I sighed.
“I shot and killed someone. On purpose. There was no ‘oh, I might or might not have been high on adrenaline because he beat up my sister.’ I shot and killed someone. On. Purpose. People don’t just get over that because I’m hot,” I argued.
“You shot someone because you had to.” She waved my worry away. “And trust me when I say, someone out there will understand.”
Hell, I didn’t even understand.
And I’d been the one to do the shooting.
Granted, the guy had been a piece of shit.
He’d raped three women. He’d beat up his own mother. And he’d all but maimed a two-year-old with his careless actions.
But that wasn’t my reasoning for killing the piece of shit.
Hell, I hadn’t even known about all of that other stuff.
I’d known that the motherfucker had tried to kill me because of some suspected slight, and I’d had no other choice but to shoot him and suffer the consequences. That was it. Me or him.
I’d chosen me.
And then I’d spent the next eighteen months behind bars until the parole board had learned of all the other shit that the man had done in his life. Then they’d been all, ‘Oh, no. We need heroes like you on the outside.’ Which was a bunch of shit.
I was no hero.
“Are you even listening to me?” Six snapped.
“You know he’s not listening to you.” Catori, one of my brothers’ wives, chuckled.
“Where is your cut?” another woman asked. “You can’t take a picture like that. You have to have your cut on.”
I looked over to find Swayze, Trick’s wife, staring at me with her phone in her hand.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because leather and bikers go hand in hand,” she said. “If you don’t have your cut on, nobody will know that you’re in a club. And being in a club automatically ratchets up the hotness factor.”
I rolled my eyes. “It got dirty. Had to have it dry-cleaned.”
In all honesty, it got blood on it, and I’d had to douse it down with the water hose before taking it to the dry cleaners to see if they could salvage it.
If not, I might or might not need to find a new one.
I was hoping that it came out, though.
Or, at least, when I wore it, it didn’t look like I’d tie-dyed it in blood.
“Well that’s just stupid,” Swayze grumbled as she put her phone down.
“I have one from last week,” Blaise called out, pumping her fist into the air as if she’d hit the jackpot. “And he looks good in it. He’s not even scowling!”
I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, that one’s perfect. Send it to me.” Six was still typing away at the computer. “What do you think of this biography for a profile? Hobby pig farmer by day, Souls Chapel Revenant MC by night. Thirty-two-year-old man looking for a woman that isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. Anybody that can’t manage that need not reply.”
“I think we should add this…” Wyett suggested as she rattled off her idea of edits.
I sighed and sipped my beer, wondering idly how long it would take to get dinner figured out.