“Hulk, church,” he ordered.
Cam nodded, but carried me all the way into his bedroom before setting me down.
“Don’t go out there barefoot,” he ordered as he let me go. “That floor’s fuckin’ disgustin’.”
He left the room, shutting the door softly behind him and I dropped down onto the bed.
I was exhausted, but I was too afraid to sleep. Sleep meant nightmares, and after my argument with Leo, I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.
I took off my t-shirt, bra and shorts without getting up, and snagged one of Cam’s t-shirts off the end of the bed, pulling it over my head. I’d just lay down for a little bit.
Before I knew it, I was fast asleep and stuck in a nightmare.
Chapter 19
Cameron
“What’s up?” I asked as I entered the small room I was rarely allowed into.
Casper, Grease, Samson and old Smokey were sitting in their chairs at the table, but no one else was in the room.
“Dragon and Poet are on their way,” Casper said tiredly, running his hand down his face.
“How’s Lily?” I asked him, leaning up against the wall. It was weird as fuck being in the room with all the empty chairs. My eyes automatically went to Slider’s place at the head and I jerked them away.
“She’s good. Home with Farrah and CeeCee.”
“I need to get over there,” I said in apology, meeting my dad’s eyes. The man was holding on by a thread and I hadn’t been around like I should’ve.
“Sounds like you’re dealing with your own shit,” he said cautiously.
“It’s fine,” I replied automatically.
“Callie?” I asked, moving my attention to Grease.
“Told her about Mick and Gram today,” Grease rasped, leaning back in his chair. “Had to sedate her.”
“Fuck,” I hissed, looking down at my scuffed up boots.
“Her body’s healin’,” Grease continued. “All I can ask for.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” I mumbled back, meeting his eyes again.
“Will do.”
“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” Dragon’s voice drifted through the door. “Makin’ your woman cry. You see that?”
I didn’t hear Poet’s reply, but within seconds, I was moving away from the door so they could pass me. Poet was on a pair of shiny new crutches and was wearing a set of light blue scrubs, his cut thrown over the top.
Dragon hovered like a nursemaid, looking like he wanted to kill someone, until Poet dropped down in his seat with a sigh.
“Close the door,” Poet ordered me sharply.
I met Amy’s watery eyes as I glanced out the doorway, and nodded to her before she moved away.
Once the door was closed, I leaned back against my spot on the wall. There was an empty seat at the table, but it sure as fuck wasn’t for me.
The room was silent as Poet’s pale face turned to each man, silently meeting their eyes. “I’m steppin’ down,” he said softly, running his hand down the long beard against his chest.
Smokey mumbled something under his breath.
“What the fuck?” Grease whispered.
“Gettin’ too old for this. Made some bad decisions—”
“We all fucked up,” Casper cut him off.
Poet raised his hand for silence, then spoke again. “Don’t want it. Not without Charlie.”
My throat grew tight at Slider’s real name, the use of it an indication of how long their friendship had run. Poet and Slider had joined the club as young men, Slider because his dad was the president, Poet because he’d been running from shit in Ireland. Their friendship had lasted longer than most marriages. A lifetime.
“I’m steppin’ down. Gonna spend some time with my grandbabies, take Amy on a fuckin’ vacation. Sit on my ass and watch fuckin’ Matlock in the middle of the day.” Poet looked around. “Think I’ve earned it,” he said roughly.
My softhearted dad looked like he was going to cry, but he beat it back, sitting up taller in his chair.
“Now the formalities,” Poet said roughly, pulling off his cut. He looked at Dragon expectantly, then nodded as Dragon’s switchblade slid across the table. Poet ran his fingers reverently over the vice president patch on his cut before flipping open the knife and slicing through the threads, neatly severing the patch from his cut.
“All in favor for Dragon as President of Aces and Eights Motorcycle Club, say aye,” Poet said strongly.
A unanimous ‘aye’ went up around the table.
“All in favor for Grease as Vice President of Aces and Eights Motorcycle Club, say aye,” Poet continued.
Again, a unanimous affirmative vote.
“All in favor for Hulk…” I zoned out a bit as I heard my name, my eyes growing wide.
‘Aye’s filled the room, and I turned my head to silently look at Casper, who gave me a proud nod. Then my eyes met Dragon’s. I was taking his vacant spot.
He looked away.
“All in favor of Will—Christ, that boy needs another name,” Poet grumbled, making low chuckles fill the room as he continued on.