<em>Ingrid, not very happy</em><br/><br/>Ingrid looked at Ghost, her eyes flashing angrily when he insulted her. "You're right, we don't need to hear a lot of shit in here. Leo doesn't need to get so far ahead of the game when we don't even have a game."  She said it simply and calmly, though her eyes spoke of her fury.  That goddamned old fucking goat needed to step his geriatric ass back. So fucking close to being put on government insurance and drinking Ensure through a straw. She smiled at him, wanting to shave his dick with a potato peeler.  Who did he think he was? So what if his dick had been used as a kick stand since 1876?<br/><br/>"If you shake it more than twice you're playing with it."  If it would even get up these days.<br/><br/>"Forgive me for worrying about a personal friend of mine and the females that no one else ever seems to give a shit about other than a hole to fuck. My loyalty lies with the club. That doesn't mean that I don't have a clear idea of right and wrong."  None of the men ever thought about things like that and how many had pushed her when she was trying to prove herself. Why did she even want to be there? The truth was that she was close to crying. How many times had she cried in private during her year of hell? Why did it feel like that year hadn't ended?<br/><br/>"Gonna reload myself. If you want something, I'm not a bitch anymore, get it yourself."  Her feelings were hurt. "Drake, want anything?"  She pretended that Leo hadn't spoken at all.<br/><br/>She was both grateful and embarrassed by Drake standing up for her. It reminded her constantly that she was separate but equal.  That she wouldn't ever really be equal. How could she be when she'd fucked every one of them?<br/><br/>