Page 10 of Pound

Pound and Granite’s fists stilled, and all the brothers followed suit. Priest’s eyes darted back and forth between them while Pound’s eyes were locked on his prez.

“What? It’s the nephew’s name. The one everyone calls Reno Moreno. I thought that was the logical place to go. Know all the possible players before you get to Reno.”

It was the most logical information to look up, so Priest was genuinely baffled why Granite and Pound weren’t happy to have it.

Pound couldn’t breathe. That itchy feeling had made sense.

Slowly, he stood. It was an out-of-body experience. He was merely an observer as he removed his cut and placed it on the table. Earlier he’d been torn on which course of action to take, but the name Leone Moreno cured him of his indecision.

Pound found he could barely form words, so he simply said, “Resign,” and then walked out. Before he made it farther than the bar, the brothers were on him.

The cacophony of what the fuck, like hell, and a million other words of shock assaulted him.

Pound found his voice and turned. “It’s done. Tell ’em, Granite. You always said if a brother wants out, you’d say good riddance.”

“It’s not that simple, and you know it. You’re my right hand. My best fucking friend. The man who pulled me out of a fucking bender over there that would’ve ended my career and, hell, my life. So no, you do not just take off your cut and walk out. I do not fucking accept your resignation.” Why was Granite so angry? Pound was doing him and every man he cared about a fucking favor.

Pound threw up his hands. He couldn’t walk, he couldn’t stay, and he couldn’t fucking think.

Granite snapped his fingers, and the girls and prospects scattered. “Molly, bottle, then go.” Granite shoved a fifth at him. “Drink, Joe.”

“Joe? So, you’ve accepted it? Good.” Pound took a swig.

“No, I didn’t fucking accept it and I never will. The only way you’re leaving this club is the same as me, in a fucking box. I’m suspending custom. No road names or officers. This is a family matter, and we’ll deal with it like family. Drink.”

Everyone had a bottle and took swigs.

“Joe, I think it’s time. It’s time to get that shit out in the open. Cleanse the wound, so to speak.”

His eyes darted around the room. Some of his brothers were sitting with their backs to the bar watching him. Some were leaning on the wall as he and Granite faced each other.

“It’s no one’s business but mine.”

Prez, no, Weston, reached for his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

“Your business just became their business, it should’ve always been, but that’s a disagreement for another time. Right now, your business, as you put it, just added another steaming pile of shit to the fecal matter layer cake we’re currently baking, so talk.”

All he could do was shake his head. How could he look at those men who respected him and tell them how weak he was?

“Look around. There’s no judgment here. You don’t have to give extraneous details. Keep your shit to yourself if you want, but you do need to explain who Leone is. If he knows who you are, it could change everything.”

“Do you think…” Pound couldn’t finish the thought.

“Do I think she was taken because of you?”

Pound nodded.

“No. If he knew who and where you were, we would’ve heard something by now. Besides, you just claimed her the other day, and you did so behind those doors. There’s no way an outsider would know unless we’ve got a rat, and I highly doubt that.”

Wes was right. He couldn’t let his brothers go in blind.

“Leone Moreno…” Fuck, the words were harder than he expected. “He’s my brother-in-law.”

Joe didn’t see the punch coming until it was landing. One hit from Trip and he lost his balance. They were showered in alcohol as the bottle he was holding hit the floor just a second before he did.

He sprang to his feet, ready to fight, but Taps and Thunder held him tight. Whiskey grabbed Trip in a police hold.

“Let me go, Whiskey. He deserves it. That fucker claimed my sister, and he’s already married.”

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