Page 59 of Glacier

And I noticed something—the way the men treated Rita and Harriet had subtly changed.

I wasn’t sure where the rest of the Tarts were, but they weren’t partying with us, and it made me wonder why. Rita and Harriet were legacies… maybe that made a difference.

A few days later, my newfound peace and belief I’d finally found my home were almost ripped away from me.

CHAPTER 20

GLACIER

“Fucking hell,” I muttered as the coffee mug handle snapped and coffee spilled down my front.

I grimaced, brushing my hand over my shirt and cut. I’d need to remove both to get the stains out.

Pushing back from the desk, I stood and went to the open door.

“Prospect!” I shouted.

A thunder of feet followed as two Prospects came into view.

Removing my cut, I handed it to Newby. “Clean this.”

“Pres.” He nodded and hot-footed to carry out my orders.

“Bring me another coffee, Bunny, and make sure the mug isn’t fucking broken.”

“Yes, Pres.” Bunny followed Newby. Stripping off my shirt, I swiped it down my chest. I pulled a spare flannel shirt from my bottom drawer and yanked it on.

My phone rang as I fastened the last button.

When I saw who it was, my eyebrows rose in surprise.

Banshee, President of the Grave Prowlers.

Their club was in South Dakota, and we had a tenuous connection. Maestro and Red from Queens Wraiths MC had offloaded their gun contacts with us rather than the GPMC when they took their club the legal route. They had their reasons, but that was their business.

The Grave Prowlers rarely crossed paths with us, as their club was a good distance from ours.

“Banshee, what can I do for you?”

“Is this a secure line?”

I frowned at his grim tone, both intrigued and surprised. “Give me five minutes.”

Ending the call, I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and took out one of the many burner phones I kept in there and called him back.

“What do you need?” I asked as soon as he answered.

He sighed. “We’re short on a load.”

I smirked, hearing the reluctance in his voice. I knew that his asking had cost him. Banshee was a proud guy who ran his club with an iron fist. I liked the dude, even if he could be a total fuckhead at times.

“What do you need and how many? I’ll see what we can do. It’ll cost you, though, and you’ll owe me a marker.”

“Fuck’s sake.” He huffed a resigned sigh. “Fine.”

“That must have hurt,” I chuckled. “What do you need, man?”

He gave me a list.