Stepping foot into Jury, I notice it’s a full house. We’ve got most of our members around the table. I pull out a seat, I drop my ass in the chair to the right of Cut. Hawk stands in the corner of the room, arms folded across his chest. Our club is the most unconventional MC club I’ve ever known. Once Cut took over, and the numbers dwindled, we didn’t see a need for official titles. Cut is the president, and his word goes, but we pretty much agree on most issues brought forth. But now, with the numbers increasing and members coming over from other charters who’ve held official titles, things need to change.
I’ve always been the one who strong arms. It comes naturally to me, and if I’m honest, I get off on hurting people. The power and control I feel when I hear their limbs snap, or when I feel the warmth of their blood spray against my skin, makes me fucking hard. So naturally and unofficially, I’ve been the club’s Sergeant at Arms. It doesn’t happen that often, but when we’re looking for our bounty I’m needed.
“This has been a long time coming,” Cut says as he looks around the room. “This club is growing in size, and our reputation is becoming well known. So much so that New York’s Mafia has officially reached out to us.”
There are grunts from around the room, giving praise to Cut.
“This is going to be a more invasive case. It’s going to take time and a lot of work on our end to stay hidden as we find the rat the mafia is requesting. Dyke,” he regards our hacker, “I know you’ve been dabbling here and there, trying to find him, but now you can go full bore to get this son of a bitch.”
“No problem. I’ll hit it hard.”
“Brass, once Dyke locates him you’re going to survey the area and see where we can strike.”
“Got it.”
“Tiny, you’ll need to case the area and get in touch with anyone who’s familiar with anything. I’m gonna need you to blend in and get the information needed to help Brass out on things he can’t see from the street.”
“Sure thing.”
“I’m going to need all hands on this one. Those of you who aren’t involved initially may be called in once we see what the fuck we’re dealing with. This job is a huge payout. We can’t screw this up.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” I’m a bit surprised that my name isn’t mentioned. It pisses me the fuck off that Cut hasn’t thought to include me in this before he chose to bring Tiny in.
Turning his head to me, he lifts his brow, annoyed that I’ve questioned him in front of the others. “You’re here to maintain the club and get your personal shit straight.”
“Fuck that. You know I can handle my shit.”
“I’ll help any way I can,” Cruise calls out.
Cruise’s voice alone pisses me off, now that motherfucker is trying to inch his way into the position I do for this fucking club. No fucking way in hell.
“I got it handled,” I tell the fucker.
“You get your shit handled. Business will always be here,” Cut commands.
“Bullshit.”
“You’ll be working at the garage,” Cut tells me. “Sin is gonna need your help on a project. It needs to be street ready within the next month. That’s something that only you can do, brother. But I promise, if I need you on the other end, I’ll make that call.”
I nod, not willing to look at him or anyone else at the table. I’m beyond fucking pissed. I’ve been by Cut’s side this whole fucking ride, and I’m not about to get off now.
“We got this handled,” Dyke encourages.
Cut stands. “As our numbers grow, so does the need to make sure this club runs smoothly. When we were small, it seemed to run like a well-oiled machine. But with the club membership increasing, and different personalities taking up residence here, we need to get some shit straight.”
I take a deep breath because I know this has to do with the shit I keep having to deal with from that fucktard Cruise. I lift my gaze, peering at each and every one of the men who surround this table.
“We are here for one reason, our belief in brotherhood and family. It’s not about the bikes we ride or the deals we make. It’s about us coming together. I’m not fucking stupid, and I know that none of you are fucking stupid either. We aren’t going to be without our fucking issues, but act like grown ass men and stop fucking around like children. Grow the fuck up.”
My gaze drops back down to the grain of the wooden table. I can feel the hair on the back of my neck lift in fucking anger. I’m physically restraining myself from opening my mouth because I know, once I do, words are gonna spew and nothing pretty is gonna come from it. All because of fucking Cruise.
“This is my club,” Cut continues, “my father’s club, and I’m not gonna deal with this internal shit when we’ve got shit outside these walls that need to be dealt with. Squash the shit. Don’t be taking fucking sides, and act like the fucking men I know you to be. Now, that being said, Bubba is coming back in two weeks’ time. He’ll be on probation, but the brother is sober, and he deserves another chance to wear his cut. This is the decision that I’ve made, and the club is standing by.” Murmurs come from around the table.
“Now, on to other business.” He grabs the envelope from the table. “Dyke, as one of the key members of this charter, as one of my father’s trusted men, I’m officially giving you the title of Vice President.” He throws a patch across the table. If I’m absent or unavailable, and shit needs to be dealt with now and not later, he’s the man to go to.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll do you proud,” Dyke comments.
“Lick.” My head snaps up. “Without a doubt, you’re my right hand. You have been since we were kids, and you’ve done more than proven yourself to this club and me since the day my father was murdered. There is no one else that I’d have by my side to protect me and the reputation Devil’s Fury holds. Although you already take care of the responsibility this title carries, you, brother, are officially Sergeant at Arms.” He tosses me a patch, my official title.
“Thanks,” I tell him with a nod.
“May those mother fuckers who cross your path, tread lightly,” Cut says.
The table rumbles in agreement with Cut’s last statement.
“Brass, since you’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember, I’d like for you to officially be the Treasure of Devil’s Fury.” He tosses Brass his patch.
“I’ve never been a guy who needed a title. I do this for the love of the club, for the loyalty I have for you pieces of shit. But regardless, thank you.”
“Sin.” I look up to see Sin push off the wall, taking a step forward.
“No disrespect, but you know that I’m not looking for a title. My thoughts haven’t changed on the subject.”
“Maybe if you keep your trap shut, you’d be able to hear what I’m about to say.” Sin nods. “This doesn’t have shit to do with the club in any official capacity. It’s about the shop–your shop. I’m officially turning over all rights and ownership of Fury to you. It’s because of you and your creativity that we’ve been noticed. With your hard work, your ol’ lady’s business smarts, and Lick’s engines we’ve closed the deal with Chopper West. The shop will always be a part of Devil’s Fury, just as you will. But it’s time to let you do you. I know you’ll make this club, me, and pops proud.”
He slams his palm on the face of the table, signally the end of Jury. A few of the guys walk up to Cut, slapping him on the back. Sin has a smile on his face. All this hard work is paying off. I don’t move while the others stand. I’m itching to get back to the house. The need to feel Jenni’s hot as fuck pussy clench around my cock is strong, but first, I need to clear the air with Cut.
“What’s up brother?” he asks as he throws himself into the leather of his chair. Kicking his feet onto the table, he intertwines his fingers, resting both hands on his stomach.
He’s the spitting image of his father. A born leader whose head has always been screwed on his shoulders straight. He’s doing a fucking sweet ass job, and I’d never challenge his decisions. That’s not the type of member I am. I’ve always followed his rules and lived by his word. “I don’t feel comfortable not being involved in such a large job.”
“You’re involved in a much larger job on a grander scale.”
“Don’t blow smoke up my ass, Cut.” I lean my arms against the table. “You and I both know that Sin doesn’t need shit from me. He’s seen me build plenty of engines, and he knows how to do them himself. If he had a problem, I’d only be a fucking phone call away.”
“And now you’ll only be a fucking call away for me.” His eyes bore into mine. He drops his feet from the table and leans closer to me. “The call’s been made. You need to take this time.”
Closing my eyes, I shake my head to disagree, but stop when I feel his hand on my arm.
“I know you and I are different people, and I know we both do things in our own fucking way, but what you’ve got a chance at right now is fucking gold. You need to take a step back from this club bullshit and open your eyes to what you might have. I’d give my left nut to be able to raise and see my sister’s kids. Your sister, no matter how she went out, was still your fucking sister, and you’ll get to keep a piece of her in the form of those two kids. I’d be a shit friend and a crap president if I didn’t see it and encourage you. The club is here, it will continue to be here, and maybe, once you see those kids and feel them, this club may mean something more to you. It may become a legacy that your nephew will want to be a part of. The future isn’t just about you anymore, Lick. It’s about them.”
He slaps his hand on my arm before standing up, leaving me to my thoughts and my possible future.