“We’re doing our jobs,” I reminded him, my voice cooling as I moved into enforcer mode. Enough of this shit. “Burke needs us here—we all agreed to it—so stop whining. He wants active intel, and that means we’re in Portland until he says otherwise.”

Skid crossed his arms, silently backing me up. God, I wanted to kill him sometimes, but I had to give him credit—he always put the club first, and that meant keeping discipline. He never let it get personal.

Grass glared at me, but he closed his mouth. He knew damned well I was right. He also knew I’d make an example of him in a heartbeat if I had to. We couldn’t afford kindness, not with the club divided and elections coming.

“We have a problem?” I asked Grass bluntly. He held my gaze a moment longer, then shook his head. I glanced down at Clutch, deciding I was way too sober for this shit.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Leg hurts like a motherfucker, but I’ll pop some pills so it’s all good.”

“Pussy,” Skid taunted, rolling his eyes. “Been a full two months since Toke tortured you. You still whining?”

Clutch let out a choked snort and shook his head. The tension broke and just like that, it was all good. Thank fuck for Skid—it’d been a long stretch in this water-logged city without allies, but every time we found ourselves at each other’s throats, he’d step in and somehow make it better. The guy had a gift when he chose to use it.

I flipped the guys off and climbed back upstairs.

The chicks on the couch had passed out, and I didn’t see anyone in the kitchen. I used my foot to roll the girl on the floor out of my way, grabbed a beer, then flopped down in a chair and clicked on the TV.

Porn. Of course.

Naturally, that made me think of Em fingering herself, and I wondered if I should call her back. I decided not to—it was late and the mood wasn’t right. Not only that, I wasn’t sure I could handle hearing her husky, sexy little voice calling me Liam again. My balls fucking hurt, and not in a good way.

A few minutes later, Clutch hobbled in and sat down on the couch next to the girls. Together we watched some redhead with giant implants get fucked up the ass on the big screen.

“Shit,” Clutch said after a few minutes. “The high-def has totally ruined porn. Are those ingrown hairs?”

I choked on my beer, and he grinned at me.

“Jackass.”

Em filled my dreams.

Her ice-blue eyes—surrounded by thick, dark lashes—peeked up at me as she thoughtfully licked the tip of my hard-on, then slowly sucked it into her mouth. I knew she didn’t have a hell of a lot of experience, but damn she sucked dick like a pro.

Her hand wrapped around my shaft and I bucked up.

Fuck, that was worth the wait.

Then she drew me even deeper, taking me into her throat, catching me off guard.

How the hell did she know how to do that?

I felt a sudden desire to kill the owner of whatever cock she’d been practicing on. Her tongue flicked the underside of my dickhead, fluttering, and I forgot all about my upcoming murder plans. I stiffened, my balls tight and ready to blow, but my brain was starting to question the whole situation.

What was wrong here?

Em sucked hard, humming deep in her throat as she bobbed faster and faster. Her other hand reached down between my legs, rolling my balls with her fingers as she sped up. I was close, so I reached down to touch her head, give her a warning.

Wait. Em’s hair wasn’t this short.

But her mouth was so goddamned hot and wet. Shit. I couldn’t think. I’d never dreamed she’d know so many tricks, and some small part of me started to consider murder again. My Em wasn’t so innocent anymore, and whoever taught her would answer—

I lost the thought as my load exploded, blowing the world apart. Holy shit, I needed that.

Wait. Those weren’t dream lips on my cock.

Adrenaline hit and my eyes opened.

“The fuck?” I demanded, looking down to find one of the carpet munchers from last night slowly licking my come off her lips. I jackknifed up and backhanded her, knocking her off the bed with a crash.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Fucking cunt!”

She clutched her cheek and looked up at me, eyes filling with tears.

“You didn’t like it?” she whispered, looking confused. Her pupils were tiny, tiny pinpricks and I saw tracks on her arm. I was lucky she’d sucked me off instead of stealing my wallet or stabbing me. Wait. No. Stealing the wallet would definitely be better …

I pulled that shit on a girl, they’d call me a fuckin’ rapist.

Goddamned junkie.

“I’m supposed to like some random stranger sneaking into my room and putting her mouth on my dick without asking?” I demanded. “You don’t fucking touch me without permission, bitch. Some guy did that to you, you’d be screaming rape. Christ.”

I swung my legs out of the bed. She fell backward, scuttling away from me like a crab. I rubbed a hand through my hair, trying to focus.

Shit, but Em had me all twisted up and making stupid mistakes. Men like me don’t sleep with the door unlocked. I didn’t normally sleep heavy, either—breaking into my room was an invitation to meet my gun, no apologies.

Yet this junkie not only got in, she invaded my dream about Em.

Fuck.

The bitch pushed to her feet and darted out of the room, which was a damned good thing. If I had to look at her again, I’d throw her through a fucking wall.

Then it hit me.

Since when did a surprise blow job piss me off?

My phone dinged somewhere in the covers. I dug through them, trying to find it. Was it even morning yet?

I found it and saw the time—six a.m. I’d been asleep for two whole hours before Princess Sucky Fucky came in to kiss me awake. I checked my messages, wondering who the hell would be texting me this early. Hell. Burke. His words were short and sweet.

BURKE: We have a situation. Call me

Wasn’t that just perfect—exactly what I needed to start my day. But there was a message from Em, too. Sent while I was downstairs drinking beer and watching porn with Clutch.

EM: Hey—thinking of you. Hope everything is okay. I’m sorry you had to go. Also sorry I had to finish by myself …

And there went my dick again—so much for the morning head. I pulled on my pants and took a quick piss across the hall. Then I dug out a burner phone and called Burke.

“What’s up?” I asked him, hoping to hell it wasn’t war with the Reapers. “This about Toke? Was that us?”

“Nope,” Burke said. “That’s a mystery hit. I wish we had that kind of pull up there. Not that I was upset to get the news … But we got a bigger problem. Someone took a couple potshots at Mason last night, at his old lady’s house.”

“Fuck,” I muttered. This was serious. “He okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Burke said. “But it’s the tipping point—he’s done. Says he’s held on as long as he can, but that he wants to die with his family, not in the middle of a war.”

“Shit.” Mason stepping down meant that Burke—as VP—would take over as national president. But not an elected president. Throw in the fact that the club was divided about the Reaper truce and what direction we should be moving …

“I wonder if it’s an inside job,” I mused. “Puts you in a tough spot. Things are already weird with the Toke situation, Reapers are trigger happy. Now you have to take over right as we’re lookin’ at a war. No vote means you’re weak.”

“Could be,” Burke said. “Hate to think of one of our own doing this. Unfortunately, some of our brothers aren’t worth much these days.”

“Yup,” I said. Damn club was falling apart around our ears. “Of course, it could be the cartel.”

“Or the Reapers.”

Silence fell for a minute.

“Drake will step up as VP,” Burke said. “That means I’ll need a sergeant at arms. I know we wanted to wait for elections, but consider this your call, son. I’ll need you in Salem tomorrow. Officers are gathering, we’ll put you in place then.”