A flash of silver reveals he wasn’t attempting an evasive maneuver. Someone yells out and footsteps thunder closer to us.

A line of fire sizzles over my thigh and while I’m processing the pain, he manages to roll us over.

He pulled a knife on me! A brother. His president.

Even though I’m on my back, I’m acutely aware of every movement. I block out the pain from the slash to my leg because I’m also aware that if he manages to take me out, Lilly and my brothers are in danger.

He jabs forward.

I catch Shadow’s hand an inch before he sinks the blade into my chest.

Hanging onto his knife hand for dear life, I seize a hold of his wrist and angle the sharp steel away from my ribcage.

Unfortunately for Shadow, I twist his wrist until the tip of the knife pointed at his liver. The fucker keeps coming at me, all of his weight bearing down.

His wide, surprised eyes when the knife pierces his skin aren’t as satisfying as you’d think. My brain’s running on pure survival instinct as I shove harder.

He grunts but keeps coming.

Or the momentum carries him forward.

Either way, he ends up impaling himself on his own damn knife.

Chapter Thirty-One

Z

Warm, slick blood gushes over my hand. Steer ends up pulling Shadow off me, throwing him to the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he roars.

Shadow rolls to the side, clutching his side while blood seeps through his shirt.

Exhausted, I lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling for a few breaths. Blood and sweat drip off my forehead and into my hair.

That escalated quickly.

The sounds of the clubhouse come rushing over me. I tip my head back, trying to pick Lilly, Murphy, or Teller out of the crowd, but all I see are a bunch of dirty boots and jean-covered legs.

I groan and sit up.

Rooster offers me his hand and pulls me off the floor. “You all right, brother?” he asks quietly.

“Better than he is.” I nod at Shadow.

Steer turns and stares at me. “Your call, Prez.”

I take in the shocked looks on the faces around me.

In some clubs, this is probably no big deal. Too many men with no respect for brotherhood who think they’re top dog in one club. A fight like this could be just another regular Friday night.

Not my club. We’ll spar with each other for fun and profit occasionally. Or to blow off steam. Hand out a beating when a brother’s earned it.

But pull a weapon on a brother?

Never.

Not since Rock, Wrath, and I took over the upstate charter years ago.