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‘I’m trying to look like a badass to intimidate you’ glance, but a ‘I recognize you, too’ glance. Jack’s gaze stays on him for a long second.
    We’re all quiet until the last Hangman rides through the gate. Then Knucklehead mutters, “You couldn’t have stayed in the goddamn shower?” before stalking off.
    Asshole. Those fuckers were disrespecting us before I came out. But his comment still puts my throat in a knot, and I’m just as pissed at myself for letting Knucklehead affect me as I am at Croc and his buddies. I don’t care when someone from another club shits on me. But when my own brothers add to it?
    Yeah. Sometimes that gets to me.
    I don’t expect us to hold hands and sing Kumbaya. I expect the trash talking and the fighting and the backstabbing, just like there is in any family. I never liked my dad much and I don’t like some of these guys, either. But you don’t side with another club against one of your own. You just don’t.
    Not everyone did, though. So I stand with Jack and Widowmaker as Gunner closes in. Stone is texting, his scarred face washed pale by the light from his phone. Probably sending a message to our prez.
    “This is going to be real fucking ugly,” Widowmaker says quietly.
    “Uglier than the Eighty-Eight?” I wonder. After they killed one of our brothers, we spilled a lot of blood taking those skinheads out, and we walked away all right—but not before our prez took a shotgun blast and I took a bullet.
    “Or uglier than Stone?” Gunner asks, nodding toward the enforcer. “Because that would scare me more.”
    Stone flips him a middle finger before looking up from his phone. His gaze narrows on Jack. “You had no idea they were coming?”
    Jaw tight, he shakes his head. We all stare at him for a long second as that sinks in. Jack didn’t know they were coming. He always knows when clubs are moving through the state. And moving into the state? He’d never have missed that.
    “So what does that mean?” I ask him. “They flew under your radar? They knew to fly under your radar?”
    Yet didn’t know that we’d moved out to the ranch? Probably not.
    “It means they moved fast and quiet after we took out the Eighty-Eight. They’re grabbing that territory. And probably the supply routes the Eighty-Eight were running.” He glances at his phone when it lights up. “Gunner, Stone—the boss wants us at his place. Widowmaker, you let the board know their asses better be in their seats tomorrow.”
    At the executive board meeting. Apparently that’s when I’ll hear more, too. I haven’t been summoned so I’m not heading anywhere but home.
    “I’m going to snag my clothes.” Gunner raises his fist and bumps mine. “See ya, Zoomie.”
    “Yeah.” My stomach drops as I look back toward the building. I’ve got to grab my bag, too—which means walking right past Knucklehead, who’s jawing with Valentine and a few other brothers. I don’t miss the resentful looks a few of them are casting my way. They probably didn’t hear what Croc or Dickhole said but Knucklehead is making sure to fill them in.
    Well, screw them. I lift my chin and head that way, then spot Hashtag standing off to the side, frowning. I veer toward the prospect and get in close, our eyes on level. His shoulders go back like he’s facing a drill sergeant.
    “Hey,” I say quietly. “We’re going to vote whether to patch you in pretty soon, right? Maybe a month or two?”
    He nods, his gaze suddenly wary. “That’s right.”
    “One vote against you and you’re out,” I tell him. “And you know what I admire in a brother? The ability to keep his mouth shut about things he sees in private rooms. A loose tongue is a reason to turn down a bid for a kutte, because if we can’t trust a man to keep quiet about something trivial, we can’t trust him to keep quiet about the shit that will bring us down. Don’t you agree?”
    His eyes hold mine, steady. A good kid. A smart kid. So of course he