Her tears soaked through my shirt as I pulled her with me into the recliner one of the guys had given me as a housewarming present that hadn't fit in the living room thanks to the sectional just barely fitting.
Settling her on my lap, my hands sifted through her hair, down her back, just waiting for her to run through all the tears.
It seemed like it took hours. Which probably made a lot of sense since I doubted the life she'd led ever allowed her to feel vulnerable enough to cry. She had a lifetime of pain stored away. Once she gave it a way to escape, it did so in floods.
"Any better?" I asked when she finally stopped sniffling.
"No," she grumbled. "And now my head hurts," she griped, and it was such a pathetic sound that I almost laughed, but I knew she'd probably rip my balls off if I dared.
"I have some aspirin in the bathroom if you'll let me up. No?" I asked when she shook her head, settling more securely onto my lap without outright wrapping her arms around me. "What happened, babe?"
"They kicked me out."
"Wait... what? Who kicked you out?"
"My club."
It was right then that I realized she wasn't wearing her cut. Every single time I'd seen her, she'd had it on. Over her tanks and tees, over her sweatshirts. She was never without proof of the position she'd clearly worked hard for.
"What? What do you mean they kicked you out? Who? Why?"
"Chewy. My vice president," she clarified. "He kicked me out with the help of most of those traitorous bastards."
"Why?"
"You," she said, taking a breath so deep that it shook her whole body.
"Me?"
"More specifically, the conclusions they came to about you and me. Not entirely inaccurate conclusions, I might add. But still."
"Did they give you a chance to explain that we've been working together?"
"Not really. I did try to explain, but there was no use. Chewy has been working on this for a while. He had it planned out perfectly. He even made sure the men who were most loyal to me were nowhere around while he riled up the others, and got them to rally against me. They made me leave my fucking bike," she admitted, voice turning bitter. "My bike, my cut, my belongings, my fucking club. My club. I was the one busting my fucking ass since I was twelve years old to prove I had what it took to run with the guys, to get them to respect me. I was the one who endured a fucking lifetime of hate and vitriol and every single person I ever met doubting my abilities, no matter how hard I worked, no matter how many of them I showed up."
"I can't imagine your own fucking vice president staging a fucking coup," I admitted.
Sure, true, most clubs weren't like the Henchmen. They didn't become, for all intents and purposes, a family. A brotherhood, sure, but not a family. So it was hard to compare the kind of loyalty me and mine felt to a club that didn't have the same mindset, but still. It was beyond fucked up.
"I didn't pick him," Danny said, her fingers toying with a loose thread on the hem of my sleeve. "My father always liked him, so he insisted I take him on as my second-in-command when he finally gave me the club. In retrospect, he'd done so to have Chewy keep an eye, spy on me, and report back to him."
"Does your father know about the coup?"
"By now, probably. I'm sure Chewy was all-too-happy to get him on the phone after he all but shoved me out of the door."
"And your father would be okay with what he did?"
"After hearing I've been fucking you? Yeah, probably. Which is bullshit, because if I was a guy and I fucked the female president of a rival club, they'd probably call me a fucking hero."
"Don't know about that," I said, wondering what the men in my club might say about the whole situation. Especially if they found out in such a confrontational way like Chewy had stepped to Danny. "What about the men you'd say are most loyal to? The ones who weren't there?"
"There's only five of them. Three were nowhere to be seen. Grandpa, Pops, and Junior. They are family, hence the names. Then Munch was off..."
"Munching on muff," I supplied, lips twitching at the phrase.
"Yeah. And Dutch, my Sergeant at Arms, he was so fucking shit-faced that he had to crawl to the toilet to puke. I've never seen him like that before. I'm starting to think someone slipped him something."
"But once he sobers up?"
"He would try to say something. They all would. But they're outnumbered. And unless they want to risk losing what they have also worked their whole lives for, they would have to just fall in line."