I needed a drink. This shit was fucking insane. Yeah, Shasta was hot as fuck, but no pussy was worth this kind of headache.
I grabbed three beers from behind the bar and placed one in front of my two brothers. “Sit down, shut the fuck up, and drink like men. Stop acting like a bunch of love-sick pussies.”
“Same could be said about you,” Clash countered, struggling to pop the top on his beer.
Reaching over, I gripped the top in my palm, popping the cap off with a single turn.
“Show off,” Clash growled, taking a drink of his new beer while sulking like a child.
“Look. I know, better than anyone, what it’s like to get invested in a woman, but both of you fighting over Shasta like this isn’t going to get you anywhere. She’s hot as fuck, but is she worth turning the club upside down over?”
Their eyes met over their beers, glaring and staring each other down.
“I guess not,” Snyder replied, conceding first.
Clash, in usual Clash fashion, sat back with a smug grin. “Well, since you think she’s not worth it, I guess I’ll just keep fucking her then.”
“The fuck you will,” Snyder growled.
Never, in all the years that I’d known him, had I ever seen Snyder get this worked up over a woman. The man was usually hard like granite. Girls sure as fuck didn’t affect him, and he never let his emotions show. He was a fuck em’ and dump em’ kind of guy, but something about fucking Shasta had turned him soft, and it made me wonder if her pussy was made of gold.
“Look, both of you need to get over this shit and your head's back on straight. Shit with the club is thickening, and it’s going to take all of us to bring the Crows down.”
Snyder’s eyes snapped to mine. “And what about Sabbath? Everything he’s doing right now isn’t good for the club.”
I nodded. “Right, that’s a club decision… something we’ll have to bring to the table.”
“Without him?” Clash asked in shock. “But he’s the prez.”
“Yeah, and he also lost all the club’s money. In my eyes, he basically said fuck the club,” Snyder interjected.
“We’ll deal with Sabbath’s betrayal later,” I said, dropping my voice when I heard a door slam in the back.
A second later, Sabbath emerged with his fists balled up by his sides. He was all muscle and tattoos, and he was so queued up that the veins in his forearms were bulging and ready to burst. Rage flashed in his eyes as his glare zoned in and focused on me.
“You,” he growled, pointing at me. “We need to fucking talk.”
Both Snyder and Clash stood up, standing between me and my prez, who was currently fuming.
“Stand down, Sabbath. You need to cool off,” Snyder warned.
Sabbath’s devilish glare took in Snyder and he smirked. “You think I’m going to let him get away with what he did? I don’t give a fuck what his rank in my club is. That fucker isn’t high enough on the food chain to come at me the way he did.” He pulled out a gun, pointing it at my face. “I’ve killed assholes for running their mouths before, Sandman, and I’m not opposed to increasing that number.”
I slowly stood up, squaring my shoulders to my club prez without a fucking care in the world. After the day I had, death would be a welcoming change.
“Then do it, Sabbath. Show the club that not only are you a thief, but you’re a fucking murderous bastard, too.”
His finger curled around the trigger. “Keep running your mouth, Sandman. I fucking swear to God.”
Clash stepped forward, putting himself in the line of fire. “Come on, Sabbath. This isn’t right. Sandman was just sticking up for Shasta. You’re drunk, and fucking pissed off, but that doesn’t mean you should pull a gun on a brother—especially one that was only looking out for you and your woman.”
My jaw clenched.
Sabbath’s angry gaze snapped to his Sergeant at Arms. You could see the inebriation swirling in his irises, and with the red veins covering the whites of his eyes, I could tell he was high as fuck, too.
“You’re drunk and high. Go to bed, cool the fuck off, and get your head on straight, Sabbath.”
The rest of the club must’ve heard the commotion, because the room was suddenly crowded with half the club.