Page 77 of Handful

Dutch’s text came in early evening.

Clubhouse. Now.

I stared at it. We’d been in bed for nearly twenty-four hours — short exits for food, water, one shower that had turned into another round. I’d sent Glitch a text at some point asking him to cover Venom Virtues for another night. Austen had sent one to Derek and Jamie.

Austen had her head on my chest and her hand over her name and no intention of moving. I had no intention of making her. I did not want to let her out of my sight for the foreseeable.

Now, Dutch had said.

I groaned. She lifted her head, read my face. “You gotta go?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t move. Didn’t particularly want to. Then it hit me. “You’re coming with me.”

“To the clubhouse?”

“Yeah. Come on.” I handed her the t-shirt she’d thrown at me the night before.

Thirty minutes later, we walked into the clubhouse together.

The common room exploded.

Fairy lights, a banner that read Congratulations, SAA, every brother, old lady and prospect, all of them yelling. Austen grabbed my arm. I stood there like an idiot with my mouth open.

Indira materialized at my shoulder, beaming, entirely too pleased with herself. “Surprise.”

“How did you—”

“I’ve had this ready since Dutch gave you that patch. But I wasn’t throwing your party without your girl in the room — so I waited for the right night.” She patted my arm. “Glitch texted me the good news last night.”

I looked across the room. Glitch raised his beer from his usual spot, Wren tucked under his arm, both of them grinning. Fewin was next to him, the picture of innocence.

“Gossips,” I said, loud enough to carry.

“Intel sharing,” Glitch called back, without missing a beat.

“Been through this, brother,” Fewin added - and sent a heated look at his old lady beside him, who was whooping at me and Austen. He shut her up with a slap on the backside that made her grin.

It hit me then that the two men I’d left running Venom Virtues were both standing right here with beers in their hands. “Who’s at Virtues?” I called across the room.

“Baxter, Target, couple of prospects.” Glitch lifted his beer. “Ran fine without you. Somehow.”

I was still shaking my head at him when Dutch put two fingers in his mouth and whistled — one sharp cut through the noise — and the room went quiet. He lifted his beer.

“Some of you know I held the SAA patch empty for years,” he said. “Waiting on the right idiot to grow into it.” The room laughed. “He took the scenic route. Cost me a few gray hairs and about a year of my patience.” He looked at me. “But the man wearing Sergeant-at-Arms tonight earned it. To Handful.”

“TO HANDFUL,” the room roared back.

Colt got me in a headlock before the noise died, Smoke shoved a shot of something unidentifiable into my free hand and told me to drink. I got it down sideways, bent under Colt’s arm, half of it down my chin, and grimaced.

“Your cocktail mixing needs a bit of work.”

Smoke huffed. “We’re an MC, brother, not some fancy-pants cocktail bar.” A glance at Austen, no malice in it anywhere. “No offense.”

“Six days,” Colt said in my ear, still locked on. “You made us wait six days for a party, Handful. That’s deranged behavior.”

“I had things going on,” I protested.

“You had a redhead on you last night.” He finally let me go and punched me in the arm — hard. “Glad you sorted your shit out, brother. Knew you were done for the day you said you’d met someone.”