Page 90 of Property of Rattler

Woody steps forward, his brow creased. I suspect he’s worried about losing the whores’ services if they’re thrown out of the club. “With all due respect, Prez. Ames isn’t an ol’ lady.”

And might never be. Thanks to them.

Prez turns and stares at Woody. “So any woman, any of us might bring to the club. You want them,” he waves his hand toward the club girls, “to give them a rundown on how you perform in the sack? How long or thick your dick is and what you can do with it, and how long you last? Give you marks out of fuckin’ ten for effort?”

Woody lets out a hefty sigh. “Put like that, Prez. No.”

He turns back to the whores. “Get out of here now. Your services are not wanted tonight. We’ll discuss your future and let you know what we decide.” After the three of them sidle out, Prez looks down at Freak, who now seems to be in control of himself. “What do you want to do?”

He glares at Trixie. “Even if you weren’t involved, you should have shut that shit down.” He takes in a shuddering breath. “I can’t cope with you right now. Get up to our room and stay there.”

“Er, Ames is in your room,” I remind him. “And I kinda locked the door. She wanted to run out, and it’s too dangerous for her to leave the compound.”

The expression he turns on me screams that I’m not yet forgiven. Then he moves his attention back to his old lady again. “Sounds like a plan. Dum?” he calls out to the prospect trying hard to look like he’s minding his own business behind the bar.

“I’m Dee, but no matter,” he hurriedly adds.

“Take Trixie up to our room, and lock her in with Ames.” He shakes his head, and looks at me. “You don’t call my wife a whore ever again. But maybe she can make amends. Trix might be able to talk some sense into your woman.”

Sending a worried glance toward her man, accepting her fate, Trixie lets Dee lead her out of the clubroom, her feet heavy as she ascends the stairs. It’s only then I realise what damage I’d done. It had been hard for Freak to take an ex-club girl as his old lady. What I’ve said tonight has opened old wounds again.

I glance at him as Tempest cuts through the zip ties binding his feet and hands. “I’m sorry, Freak.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ should be.”

“Get Rat up, Tempest. I want to talk to him,” Prez requests.

It’s not only Tempest, but Winchester too who help me to my feet. While they are still supporting me and before I take back possession of my crutches, I rub the back of my head ruefully. Then, when I’m mobile again, I follow Bullseye out of the clubroom, and into his office. He helps me into a chair, then frowns as he looks behind him. The sergeant-at-arms, VP, and enforcer have followed us in.

Prez raises a brow.

Saint shrugs. “Just want to hear what Rat has to say.”

I do have something to get off my chest. Turning my head, I stare up at Freak. “I’m sorry,” I start, “I wasn’t thinking.”

Freak shakes his head, then does something I don’t expect, he holds out his hand for me to shake. “I’m sorry, too. Facts are facts. Much as we want the past rewritten, shit doesn’t work like that. Shouldn’t have fuckin’ hit you, Brother.” Giving a twistedgrin, he adds, “Should have waited until you were healed.” I shake the hand he’s offered, and snort. His grin disappears. “Trix should have shut that shit down. Shouldn’t need to remind her.”

“Sounds like she didn’t have much choice,” Bullseye defends her. “Once the words were said, there was no taking them back. It was the club girls who got out of hand.”

“You really suggesting we throw them out?” Tempest frowns.

“Fuck no,” Bullseye laughs. “I’d have a fuckin’ riot on my hands. I’ll just let them stew on the possibility for the night.”

“They tried to stir shit when Pippa first arrived,” Saint purses his lips. “I, for one, wonder why we keep them around.” I find myself wanting to high five him. If I have Ames, I won’t have a use for them either.

If,I remind myself.

“‘Cause most of us don’t have pussy on tap,” Tempest objects as he answers the VP’s question.

Bullseye reaches into the cupboard in his desk, pulls out a bottle and five shot glasses. He tops them all up with whisky, but pauses before passing one my way. “You going to be good with this? On your meds?”

I reach for it. “Don’t give a fuck, Prez. Need a drink after dealing with Ames.”

“She really wants to leave?” he asks.

I start to nod, then regret it. “Asked me for fuckin’ money, and to use my phone, presumably to call a cab.” Then I add too the explanation. “Her purse is still up at the cabin. As well as her clothes.”

“I’ll get Dee up there tomorrow. Bring yours and her shit back.”