Page 29 of Iron and Ivory

I watch it land.

"And I want you to know something." I push off the car and step close enough that he has to look down at me, which means he has to see my face, which means he has to see that I am not even a little bit sorry.

"A man told me he loved me last night. Said it like it was the truest thing he'd ever said out loud. No contract. No conditions. No leverage. Just the words, and the weight of them, and me."

I step aside. Give him his door back.

"You could not buy what he gives me for free. And the fact that you tried tells me everything I will ever need to know about the kind of man you are."

I smooth my hoodie down like I'm straightening a gown.

"Drive safe. You've got a long way to go."

I turn around and walk back toward the house before he can answer.

Because that's the other thing about a dismissal.

You don't watch them leave.

CHAPTER 7

The days go by slow.

Painful.

And I spend every moment strainin' into the silence.

Listenin'.

Waitin' on the helicopters that never come.

We're on day nineteen post massacre when Butch shows up in the clubhouse.

I knew he was still here—somewhere on the property, breathin', healin'—but he wasn't there.

Wasn't in the church when Brick sold us out to the fuckin' Feds.

Wasn't standin' in the smoke, and the blood, and the noise of everything comin' apart at once.

He was in a bed somewhere, shot half to hell, recoverin' from a betrayal he didn't even get to witness firsthand, and I⁠—

I never went to see him.

Not once.

Nineteen days.

And me, bein' new to the title of Pres, bein' new to the weight of it, bein' new to the way it sits on ya like somethin' that don't fit right and maybe never will—I didn't even think about it.

That's the truth and it's not a flattering one. I was too busy figurin' out which end was up in a club that just had its foundation kicked out from under it to think about Butch.

The moment we lock eyes across the smoky room, I know I made a mistake. I can see it from here—the set of his jaw, the way he's standin' like a man contained.

And in that moment I know two things for certain…

One. He took that personal.

And two—he's not sure he still belongs here.