Page 46 of Freak
Badger hadn’t reacted outwardly yet. Carved in granite, he sat and stared at Gravy, unblinking.
Suddenly, but deliberately, Badger rose to his feet. His voice quiet and slow like it was buried in fresh snowfall, he focused on Gravy and said, “This is the mother charter. The Flaming Mane is ours first and foremost. You were invited to our club, and our house. You got a problem with either, then drop that kutte off your shoulders and get the fuck out.”
Rhett stood then and said, “Okay, okay. Let’s cool our heads, yeah? Everybody take a beat.” He looked down at his second in command. “Gravy, clean up your mess here.”
Gravy glared a moment longer, then huffed a sharp breath steeped in contempt. “Sorry.”
As apologies went, it sucked. Mel focused again on Badger, ready to follow his lead. He’d be happy to break both Montana necks if that was his president’s call.
For a good long while, Badger continued like a statue, staring hard and stoically at Rhett. The room became a Renaissance painting, charged with passion but inert. Mel tried to be ready for anything.
Even so, he was shocked when Badger’s shoulders softened, and it became clear he was going to back off.
“Yeah, okay,” Badger said. “Let’s call this case closed and go see to our guys.” With that, he strode to the door. Mel barely had time to get out of his way as Badge yanked the door open and stalked out, leaving the others in his office.
Rhett followed, and Gravy groaned to his feet. Before he could reach the door, however, Mel and Double A, on the same wavelength without even a shared glance, closed ranks and blocked his passage. Clearly, Dub felt as Mel did: that Gravy couldn’t get off that easy.
“You watch your fuckin’ mouth in our house,brother,” Double A snarled quietly, “or I will take your tongue.”
“And I’ll hold you down while he does it,” Mel added.
At first, it seemed like Gravy would retort, and who the fuck knew what kind of mess they’d make of Badger’s office then. But he thought better of it and only pushed between Mel and Dub. They let him through.
“What the holy fuck?” Mel muttered when Gravy was out of sight and earshot.
“I don’t know,” Double A answered, his voice weighed down with worry. “But somethin’s wrong, and I think it might be somethin’ big.”
Yeah, that much was pretty obvious now. “What’s Badge thinking? Case closed? How’re we gonnapartywith those assholes for the weekend?”
Double A slapped his hand down on Mel’s shoulder. “I don’t know, but we gotta, bruh. My read is that’s why Badge backed off. Whatever’s going on, it feels so big we need to step back to see it clearly. We just need to get through the weekend smooth as we can—because it seems like if this weekend’s not a party, it’ll be a war instead.”
If Dub was right, he was describing a civil war.
Brother against brother.
Well, fuck.
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Double A was right. Whatever had slipped in through the cracks of that seismic meeting in Badger’s office, it was big and bad—or, at least, it had the potential to be. The time to process what that meant and develop an answer was not while Montana was hanging out in Missouri’s house. This weekend had to be a party.
The more Mel pondered, the clearer it seemed that it wasn’t just Gravy’s personal take. Rhett’s reaction to his rant strongly suggested that Gravy had been speaking for the charter, or for its officers, at least. Understanding that his reaction to what that girl had said about Abigail was the catalyst that exposed Montana’s animosity, Mel didn’t know if he deserved blame or credit.
In any case, he was too far down the org chart to be in charge of making decisions. He was an order-follower, not an order-maker. Badger wanted the weekend to proceed as planned, so Mel tried to act like the weekend was proceeding as planned.
Of course, a big brawl had happened, shit was broken and guys were hurt, but men with a habit of breaking shit and hurting each other for fun knew how to put the mess behind them and get back to drinking and shooting the shit.
Already in the Hall, drinking and shit-shooting had returned. Maniac was back, ensconced in the corner of the comfiest leather sofa. He looked pale and uncomfortable, but clearly Cox had stuck his blade right where he’d wanted, making his point without doing hardcore damage.
Cox wasn’t in the Hall, however, and Autumn wasn’t, either. Double A said he’d been dogpiled by Montana patches—was he more hurt than advertised? Mel headed back to the dorm to check in.
About ten steps from the closed door to Cox’s room, Mel pulled up short and grinned. He listened for a moment before he turned around and went back the way he’d come. Cox was obviously just fine—and Autumn was apparently even better.
The sound of that couple’s vigorous enjoyment of their love pushed the Montana crap back in his mind and pulled Abigail forward, to the place she’d settled into these past weeks. In his shock and concern about the club and its northernmost charter, his woman had taken a step back in his consciousness, but now she’d returned to the front, where she belonged.
