Chapter Twelve
The transition from Jake’s bedroom back to the daily routine of the clubhouse felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of fire. Technically, I was still on the books. The massive, suffocating debt was still very much active, and as Jake had made brutally clear, it was the only shield keeping the rest of the club from viewing me as a useless civilian liability.
But freedom inside a motorcycle club is a relative thing, and being the Vice President’s personal charge only made me an even bigger target for the people who still viewed me as an outsider who had fractured their brotherhood.
The air in the clubhouse was thick with a new kind of resentment on Saturday night. I was back behind the bar, the glass mugs cold against my healing palms. Roxy sat at a corner booth, surroun
