POWERHOUSE

When we get back, the girls are still hanging out in the hot tub and the kids are being wrangled by the brothers that took them fishing.

“The women are sloshed,” Bull tells us. “We figured the kids would be safer in our care.”

“Fucking hell,” Kruger grumbles, stomping his feet as he heads toward the bar and rips a beer out of the cooler.

Jaggar, spotting his dad, mimics his father’s footfalls while scurrying to the kid’s cooler and grabs himself a juice box. “Open,” he demands, shoving the item at Kruger.

“Like we have time for this shit,” he mumbles, ripping the straw out from its plastic wrapper and shoving it in the small hole. It gives way with a pop as he hands it back to his son with a disgruntled shake of his head. “Who’s gonna watch the kids while we meet?”

“They’re close to passing out,” Blaze says, pointing at Mane whose eyes are drooping and her body swaying on the floor where she’s sitting in front of a scattered array of Lego’s.

“Not my son,” Kruger rumbles. All eyes shift to Jaggar only to see that he’s propped himself up to the wall. We watch as his fingers loosen on the box as he fights sleep. “Huh. Never mind, I take that shit back.” He walks over to his son, lifts him into his arms then murmurs words in his ear as he carries him out of the room.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen is how our VP ate some crow,” Texas cackles.

“Who’re you calling a lady?” Malice asks, slapping his and Jessia’s partner in the back of the head.

“If the shoe fits,” Texas shrugs, smacking Malice’s shoulder with the backside of his hand.

“And that’s an example of how little bitches fight back,” Malice implies, poking his finger into Texas’ sternum.

“Fuck off,” Texas growls, shooting Malice a condescending eyeroll. “You’re a tool, Malice.”

“I’m a tool? Pot meet kettle, anyone?” Malice antagonizes, shaking his head in shame. “You’re losing your touch with insults, brother.”

“Go fuck yourself, Malice,” Texas rumbles expletives before walking out of the room mumbling additional profanities toward Malice, cursing him to hell and back.

Once he’s out of hearing range, we all bowl over with almost maniacal, neurotic laughter. It’s not often Texas is caught unaware and unable to dish out some sort of comeback that puts us in a corner with no words to rebut.

It’s damn emasculating when he gets the better of me. And it’s happened to me more than once here recently. I’ve even consulted my Mad Lib magazine to see if there’s a punchline I can use against him, but nothing’s been groundbreaking, or intuitive enough to put his back against the wall.

I’m just not a funny guy.

Stepping away from my brothers, I head toward the window overlooking the back porch and check on the ladies. Their alcohol-induced giggling, which is bordering on cackling at this point, brings a smile to my face. Fuck knows with the storms we have brewing overhead, we’ve not had a lot to laugh about lately, so seeing them almost carefree has me grinning like a fucking loon.

I knew Salem would fit in with them, even with their difference in personalities and the way they handle situations outside of their immediate control.

My woman’s more laid back instead of being high-strung like most of the women are.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, she was crafted by the universe specifically with me in mind. I can’t imagine another woman on this planet who’s better suited to stand at my side and be my old lady.

Neither life nor death will steal her away from me. I’ll forever be devoted to her and only her. Those thoughts smack me in the head. If these emotions I’m experiencing aren’t love, then what feeling constitutes that word?

Shaking my head at the flustering phenomenon plaguing my mind, I step back and leave the women to enjoy their freedom without me watching their every move. We have men on them, hidden behind the trees and side of the building, they don’t need anyone else spying on them.

* * *

Gunner and his crew come roaring into the club’s rock gravel parking lot. Kruger goes out to meet him, I suspect he’s letting him know about our idea and asking for us to have a sit down in church to discuss it.

Within minutes, Gunner comes strolling into the room and winding his finger in a tornado motion in the air, letting us know without words that we’re to follow him like good brothers do when their president calls.

When we’ve all found our seats, Gunner repeats what Kruger informed him of and calls for a vote. This means, if we all agree, we’re going against Pops’ wishes, but seeing as time is of the essence, we’ll just have to simply ask for his forgiveness instead of asking for his permission.

We respect the hell out of the man, but as Master has pointed out numerous times, the DreamCatcher Motorcycle Club is no longer under Pops’ ruling, Gunner needs to step up and accept his leadership role. We all get that he was forced into the position before anticipated or expected, but nothing in life ever happens the way we think it will. Not only that, but Gun’s got all of us at his back and we’re not going to let his ass swing out there in the open and unprotected.

Simply put, it’s time for him to man up and make Pops step back and allow Gunner to lead like he’s been trained to do his entire life.

It’s his birthright.

Ma’s loss of life has made Pops more ruthless and unyielding in his stance against any outside threats toward his familial organization or the MC that he founded, but he can’t run two factions at the same time and stay mentally stable.

It’s next to impossible for him to split himself the way he’s been trying to.

Gunner’s been apprehensive about asserting his dominance. He too has suffered from the loss of his mother and wasn’t willing to be yanked in two different directions. He’s been caught between being a proficient president and being a good son.

“Let's do it,” Gunner finally agrees, blowing out a heated breath. “Like you guys, I’m not satisfied with sitting back, twiddling our thumbs, and letting my pops hold the reins.”

With that conclusion, we spend the next hour plotting and planning.

SALEM

My brain swims in a liquid pool inside of my skull as I weave my way to Cole’s suite. I run into the wall a couple of times before I feel a strong, calloused hand grab my elbow and escort me to the room. “You’re gonna get bruised if you keep teetering through the hall,” Bull states, keeping me upright and steady.

“I wouldn’t feel a thang,” I slur, giggling at my misuse of the word thing.

“Maybe not, but you’ll be feeling it all tomorrow,” Bull scolds me. When we make it to the room, my hand reaches for the doorknob, but since there’s two of them, I find it an impossible task. Snickering at myself, I keep trying but the sneaky thing moves on me, over and over again. I lean my head against the door, suddenly content to just stand here since the door has defeated my attempts to get inside.

“Let me,” he chides, cautiously pushing my hand down and twisting the knob, flinging the door open seconds later.

“Th–” I hiccup, “thank you.” Beaming at him now that I won’t be stuck out in the hall forever, I spin around to take in Cole’s living space, then teeter before I find myself leaning against the dresser.

“Anytime, Salem. I’m gonna go grab you a bottle of water and some pain meds to help ease that hangover you’ll be suffering from tomorrow morning. Be right back,” he mutters, shaking his head—at least I think he shakes his head. But considering I have a case of double vision obstructing my sight, I can’t be one hundred percent positive. As he exits the bedroom, he softly shuts the door behind him.

“At least he’s considerate and didn’t slam it,” I say aloud before face planting into the mattress of Cole’s bed. “So soft and cuddly.” I drag the pillow beneath my head and bury my face into it, inhaling Cole’s masculine scent which is comforting.

The room spins, which has me moaning. Knowing I need to place my foot on the ground and use it as my ‘landing gear’ as my dad used to call it, I roll over.

Nausea rolls through my belly. Moaning, I scoot to the edge enough to where I can plant the bottom of my foot on the coarse-grained carpet. “Ugh, that shit needs to be replaced, it’s grodie.”

“Grodie?” Bull probes as he sets a glass of iced water beside the bed on the nightstand, thrusting four pills in my face.

“Yeah. Grodie, gross, grotesque, nasty, yucky,” I explain.

“Yucky?” He raises his eyebrow in my direction, chuckling at my descriptive vocabulary.

“Don’t make fun of me, Bull.”

“Not making fun of ya, Salem, just enjoying your one-of-a-kind definitions.”

“What can I say? I’m unique and you’ll only come across someone interesting like me once in a lifetime,” I insist.

“You’ve got that right,” he simplistically states, lifting me up, holding me upright, unclenching my fist and placing the pills in my palm before picking up the water in his other hand and putting it up close to my lips.

“Where’s Cole?” I gurgle out the question as I try to put the pills in my mouth, missing it each time I try. Bull sighs, steadies my hand and helps me guide it to my opened mouth so I can ingest them. Once I swallow them down, I squint my eyes at him while waiting for his answer.

“They’re in church,” he finally answers, sitting my glass back down before tucking me beneath the goose down comforter.

When he goes to lift my leg, removing my foot from the ground, I squeak, “Don’t move my landing gear or the room will start spinning again.”

“Your what now?” he asks, looking at me suspiciously as if I need a mental evaluation.

“Ya know, my landing gear,” I say, lifting my leg up and twirling my ankle before quickly planting it back to the ground to stop my world from tilting on its axis.

“I haveta say, that’s a new one for me,” he admits. “Sideways on the bed it is. Cole can move ya later on when he comes to bed then.”

“Works for me,” I whisper, eyes closing and succumbing to sleep.

* * *

“Babe. What the hell?” I hear Cole say through my sleepy fog.

“Landing gear,” I mumble.

“Uh huh,” he states, climbing up next to me. “Well, I’ve gotta say, this won’t be the first time I’ve slept the wrong way on my bed. Night, gorgeous.”

“Night, Cole.”