“I’ve always put the patch first. My old lady, my boys—they understand that—but now it’s time I put them first. I gotta call in that marker.”
I look around the table to find that everybody is nodding, or at least mostly resigned to what they think comes next. It’s no secret that Pop put that marker in, and it’s no secret why. When each of us patched in, we knew the score. Each brother has certain things he needs. He takes care of his shit, does his time, and if he needs it, he can call in a marker, too. A member needs something, the club takes care of it. That’s just how we operate. But this shit? This shit’s out of our playbook.
“Ain’t no thing, Pop,” Bear says from the other side of the table. “Just tell us when and we’ll be locked and loaded.”
“We got this shit,” Grady says, nodding. Pop’s silence is unnerving. The boys are all starting to talk amongst themselves now. Chief’s gotta let Barbara know he’s going to miss Izzy’s choir performance and Stephen’s parent-teacher conference. Grady’s thumping the table, asking Chief if Barbara can watch his daughter, Cheyenne, because his mom is going to be out of town for most of the week. The rest of them are already talking firepower and logistics. All of them except for Ian, Wyatt, Pop, and me. Even Duke, who’s half-past pissed, is talking things over with Diesel.
Pop thunks down the gavel just once. His face is paler than it was minutes ago, and his shoulders are dropped, almost in defeat. The boys quiet down and turn to give him their full attention. He clears his throat and says, “There’s a complication.”
Family or not, my brothers aren’t exactly cool with the shit Pop’s asking of them. As Pop explains the situation, the tension in the room only increases. After a moment of pure silence and stillness from the room, absolute chaos erupts. Chairs get shoved back, fists get slammed into the wooden table, and insults are exchanged.
From across the table, I can feel Duke’s eyes on me. He shakes his head and mouths, “Prick”. His shoulders roll with anger, and his eyes look straight-up fucking deadly. Duke’s my brother almost as much as Ian is, but he wouldn’t understand this—the risk we’re willing to take and why. He wouldn’t be down with it, and judging by the way he drags his hand down his goatee with his blue eyes glaring at me, he doesn’t get it now.
“How’s that look?” Chief asks from my left. He leans back in his chair and looks around the room, carefully skipping over Pop. Voting down something this personal fucks with a club, but if the club decides it’s too dangerous, Pop has to respect that. Shit won’t be easy to let go, but we will.
“Blood,” Grady says. “That’s how it looks.”
“Since when did you grow a pussy?” Wyatt asks, look across the table.
“Ain’t about being a pussy, brother. It’s about being smart. This ain’t smart,” Grady says.
“She’s a kid,” Chief grunts out. “A fuckin’ kid.”
“I’m not good with this shit,” Grady says.
“If it was Elle…,” Chief says, trailing off as he references his eldest daughter. “Nothing else would matter. I’d want my girl safe.”
“It’s not Elle,” Grady grumbles.
“And if it was Cheyenne?” Wyatt says, speaking up from beside Pop. Grady’s body stiffens, and he shoots up in his chair with Wyatt doing the same right after him. Fucking pissing contests.
“It ain’t Cheyenne. It ain’t ever gonna be Cheyenne,” Grady barks out. A few of my brothers look to Grady and nod their heads.
Beside me, Ian clears his throat. Slowly, he lifts his head and meets everyone’s eyes. He lowers his gaze to the table and lets out a heavy breath. One word falls from his lips and it’s the only thing he needs to say—and the only thing I know he can say right now.
“Please,” he says. His voice booms with the pain of his request. I want to pat his back, but he’d damn sure feel like a bitch if I did. Instead, I mean mug my brothers, daring any of them to say shit to him. As Ruby’s biological son, he’s got a special place at the table right now because this vote is really fucking personal for him. It takes the brothers a minute before they calm down enough to start asking questions about Mancuso and his boys, and how this is all going to go down if we vote yea.
After a long, drawn-out discussion, and a lot of fucking bitching, the vote comes in. Ten votes, and all we need is a majority. It’s no surprise that Grady votes nay, but what does surprise me is that so does Duke, and Diesel. I breathe a sigh of relief when I mentally tally the votes. With Wyatt, Chief, Fish, Bear, Ian, and Pop and me—we got the club’s vote. Pop slams the gavel down, and I stand. Grady, Duke, and Diesel look pissed, but it’s over now. As I stride out of the room, I let the tension roll off my shoulders.