Page 67 of Savage Lust

“All right, let’s talk about the peckerwoods.” Preacher looked around the table, his gaze finally landing on me with a half-bored expression, like he already knew the answer. “What happened?”

“Noticed a truck following me, stopped to eat. When we left, they chased me.” Simple. To the point. No bullshit. That was the biggest different between Preacher and Archer. Preach talked in circles, Archer didn’t. And Archer had made me.

“Know why?” This from Puck beside me.

“Nope. They were on me almost as soon as I left the meet, like they knew we’d be there.”

“Bullshit.” Preacher spat, rolling his eyes. “These guys are tweakers. Meeting place changes every time. They probably just followed you out.”

“They didn’t.” I levelled my gaze on his and left it there, challenging him to doubt me.

Jester piped up. “Cam’s too smart. He’d have noticed them at the diner. And if he hadn’t, the cartel damn sure would have. They had to pick him up after he left the drop.”

Preacher had already argued with me at the table, made a scene. He wasn’t about to press someone else. I added Jester to the list of guys who probably had my back. I hated that I was doing that, questioning the loyalty of my brothers.

“So now what?” Preacher moved on.

“Go down to the trailer park, fuck some shit up, send them a message.” Jester again, but the jovial nature of his tone was a testament to how much he’d enjoy doing that.

“Let’s do it. I can’t stand those white-trash tweakers.” From someone else down the table.

“Retaliate against something that could have been avoided?” Preacher spoke at me, like he was chiding a child—something Archer had never done, even when I was young and hotheaded. “Nah, the Kings are better than that.”

This time it wasn’t Merc who whispered, “Easy,” but AP from across the table. That Preacher dug at me twice meant he was baiting me, trying to make me pop off. I didn’t need AP to remind me of that. I saw it coming.

“How’s that?” Merc asked him.

“It’s not just that she’s a hot piece of snatch,” Preacher grumbled. “She’s Archer’s kid, and he had enemies.”

“Especially the peckerwoods,” Drop Top added. “His beef with them went way back. Preacher’s right, you shouldn’t have beenriding out of town with her alone. Not so soon after…” He trailed off, not wanting to finish that sentence.

There was a huge part of me poised to argue, but he wasn’t wrong.

Smug because someone had made his point for him, Preacher shook his head at me like a sad parent. “I told you not to bring her. We should have left her with one of the guys who could have showed her a real ride.” He guffawed, and several of the others chuckled nervously with him.

I counted four who didn’t. AP, Merc, Jester, and Puck. Every part of my body went rigid. Merc slid his seat back, a barely perceptible move, in case he had to stop me if I went for the older fucker? No. His cool eyes were dark.

Ride or die, he’d roll with me no matter how I handled this. And that stopped the words on my tongue and stilled the hands I’d fisted in my lap. If I went for Preacher, it would tear the Kings apart. But there was something I could do.

If I was drawing a line, I was going to shove it down Preacher’s throat.

“Any man at this table, or in this club, goes near my ole lady, I promise you I will fuck up your entire world.” I let my grin slide, mean and possessive. “I’ll burn it to the ground.”

Merc whooped a laugh so loud that the echoes of it resounded around me. Jester leaned across the table, grinning big and slapping me on the shoulder. “Damn it, man, she’s a good one.”

“Archer’s rolling in his grave.” AP snorted, but his eyes were bright.

Staking my claim shifted the room, made it lighter. I levelled my gaze on Preacher and held it there, a clear challenge.

“Sounds like she’s getting all the rides she needs from Savage.” Jester clutched at his stomach, this time laughing.

The mood of the room shifted. The newest Patch at the table, Paul, looked around dumbstruck. Only minutes before, we’d been halfway to war.

“I say we send a couple of the guys—I think even that Ghost kid has some contacts—and have them ask questions. If we don’t like the answers, we set a meet with Wanda.” AP threw out the only reasonable way to go.

The queen of the trailer park. Her sons might act like they ran that shit, but Wanda was the OG desert meth cook, and she ran the whole damn scene. Normally she wasn’t a problem for us, but her boys had never chased one of us through town, either.

“And if we don’t like that, then we fuck shit up.” Jester, still grinning, looked to AP for approval, and he nodded.

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