Damian
“Thought I told you to leave your goddamn phone on!” Mills called the moment I stepped through the clubhouse door.
“Am I on the fuckin' clock or something?” I called back.
Mills and his guys were at one of the tables, huddled together over their beers, talking in low tones. At least, until I walked in. Then Mills went straight into macho posturing mode.
“You've been gone three weeks,” he howled.
“Again, am I on a fuckin' clock or something?”
Mills walked over and stood in front of me, our noses just inches apart. “You're really pissin' me off, Damian.”
“Wasn't aware this was a popularity contest.”
“You don't seem to be aware of a lot of things these days.”
“Come on Mills, we need to talk,” I said, casting a look at his boys. “In private.”
We walked into the club's conference room and took seats at opposite ends of the table. We stared at one another in silence for a few long moments, as if engaging in a silent battle of wills. It was a stupid, petty little game and I was happy to end it.
“You know,” I said, “once upon a time, the Kings was a great club. It used to be a real brotherhood.”
“Yeah, and once upon a time, this was a second-rate club that wasn't earning a fraction of what we're earning right now. Speaking of which—”
Mills opened up a drawer on his side of the table and withdrew a paper bag. He tossed it down to the other end of the table where it landed with a thud in front of me. I looked at it like it was a coiled snake that was ready to strike.
“What's this?” I asked.
“Your cut.”
“Cut of what?”
“Your cut for being the VP. It's our new… revenue stream.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
I opened the bag and looked at the banded stacks of cash inside. There must have been at least five grand in the bag.
“And what exactly is our new revenue stream?”
Mills stared hard at me as if daring me to challenge him. “We're supplying some guns to some of the bangers in Oakland.”
“Running guns now, are we?” I asked and tossed the bag back to him. “Keep it. I don't want the blood money.”
Mills shrugged. “Suit yourself. But it's a good living.”
“Funny. I don't recall a vote ever being taken. I don't remember ever approving this new revenue stream.”
“You ain't been around much lately.”
I smirked. “Yeah, but I've kept in touch. I would have heard of a vote being taken on something like this.”
Mills shrugged again. “Call it my executive privilege then. The club needs to earn. I found a way to make us profitable.”
“Right,” I said. “And you do realize you have no executive privilege, don't you? I mean, you have read the MC's charter, right?”
“I didn't hear anybody else complain when we cut up and distributed the proceeds.”
“Doesn't matter. You can’t make unilateral decisions for the club. That's not how this shit works.”
“Actually, that is how this shit works now,” he said, his face darkening with anger. “I'm the goddamn president of this club, get it? My word is fuckin' law around here.”
I shook my head and chuckled. “Yeah, that's really not the way shit works. This isn't your personal little kingdom. You don't get to make decisions that impact the rest of the club without our consent.”
“Yeah, well you and your little brigade of pussies aren't doin' shit to help this club grow and earn,” he hissed. “I am. I'm going to make the Kings into the most feared MC around. Not to mention the richest. You, of course, are welcome to ride along on my coattails and reap the benefits. You are the VP after all.”
I sighed and leaned back in my seat. “Feared,” I said. “That really gives me a lot of insight into your character. Not that I really needed much more. Not after what you did in the barn that night.”
He laughed. “What I did that night was put this club on the path to greatness. And I have you to thank for it, actually. None of this would be possible without you.”
“Yeah, not following.”
“It's your fault Mendoza and his guys were in that barn that night in the first place,” he sneered. “If not for you and that little piece of ass of yours, we never would have had the opportunity. But we had it, thanks to you. So, I took it.”
“That's not how it went down, and you know it,” I said.
“Don't try to deny your role in this, Damian. Your hands are as dirty as mine. You knew exactly what was going to happen in that barn and you let it happen anyway.”
I felt my stomach roiling, and I suddenly felt lightheaded. Coming into this, I'd felt like I was on solid, stable footing. I thought I had the moral high ground. But was Mills right? Had I known what was going to happen? No, I'd tried to stop it. That is not how I wanted it to go down. I didn't want that. I'd tried to stop it.
But the one thing he was right about – the one fact I couldn't deny – was that Mendoza and his guys were in that barn that night because of me. If not for Cara and me, they wouldn't have been there.
I shook my head and tried to clear my thoughts. Mills was twisting this all around. Turning this into something it wasn't. I hadn't murdered those men in cold blood. He had. And there was nothing I could have done to stop it.
“That's bullshit, Mills,” I said, my voice low and intense. “And you know it.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, it is. You saw an opportunity to make yourself rich – and you killed a hell of a lot of people to do it.”
He smirked. “Yeah well, you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs, as they say.”
“You're a fucking psycho, Mills. You're destroying this club.”
“Actually, I think I'm enhancing it. A lot. Look, you have two options here. You can get on board the gravy train. Or you can hand over your patches right now and get the fuck out of here.”
I felt my rage boiling inside of me, and it was taking everything in me not to launch myself across the table and throttle him with my bare hands. I took a deep breath and held myself in check. I needed to fight with my brain, not my brawn at that moment. He was trying to goad me. Trying to get me to do something stupid. Something that would give him grounds to get rid of me.
I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
“There's actually a third option you're missing,” I said.
“Oh yeah? What's that?”
“We do things according to our charter. Or I call the other charters’ presidents, and we all have a sit-down. We do that, I outline everything I know. All of my cards go on the table, and they can deal with you.”
He glowered at me from across the table. He knew I was right and knew I had him – and it pissed him off.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“You want my patches?”
He nodded. “I sure as shit do.”
“Then we're holding a vote. You want me out, I'm going to make you do shit the right way for a change. Full membership vote. You get the votes, you get my patches, and you'll never see me again.”
“And if I don't get the votes?”
“Then I'll be calling for a second vote. And we'll be voting on whether or not you turn in your fuckin' patches.”
That was it. I'd made my play, and my cards were now on the table. Mills was pissed. His anger was radiating off of him like the heat of the sun. But he also knew that I had him dead to rights, and there was nothing he could do about it. Well, nothing except try to whip the votes he needed to oust me – and hope I wasn't doing the same. I had a feeling that deep down, he knew I was more likely to win the vote than he was. His only play was to intimidate and bully the other members into voting his way.
It was a play that could work. After all, nobody had stood up to him about the drug and gun running. He very well might be able to badger everybody into voting his way.
But I still had another card I intended to play.