Page 37 of Blue

Whiskey slapped his brother on the back and nodded. “They’re not high enough to squash it, but he sure as hell can plant shit or something.”

Mooky glanced toward the club’s leadership. The plan felt like a long-game type thing. He wasn’t sure they had that kind of time.

Clark stroked his chin as he sat back. “We could get the club bitches to step up.”

Dash leaned forward over the table. “Ruining his reputation would definitely make him unbelievable.”

“It could also push him over the edge,” Cajun said.

“Got any better suggestions?” Whiskey asked.

Clark sighed. “We’ll have to be careful with it, but it’s the best plan we have.”

Mittens jerked his head. “You hear that?” he asked the room.

“What?” Cajun sipped at the beer he brought. “Ain’t nothing.”

The bulky boxing biker from Montana stood and stalked toward the door. Twisting the knob, he cracked it. “Prospect?”

Mooky stood. A chill ran up his spine. Something wasn’t right. Prospects didn’t interrupt church. They knew better.

Turning his head, Mittens locked eyes on Mooky. “Something about Blue.”

“Get in here!” Dash barked, waving his hand.

The young man wearing a stiff new leather vest with a stark white “prospect” patch stitched on the lapel cautiously entered the room. With his eyes cast down, his hands clasped before him, the man cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Stop wasting our time,” Dash snapped.

The prospect lifted his gaze to meet the VP’s. “Dash said to watch her. Tom’s been following her tonight and messaged me. The guy you said to watch out for just showed up at the bar Blue is at with her friend.”

“What friend?” Cajun blurted his question.

The prospect lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Tom’s never seen her before but said she’s fucking hot.”

“He talking to her?” Dash asked.

“Tom said he just got there. Not sure if he knows she’s there or not.”

“He knows,” Mooky snarled.

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Mooky could barely contain his excess energy. Every fiber in his body told him to leave and find her—to get her out of the line of fire. Angela made her bed. She was a grown ass woman on her own. If he had to choose to protect one over the other, it’d be Blue every damn time.

Blue was Mooky’s woman. He wasn’t about to be responsible for her being dragged further into all of this. He’d caused too much shit in her life as it was.

“Where is she?” Mooky dared to ask.

“The Cantina.” The prospect wouldn’t look at him. He kept his focus on Dash.

Dash nodded and flicked his wrist to dismiss the younger man, who couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. Mooky ran his hand through his hair, down over his goatee, and tugged at his vest. He had no idea what to do with himself.

His loyalties fought against themselves. Each tugged him in different directions. Half of him knew the importance of staying at the meeting, especially since he’d caused it. The other half of him screamed at him to rescue Blue.

Mooky’s focus shifted from his president to his vice president, as though begging them for direction. Either they’d demand he stay, or one of them would have mercy on him. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in his head as his affections for Blue pushed him to take a step toward the door.

He didn’t want to forsake his club. He couldn’t abandon the meeting, but it was Blue. The only thing more important to him were his kids.

“Go.” Clark shook his head.

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