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When I pulledup at the clubhouse, prospects were guarding the gates once more, waving me through. Vox’s bike was already parked under the small awning off to the side, and I pulled up beside it. Jaxon was coming out the door, a woman following behind him. For a moment, I wondered where Karter was, but when I saw the woman’s outstretched arm behind her, I knew he was trailing them.
Jaxon grinned at me as he passed. “Where the fuck were you? You missed out on all the fun.”
“Where’s Rixon?” I asked.
“Sitting at the bar.”
Inside the clubhouse, my senses were immediately overwhelmed by raucous laughter, the sound of bottles clinking together, moans of pleasure, and the pounding of a hammer. Like nothing had happened tonight. Turning the corner, my eyes drifted up the Dead Wall. Mac was halfway up a ladder, three nails balanced between his lips as he held up the end of an upside-down Chaos cut, positioning it.
He glanced down at me. “How many did you get?” he asked, his question muffled by the nails.
“None,” I replied as I scanned the bar. Seeing Rixon’s hunched over form, I beelined straight for him. “We need to talk.”
He turned his face to me, his eyes bloodshot. His gaze slightly unfocused. There was a bottle of bourbon missing a fifth in front of him—no glass. “Nick,” he said, swallowing. “Son.”
“We need to talk,” I repeated, grasping him by the upper arm. “In your office.”
With a resigned nod, he slid from the stool and followed me through the bar and down the hallway. As we moved through the sea of Hunt members from multiple chapters, Eli pulled up beside me.
“Everything okay?”
“Come into the office,” I told him.
Rixon walked in first, pulling another bottle of bourbon from his desk drawer. Slumping into his chair, he brought the liquor closer and cracked the lid. Eli eyed him as he took a seat in the chair in front of the desk, positioning himself so he could see both of us.
“Where were you tonight, Nick?” Eli asked after I took a seat on the couch.
My gaze flickered between the two presidents. Resting my elbows on my knees, I leaned forward, clasping my hands together. Hands that had killed. Hands that had maimed. Hands that could cause pain when I wanted to, but also hands that could bring pleasure to Alex. They curled into fists at the mere thought of almost losing her in that fire, but also the possibility that my honesty had done more damage than good.
“Gunnar is dead,” I said. “By my hand. He admitted to killing my brother. Said it was all part of his initiation into X.”
“X?” Eli asked. “What the fuck is that?” He looked over at Rixon, who gave him a blank stare.
“Gunnar didn’t say,” I replied. “But he said killing my brother and pinning it on La Croix would get the result they wanted.”
“Which was what?” Eli asked.
“Getting me out of the way.”
Rixon brought the bottle to his lips and tipped. His throat worked down the amber liquid, but he stayed quiet.
Eli said, “So, he pins the murder on La Croix. You go after him then what?”
“Then the Chaos kill me in retribution.”
He frowned. “That seems like a lot of work to get rid of you.”
“He wanted me gone without getting his hands dirty.”
“Gunnar did?”
I looked over at Rixon, unsure whether he was tracking the conversation at all. “Kaash.”
Eli let out a low whistle. “Kaash is running this shit?”
“From what I can tell. Gunnar said that if La Croix was out of the way, then Kaash could install someone who was sympathetic to his needs.”
“What needs?” Eli asked.
