Page 55 of Property of Shotgun

I didn’t know if that was the best idea, but there was no talking to him. He was spiraling, and at the end of the day, he knew better than me as to how to proceed.

He didn’t call until late the next night, and I knew he had done it before I even answered the phone because he didn’t FaceTime me.

“Hey, mama,” he slurred. “It’s done. Told them all you’re mine. That I fucking love you, and plan to marry you as soon as I get home. And if you’re not already pregnant, then I’m going to work on that too. Give you that little girl you’ve been dreaming of. Can you see it? You, me, the boys, and a little girl that looks just like you?”

I could see it clear as day, and I told him that through the tears that streamed down my face. Then I asked him what happened with the club, and he didn’t tell me anything more than they would be taking a vote on the course of punishment.

“What the hell does that mean?” I demanded.

He sighed. “It means they hold my future with the club in their hands, but my future with you—ain’t no one taking control of that but us.”

I keep replaying those words over in my head, thinking they will somehow ease the anxiety filtering through my body, and it does for about a millisecond, until I let my mind trail down memory lane, and I think about all the sacrifices Shotgun has made for the club.

The Kings of Anarchy are embedded in his soul, and he shouldn’t be sanctioned because he fell in love with me. He should be fucking honored. He took a broken-hearted woman, they claim to care and respect, and he made me whole.

He fixed what they broke. They claim this a breach of brotherhood, but anyone who knew Irish would tell you that the only man he’d trust his family to is Shotgun. They also say this about me belonging to one man, and one club. Well, I belong to me, and only me. I’ve given my body to Shotgun, along with my heart. And I only answer to my children.

As for the club, I belong to them, and they belong to me.

It’s a mutual respect.

I pull my truck into the compound, and park directly in front of the clubhouse where the convoy of bikes is usually parked.

“Legend, I want you to take your brothers into your dad’s room. I’m going to wait out here for Shotgun.”

He seems to contemplate what I’m saying, and not because he plans to argue with me, but rather he’s considering if Shotgun would approve of him leaving me outside alone. He’s taught my boy well.

“Go, on, baby, I’ll be fine. Gavone is standing right over there.”

“Fine, but if he doesn’t come soon, will you come and wait inside with us?”

“Of course.” I lean over the console to give him a kiss on the cheek, then I turn to my two boys in the back seat. “Go with your brother. He’s going to show you your dad’s old room.”

“But we want to see Uncle Shotty. We’ve been waiting forever.”

“Just a little while longer, and he’ll be all yours. He’s counting down the minutes. I’m sure of it.”

That seems to persuade him, and he takes Legend’s hand. I watch as the three boys enter the clubhouse, then I open up my hatch, and sit in my truck, waiting for the convoy of bikes. Gavone tries to make small talk with me, but I have no desire to shoot the breeze. I barely know the guy, and I’m too riled up to care about anything he has to say.

About thirty minutes later I hear the roar of pipes, and a minute after that, I see them roll through the gates. Biggie is the first to park behind my truck, and I glare at him. Then my eyes scan over the rest of the bikes, and that’s when I see my man with a busted lip and a black eye.

Killing the engine, he toes the kickstand and quickly dismounts. I run toward him, my feet coming to a skidding halt right in front of him. Lifting my hands, I cradle his face.

“What are you doing here? Where are the boys?”

“I couldn’t wait another second,” I shout over the engines. “The boys are in Irish’s room.” My thumb gently traces his bloody lip. “Which one of them did this to you?”

He bends his knees and winds his arms around the back of my thighs, hoisting me up against him. “It doesn’t matter.”

He goes in for a kiss, but my head inches back. “It matters to me.” The engines die around us, and it suddenly gets very quiet. I turn my attention to Biggie, and find him staring at me, a blank expression on his face.

“Put me down,” I demand.

“Jade—”

I turn my eyes back to Shotgun. “I said put me down.”

He shakes his head but lowers me back onto my feet, and I walk over to where Biggie stands.

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