Page 24 of Pink Poison (The Butchers MC #1)

Chapter sixteen

Graves

A sense of relief washes over me as Stone and I walk out of his room.

I don’t like the distance that's been between us, the distance I created.

Last night broke something in me, part of the lock that keeps all of my shit from overflowing.

I can't afford to slip again, not like that.

And certainly not because of her. My focus needs to remain on the club, and solely on it.

We are the closest we have ever been to getting the answers we need.

One step closer to getting justice for the ones we've lost. I owe my brothers that and so much more.

Stone’s footsteps sound from behind me as we make our way into the bar, just in time for a scoff of irritation to scrape at my throat. Mack sits at the bar, damn near drowning himself with a bottle of Jack. “It’s a little early to be drinking, isn’t it? ”

He lazily flips me off, his words surprisingly not slurred… yet . “A little early to be judgmental, isn’t it?”

Clicking my tongue against my teeth, I walk past the bar hopeful that Stone will handle Mack’s shit.

Instead, I make my way through the silver kitchen door in search of Kash.

A catchy melody plays over the stereo in the back of the house window where food would normally sit if we ran this joint as a bar and grill, not a clubhouse and chop shop. “Kash, where are you hiding?” I growl.

“I’m not hiding,” he grunts from the walk-in freezer. “I was taking food to the prospects outside.”

I roll my eyes, fighting the urge to call him a mother hen. “Why are you mother henning the prospects, Kash?” Oops. Guess I didn’t fight it hard enough.

His eyes flash with that taunting spark, the one he gave me last night before we came to blows as he shoulder-checks me for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. “What’s wrong with taking care of our people, Prez? ”

My lips press together firmly, taking the proverbial hit.

I deserve it. Last night was a shit show.

I was prepared for Mack to handle Stone, but I didn't count on Stone antagonizing him with the contents on his phone, nor Stevie's thong.

I wasn't prepared to handle my already fragile feelings about her, especially after the show that Creed had them put on.

The last thing I expected after everything was Kash getting his hands on her and pulling that stunt with his fucking cut.

He knew there were no rules where claiming goes.

Once it's done—it's done. The only way it gets taken back is if he decides to cut her loose.

I'm well fucking aware how archaic this rule is, how demeaning it is to call a woman property, but the act serves a purpose, as protection—the very thing that Kash accused me of withholding for her.

I knew he wasn't wrong when he said it. Like the sick fuck I am, I let things go as far as they did at Memento because I liked it.

I had the power to stop it, the power to turn her away and handle Hill the way I should have.

Instead, I watched my best friend finger his stepsister while he degraded her like he fucking hated her.

I'll never admit how hard I was over it, how badly I wanted to join in and ease his spiteful words with ones of praise.

Fuck. My only saving grace was that tiny voice in the back of my head reminding me how fucked up it was to see that shit.

“Jesus,” I groan, shaking off my lingering thoughts.

“I’m sorry for going after you last night, Kash.

It was a shitty thing to do, and not something I’m proud of.

” He turns his head over his shoulder, revealing the deadly glint in his eyes.

I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been the object of Kashton Reid’s ire.

Most underestimate him based on his gentler appearance.

Little do they know that he’s the killer in plain sight, and based on the scathing look that he’s giving me, I’d say I’m his next target.

“I deserve that look,” I admit with a shrug.

“I was an asshole. I went after you for doing something I should have done myself. My mind was too focused on getting answers for the club.”

He turns fully to face me, his blue eyes darkening as he takes in my relaxed state. “You weren't thinking about the club.”

“I w—”

“Shut. Up,” he seethes as he jabs his finger into my chest. “You were thinking about yourself, don’t fucking lie to my face, Graves.

If you gave a single shit about the club then you would have trusted my call.

” It takes all of my control to not put him back in his place.

I never wanted to be the type of leader who didn’t hear his people out or couldn’t take criticism.

But I can’t deny that this criticism digs deep, striking open the wound I thought I healed.

“Creed Hill had her in his sights, and I did what I believed was right. If I have to be the only one watching her back, then so fucking be it,” he snaps, pulling his finger away from my chest.

“You’re right,” I concede. “I wasn't thinking clearly.

I slipped, and it's not an excuse—it's a fact.” His expression softens, seemingly accepting that I'm willing to own my fuck up.

Blowing out a heated breath, I sigh. “I already talked with Stone, and he's going to keep an eye on her for me.

I want to know her moves before she makes them, because we all know she's not back to be fucking romanced.”

His mouth curves ever so slightly. It's not much, but it's enough to tell me that he's willing to forgive me for my bullshit. "No, she sure as hell isn't."

I nod. "She's going to try and make our lives hell for what Mack and I did to her, I have no doubt.

If things were different around here, I might have let her, too.

God fucking knows we deserve it. Unfortunately, we are smack middle in our own pile of shit, and she will get hurt if we let her get too close. "

"I'll help Stone, not like it was a question." He shrugs. "I meant what I said. I'll watch her back even if I end up being the only one to do it."

I don't know what Kash did in his past lives that damned him to a life of obsession in this one, but I can't help but feel a twinge of grief for the poor bastard.

If anyone, even Stevie, realizes just how far he'll go for her—he's going to get hurt, and I don't want to think about what that outcome will entail.

Sighing, I scrub my face. "Just…be careful."

“No promises.” Fucker. His stare hardens, the tension in his jaw prevalent as the vein in his neck thrums. “Is Mack going to be a problem?”

He already is a problem.

But I won't dare say that aloud. As much of a problem he is—as he is becoming—he's still my best friend at the end of the day. I'll have his back before anyone's. “Nah, I’ll keep him occupied. I need his help anyway. We might have a hit coming in.”

“Keep me in the loop. I’m going to finish up here then head out for a bit.”

“We good?” I ask, offering my hand for him to shake .

A small smirk crosses his face as his hand clasps mine. “Yeah, man. We’ll be better when my face isn’t bruised to hell though.”

“Fair,” I snort before turning towards the swinging doors. “Put some ice on it or some shit.”

His laugh rings out through the doors as I walk back towards the bar where Mack and Stone sit in comfortable silence sans the booze. “Did you and Kash kiss and make up?” Mack jokes, breaking the ice between the three of us.

“Something like that,” I snort. “Why, you jealous?”

He puckers his mouth dramatically, making himself look like one of them girls with duck lips, or whatever the hell that trend was.

Shaking my head, I sit between him and Stone, ready to lay out the groundwork for what we need to get done around here.

Despite our steady influx of not-so-legal cash, we still have the shop to run to get our legal tender. “What’s on the agenda, Prez ?” he asks

“You and I are manning the shop today. I want to be close to home if our contact reaches out.” I deliberate for a moment.

“Kash has plans, plus I owe him a day off. Stone, I need you to head to Mo’s when they open and see if you can find anything out about our new allies.

” There's no mistaking that Creed Hill and Atticus Lennon are not our allies, not in the slightest. The only reason we're willing to posture with them is because their reach extends further than ours.

After the club was hit, those who we considered friends turned their backs on us.

As if our loss was a stain on their image… as if they were scared off.

“How long until you think you’ll hear back from your guy?” Stone grunts.

I drum my fingers over the bar counter as I think about our previous communications over the years.

Early on, our messages were hit or miss.

He wasn't keen on the idea of prying into our problems, but by some freaking miracle, he took mercy on my sorry ass.

Nowadays, we keep in touch at least once a month.

If I knew his real name, I'd even go as far to say that I consider him a friend. “Soon, no doubt.”

“Keep me in the loop if you hear something,” Stone says. “I’m heading over to the gym for a few.”

“Don’t overdo it,” Mack warns.

“It’s fine.” Stone waves Mack’s concern off. “ The thief hasn't been around to run my ass into the ground lately.”

I watch Mack pin our Sergeant-at-Arms with a stern glare, one that highlights how much he meant what he said.

Despite what happened last night, Mack still sees Stone as family.

A smirk tugs at my mouth with a renewed sense of hope in my chest. Maybe I’m not doing so bad at this leader thing. “Get outta here,” I gruff.

Stone slaps his hand on the counter before sliding off the bar stool, offering us a lazy wave over his shoulder as he walks towards the door. “I don’t get why he still goes to the gym,” Mack huffs as he drapes his arms over the bar top.