Page 56 of Forsaking All Others

Ignoring him, my gaze slides back to Holly.

“Twenty years ago, I made a choice,” she declares, shrugging her shoulders as she leans her hip against the other end of the table. “I chose you and you chose this club. Made just as many sacrifices for that gavel as you have, and it looks like today I made the ultimate sacrifice. I have just as much of a right to sit at this fucking table as anyone else here.”

She’s not wrong.

A woman gives as much as she has over the last two decades should have a seat at this table, but I didn’t write the laws of the club.

“That’s not how it works, sweetheart,” Leftie intervenes softly.

Poor man always trying to be the voice of reason in an impossible situation.

“Really?” she sneers, keeping her eyes to me as she addresses the old man. “You were there when the cops came and told me my husband died, Leftie, you heard my children cry, so are you sure that’s now how this works?”

That’s enough. Exhausted as she is, the woman ain’t going to let it go and the quicker I make peace with what I’ve done, the sooner I can seek revenge.

I slam the gavel against the grain of the table.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I hiss, tossing the gavel across the room. “Meeting over, everyone clear out!”

King slams his fist against the table.

“I cannot allow you to do that,” he roars, gripping the edge of the table. “This is fucking suicide,” he grinds out, the vein in his temple throbs angrily.

Leaning my back against my chair I angle my head and peer at him. The man knows better than to come at me.

“Same can be said for you getting in my fucking face. Get the fuck out of my chapel, King, before I take you out in a motherfucking body bag.”

“Hope you got yourself a nice supply of those,” he growls, then he pushes off the table and glares at Holly. He opens his mouth to say something to her, but Ghost grabs him by the back of his kutte and pushes him toward the door before he can.

It’s a good thing too because one word and I’d make good on my fucking threat—vice president or not.

The room clears and the last Knight to walk out the door closes it behind him, locking me and Holly in a chapel with nothing but the flames of Hell climbing between us.

“King is right,” I mutter. “We shouldn’t be doing this now.”

She doesn’t say anything, and I scrub a hand over my face. Knowing I can’t fight what’s about to happen, I lean forward and reach for the whiskey. I fill the glass as she saunters around the table.

We won’t quit until there’s nothing but a pile of molten ash left between us.

She comes to a stop in front of me and takes the glass from my hands. I drag my eyes up her body, watching as she throws back the shot.

Sweet fucking Hell.

Then she stares at the empty glass for a beat. I move to take it from her hand, but she jerks her hand back and sends the glass flying across the room.

Christ.

Here we go.

She pushes the half-empty bottle of whiskey to the side and lifts her ass onto the table in front of me. Bringing her eyes to mine, she raises her hands and her fingers start to work the buttons of her shirt.

One, two, three buttons.

Then she loses her patience and grinds her teeth, ripping open the rest of her shirt. The last few buttons go flying as she kicks off her shoes and hooks her thumbs under the waistband of her leggings.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she spats. A fresh sheen of tears fills her eyes as she pulls her leggings down her hips. I should stop her, this I know, but I’m fucking paralyzed by her beauty and her pain.

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