“Fuck off,” I grumbled, and he busted a gut.
“I never asked before. You alone?” he finally asked me when he finished laughing.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“Is that wise?”
“I’m not flying my colors. No one should know it’s me.”
“We all have enemies. They don’t need to see your colors to recognize you. You’re the president of the Royal Bastards in Iowa. That’s pretty significant.”
He was right, but I wasn’t going to admit it.
“Let me deal with that.” I rarely pulled the technically-I-outrank-you shit, but I wasn’t going to answer to him. Friend or not.
“Roger that,” he replied, a little tighter than he’d sounded before. It told me that I’d offended him, though he’d never admit it.
“Anyway, I’m only a few miles out of town. I’ll see you soon.”
He sighed. “Love you, bro,” he said.
He made me feel like a dick. I shoved the feelings down, because goddamn it, I’d earned my position in my club. I was the top of the motherfucking food chain. “The feeling’s mutual. Thanks, I appreciate you, brother.”
“I told you. Anytime.”
We ended the call, and I drove the last few minutes in silence.
My internal debate continued as to whether I should check on her personally like I told Grams I would or be satisfied with what Snow could find out. Unfortunately, I knew what would happen if I stopped by to see her.
A coward I was not, but one feisty little woman had me questioning where my fucking balls were.