There was no escape. He was doomed to be the ghost president, taking care of Hector’s messes and somehow keeping out of club affairs. Fucking hell, this whole night could have been prevented. How could you not do a body search of outsiders coming through the clubhouse? If they fucking had, Yuri’s gun would have been found and that entire situation would not have escalated. Though Hawke couldn’t deny he was glad the seedy shit was out of the picture. Killing that entitled punk ass was easy. Yuri always had been a loose cannon. The fucker had been impulsive for years, but Hawke would have preferred quietly taking care of him in some part of the bush somewhere. Not in front of the club and Tyler. Fucking Tyler. After he dressed and left her on the bed, Hawke paced the hallway outside her room. No, his room. That little wench had hijacked it. Turned it into her temple. Once upon a time the walls had been pink. Fucking pink.
