“Yeah,” King says. “He’s already set up in there.”

Set up? What the hell is going on?

I follow them to the room beside King’s office, letting Bronx lead me through the people drinking and chatting about what must have happened today. As we stop for Bronx to collect a well-dressed guy who completely doesn’t fit in around here, my ears pick up on the key phrases: opened fire, went down, what he deserved. I’m turning them over in my head as Bronx steps aside to let me enter the room first.

Harris. My shoulders sag, and a smile tugs at my lips as I take in exactly what they meant by ‘set up.’ He sits on the far side of the table, two seats turned to face each other so he can rest a leg on one while sitting on the other. There are grazes on his face, a bandage around his hand.

“Are you okay?” I round the table to take a seat beside his feet while the sharp-dressed guy shuts the door behind us all.

“Been better.” Harris smiles.

I let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding as Bronx pulls out a chair beside me, and sits. King and Sawyer take their places across the table, and the somber mood hangs heavy and thick between the men—especially Harris and King.

“I’m going to let you kick things off,” King says to Harris. I’m not up to speed with MC rules, but I sense that this is quite an honor for him to start the meeting instead of King.

“Job’s done,” Harris announces.

Sawyer slams a hand down on the table, a huge grin on his face. “Fuck yeah.”

“It was never goin’ to be easy,” Harris continues, “but I think three casualties with what we went through is quite the achievement.”

King turns to Sawyer, running his eyes the length of the man. “I’ll be up front with you, man. I expected you to look a fuckload worse.”

Sawyer smiles, and lifts a booted foot to the table. I notice the blood soaked denim that I missed before, and cringe, even before he rolls the leg of the jeans up his lower leg to show a huge gash in his shin.

“I got a momento.” He chuckles. “I’m happy.” He fingers the wound, which has to be at least five inches long, and one wide.

I come close to vomiting when the raw, sinewy flesh rolls and lightens to a bright shade of pink where the gash has come close to bone. Fresh blood springs forth, and he smears it reverently around the wound with two fingers.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” I ask.

He pins me with a blank stare. “Yeah.”

The guy doesn’t understand my question. He’s looking at me as though I’m the strange one for asking. I let loose an involuntary shiver, and then reach for Bronx’s hand. He takes mine with a smile.

“You’ll get used to him.”

I glance back at Sawyer, and find him grinning like a damn psychopath. Figures—he kind of is one.

“There’s another reason I want you all in here,” King says. “We need to discuss who’s going to take over these operations.”

“I thought it was agreed you and Sawyer would be headin’ them up,” Bronx says.

“See, there’s the thing.” King grimaces and ducks his head. “I’ve got a few personal things I want to work on without that kind of pressure. I’ve got a boy who’s finally enjoying the added time with his old man, and I don’t want to lose that momentum. I take Eddie’s shit on board, I may as well have a fuckin’ civil ceremony with my desk, because that’s where I’d be day in, day out.”

“Cut to the chase,” Harris says. “None of us will stop you from makin’ shit right with your family, so you don’t need to justify it. What’s the kicker in this?”

King lifts his gaze to look between the four of us and the silent GQ-looking guy. Sawyer reclines in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I want you two, Bronx and Ryan, to take it on,” King says.

“What?” Bronx and myself say in unison.

“Are you sure?” Bronx asks.

“You’re considering it?” I ask Bronx in reply. I know I am, but that’s because I know how the operation works, and I’ve had plenty of ideas over the years as to how we can clean it up and make it safer for the dealers. They might sell drugs for a living, but it doesn’t mean they should give up the basic human right to return to their families every night.

“I’m not throwing the idea away, no,” he answers, letting go of my hand so he can swivel to face me. “Are you? Considering it?”

“Well, yeah. If I can do something to make a change and help out the people who suffered when Eddie took over, then I’m on board.”

“Always comes full circle,” Harris mutters.

“What?” I ask.

He leans forward in his seat, a sad smile spreading. “That other stuff I didn’t want to tell you yet?”

I frown. “Yeah?”

“The policeman that night would have been paid off to leave you alone, because if you got taken in and processed, all attention would have been on your family.”

“I don’t follow. Isn’t that the point?”

He pulls in a deep breath. “What do you think your daddy did for a job, Ryanna?”

I look around the room at the men watching us, and feel instantly foolish before I’ve even opened my mouth to answer. “He wasn’t a dentist, was he.”

Harris shakes his head slowly. “He co-ordinated one of the best road-rail operations there ever was for bringing drugs over the border.”

When will the fucking suprises stop? “Ever was?” I ask. “What happened”

“Died a death with your daddy.”

I shake my head, pinching my nose while Bronx places a hand on my back. “It’s still strange hearing you call him my daddy when you’re my dad.”

“By blood only,” Harris reasons.

I wave a hand at the silent men around us as I shrink into my seat, adding the newest information to my swirling cauldron of lies. “Carry on, please.”

Bronx turns back to King and shrugs. “I guess Ryan and I are in on the idea. What do you say, Ty?” He looks to our sharp-dressed company.

The guy taps his fingers on the desk before him. “Your call, brother.”

“This affects you and Malice,” Bronx explains. I let my gaze roam his profile as he talks, feeling a little small and out of place amongst people who know each other so well when I don’t even know Bronx’s last name.

“Man, we knew this gig wouldn’t last forever,” Ty says. He looks across as me, and then back to Bronx. “Ramona and I have plans for building a legit business, and Malice? Well, he’s still spending most of his time trying to knock up Jane.”

“You’re not surprised by this,” Bronx accuses the guy. I’ve got no idea who he is or how he fits in, but my instincts are telling me he’s a part of whatever it is Bronx usually does when he’s not trying to infiltrate rival drug crews.

“King and I have already discussed it,” Ty says.

“What? When?”

“When you two were upstairs going for the state yodeling title,” King says, chuckling to himself. The grin on Sawyer’s face is equally as broad.

Harris just buries his head in his hands.

Heat flames my face, and I consider sliding under the table and out of sight. “I told you I couldn’t show my face again,” I mutter under my breath, much to Bronx’s amusement.

“It’s a big change,” Bronx says to Ty, ignoring my distress. “You think I can do it?” The vulnerability in his gaze kills me, pulling me from my pity party.

Bronx looks to his friend for reassurance, and Ty gives it in spades.

“Brother, you’ve always been up to the challenge. When Malice dragged you away from that bar spitting out teeth for a fucking half-eaten sandwich, you proved then and there you’re not one to back down.” I look to Bronx, wondering just how much ground we have to cover. “I mean it,” Ty continues. “I can’t think of anyone with a better heart to take on that role. You’ve proved you can resist the drug by stepping back before addiction took you, and you proved you’ll do anything to make things right.” Ty looks pointedly at me before settling back on Bronx. “The Butcher Boys are history, brother—it’s time to make your own way.”