’m about done with this shit. You got something to say, fucking say it, Savage.”

“Take the vote,” I responded cooly.

You could tell he didn’t want to and judging how his eyes narrowed, the answer was no. I’d steeled myself for this, been ready for it.

“Where you gonna go, riding Nomad?” He leaned forward. “Without the club, you got no job, no house. Gonna sell little miss sunshine’s ass?”

I ignored the dig and smiled. “Archer took care of his kid, brother. She ain’t gonna have to sell shit .”

I regretted the words the instant I said them. I let him push me, let him push me too far. A flash of knowledge lit in his eyes. He interpreted my words correctly, knew there was money, and the fucker knew I had it.

I’d rather his attention be on me than on her, anyway. I cocked my head to one side and curved my mouth in a half smile of sarcastic challenge. Try me, mother fucker.

“Call for the vote, Preacher.” This from Drop Top, annoyed that any of this was happening at all.

“Yay or nay for Savage to go Nomad.” He looked around the table. “Nay.”

Then to me next. “Yeah.”

Puck. “Whatever he wants, yay.”

Dekes. “Yay. But I fucking hate it.”

Paul, who glanced nervously around to Preacher. “Nay.” But it sounded half like a question.

Then to Jester. “If it’s what he wants, yay.”

Merc, who cut a slow dangerous gaze to Preacher, knowing as well as I did the old man was going to veto it. “Ivan is waiting. Going this far, I’m all in. Yes.”

AP, eyes aimed at the table. “Yay.”

Preacher twisted the gavel for a while. “All this bullshit, the peckerwoods, Archer dying, I feel like you’re trying to tear down everything we’ve built here at every turn. I can’t trust you to stay loyal without Archer to keep you in line. Veto.” He cracked the gavel onto the table.

AP and Merc’s gazes lifted to me. Merc’s mouth tightened, and he gripped the edge of the table, gently shaking his head no.

But like I’d told him last night on Archer’s patio. Preacher wasn’t going to stop, not until he took everything from me, because I was the only one who knew. And he wanted something from Riley and even if he got it, he’d kill her.

I wasn’t about to let that happen. This ended here, today.

“If this is who we are now, I want none of it.” I stood, shrugged the cut off my shoulders, and tossed it to the table. “Fuck you, Preacher.”

He didn’t even hide the gleeful turn of his lips. “You’re really going to do this?”

I laughed without humor. He had no clue how far I’d go.

“Once it’s done, there aren’t any more bylaws between us, Preacher. Gear up to fucking run.”

The room ran ice cold as I left. The weight I’d carried since Archer’s death was gone. I could handle the pain. To keep her safe, I’d take it over and over.

To protect Riley, I’d do whatever it fucking took.

As the door shut behind me, a bomb went off. I couldn’t tell who shouted the loudest, but Preacher had lost the table.

I’d lost my club.

Ivan stood, took a good look at me, and lowered himself back into his seat, his face sick. “Jesus, Cam.”

Merc was right on my heels. “I’m not doing it.” His voice hard.

“You have to.”

“The hell with that.” He was prepared to argue when AP walked out and clamped a firm hand on his shoulder.

“We all signed up for this, kid.”

“Well, I’m gonna need a god-damned hour or two.” He turned back to Preacher, who stood in the doorway to chapel. “You hear me?”

“Do what you have to do.”

And I knew what that was. It made me sick to think of Merc going down that path again, taking those chances. Addiction was real. But I don’t think I could do to him what I was asking him to do to me sober. I ducked my head as he walked out.

Jester with him, tossing an arm over his shoulder as they strolled out the side doors.