“So, Evie,” Daz said, leaning in my open office door.
I was at the clubhouse, the morning after walking away from Evie. I’d spent most of the night before drowning myself in whiskey, like that was going to do a damn thing for me.
Now, the brothers were converging for church—our club meetings. It was time to step back into my role as president of this club. A couple of the guys had questioned the call. They thought I should take a little time to enjoy my freedom before getting back to it. I’d fed them a line about the club not being a burden. Not that I thought it was, just that it wasn’t my reason for getting down to it. No, my reason was trying to keep myself distracted.
I’d been doing a halfway decent job before Daz came sauntering up like an asshole and ruining it.
“What do you want?”
“She seems sweet. Like toothache sweet,” he persisted.
I leveled him with a look not a lot of men would fuck with. Daz, however, was either stupid or had balls the size of cantaloupes. He claimed the latter, but there was a fuck of a lot of evidence of the former working against him.
Instead of taking the warning, he came in further and planted his ass in one of the chairs across from me. He went so far as to lean back and put his feet up on the edge of my desk.
“Respect. Personally, I went with easy for my first taste of freedom.” Yeah, I remembered Daz’s coming home party. If memory served, he’d gotten at least a few tastes of easy that night, closing it out with two in his bed at the same time. “But I can see the appeal of going that route.”
“Get your fuckin’ feet off my desk.”
He did, but he looked no more ready to get out of my face about this.
Before he could keep at his nosy shit, I asked, “Are you in here for a reason?”
Apparently, his hearing worked better than his sight because he at least caught my tone.
“Brothers are all here,” he answered.
“Good.” I got to my feet, getting the key from my desk drawer that unlocked the room we used for church. “Let’s go then.”
I didn’t wait for him. I walked out of my office and into the lounge where the club was all hanging around waiting. Even the recruit, Hook—or Dustin before we gave him the road name for the mean right hook he had as one of Jager’s boys from the gym and fight circuit witnessed—was there even though he wouldn’t be allowed in.
Behind me, as he always did, Daz bellowed out, “Time for church, you fuckin’ heathens!”
Doc was already at the door, collecting phones. I tossed him mine before I went for the lock. Not like anyone would be calling me. Damn near everyone that might was following behind me. Evie wouldn’t call even if she had my number.
I paused at that thought, wondering if I should give it to her. Maybe talk to Daz and get Avery to pass it on. Except that would bring that fucker even more into my business. No, it was just going to make things more tense if I tried to get her my number now.
Shaking that off, I took up my seat at the head of the table. The room wasn’t huge, but it was big enough for the long table we’d bought custom to seat the whole club around it. The walls were covered in Disciples’ history, and our patch—a bike and two scythes—was painted on the wall.
I watched my brothers file in, taking their usual spots. This felt like it could have been just weeks since the last time we’d been there. Nothing here had changed.
On the table in front of me was the gavel one of the brothers had gotten for me years ago when I first became president. I had no idea who did it. The thing had just been sitting on my desk one day. Even in all the time that had passed, no one had owned up to it. Now, it stayed in that same spot at all times.
Roadrunner, my VP, grabbed a seat next to me. He’d been holding down the fort around here while I was inside. He’d also made a point to keep me appraised of anything and everything that had been going on, bringing it all to me before taking it to the club. He’d taken it all on even while Ember, his daughter and Jager’s woman, was pregnant and then giving him a grandchild just a few weeks back.
“Never could bring myself to use that thing,” he said, eyes on the gavel where mine had been. “Didn’t feel right.”
I couldn’t help but think maybe, after him handling shit around here for over a year, it should be his now. Maybe my time at the helm was supposed to be up.
Without thinking about that too long, I took up that wood handle and brought it down twice. No one spoke, waiting for me. A shit ton of things were on the tip of my tongue, but I went right to business.
“Roadrunner, you’re up,” I announced.
“Gotta talk about the prospect,” he started with. “Boy’s been wearing that patch too long. Our pres is back, time to right that.”
I waited for him to call the vote, but he didn’t. It was my job to do so, and he was stepping firmly back into his role as VP. It was a statement, to me and to the club as a whole.
“All in favor?” I asked.
A round of ayes met me, not one person thinking Hook hadn’t earned his spot. I’d told them more than once to give him his patch while I was inside, but apparently, even he’d said it wasn’t right. That went a long way to cementing my respect for him beyond what I got to know before.
“We got a patch for him yet?” I asked.
“Got it,” Jager answered. Since he brought the kid into the fold, it was his responsibility.
“Someone go bring his ass in here, then,” I ordered.
Ham got up first, opening the door wide and yelling, “Yo, Hook. Get in here.”
It took not even a minute for him to do as ordered. That was life as a prospect. You did what you had to, paid your dues. No doubt the brothers had eased up on him since he’d been stuck a prospect longer than anyone, but that didn’t mean defying a direct order.
When he stepped through, Ham snapped the door shut behind him. Even as he did, Gauge was on his feet getting a chair from the corner to add to the table as the brothers shifted to make room.
“Your party, you pick a night. When you do, we have a party and you get your patch. For now, you’re a brother by vote, so you need to be in here for this,” I told him.
He didn’t say anything, just gave a jerk of his chin and took his seat. Regardless, there was a shift to his posture that said it all. He was proud to have that place, and that meant fucking everything.
“You got a night in mind?” Slick asked. His woman, Deni, usually took charge of getting shit together for the parties. She’d need to know.
“Want to wait a bit. Next month, probably. Got a fight coming up that isn’t going to be an easy win. I need to focus.”
“We’ll get it set after, then. Yeah?”
He didn’t waste words there either, just gave a nod.
“Good. Next up,” I moved us on, turning back to Roadrunner.
“The Devils. Whatever the fuck they have going on up there, it’s past time to take a good hard look. Been hearing a lot of rumors about shit quality ice and girls in bad shape. It might not be our business, but those rumors are circling closer and closer to Hoffman.”
Shit.
The Devil’s Horror motorcycle club was a bunch of fucking thugs who used the title of being an MC just to make themselves more intimidating. They were a biker gang, not a fucking club. There wasn’t an ounce of brotherhood behind that patch, and that ill will was a lot more bitter for anyone that didn’t wear it. Roadrunner had been keeping me apprised of that situation for a while. Up until recently, those assholes seemed to know their place and stick to their turf. Over the last few months, they’d been making moves.
“I gotta connect with Andrews either way,” I started. “I’ll see if he’s got anything for us. If those dirty sons of bitches are approaching Hoffman, he’s going to want us prepared to put an end to that either way. Jager, when you’ve got the time, want you poking around whatever you can find from them. They aren’t the most organized bunch, so I’m not expecting they’ll have some master plan you can hack, but anything you can get might help.”
Jager jutted out his chin. If there was anything to find, he’d get it. The man could hack damn near anything.
With that, Roadrunner moved on, going over the latest updates from the garage—which he ran with Gauge’s woman, Cami’s, help in the office—followed by Jager giving updates about his gym and the upcoming fight schedule—sanctioned and underground—and Daz filling us in on business from the strip club.
By the time I banged that gavel again, calling it to an end, it was easy to forget that I’d been gone. This, stepping back into my role in the club, my place in this life, was easy.
I was on the way out when Gauge stopped me.
“Got the status for you on that Grand Am,” he said, an eyebrow up.
Yeah, it wasn’t our usual bread and butter. Savage Restorations specialized in just that—restorations. The garage had cars and bikes from around the northwest coming in to be redone because our guys did great work. We also worked as a full-service garage, though.
“What’s the damage?”
“Not too bad. Had to replace the regulator, but that’s all to get it running again. The thing’s in decent shape for what it is. Obviously taken care of. Still, it’s going to start having problems. Could do a whole lot of preventive work, but it’s going to outpace the value of that car.”
I was tempted to have him fix up every issue he could find, just to know it was going to be safe for her, but I stopped myself. She was finishing school. She’d get a job soon that would hopefully afford her the ability to trade up. And, most importantly, she would not thank me for overstepping.
“Just leave it at the regulator unless something else is pressing. And get someone to drive it out to the farmhouse when you can.”
Gauge, being smart enough to know not to push me unlike Daz, didn’t question it. “Got it, Pres.”
Well, if nothing else, her car would be running again. It wasn’t much, but I could give her that.