pregnant, newly freed from a brutal brand of slavery, just rescued her sister and brothers, and was startin’ a relationship with a man like him. None of that shit was fair, it simply was, and it was up to him to make sure he smoothed her road as much as he could. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Truck. We’ll have a sit-down with Mason.”
“And Blackie.” Truck paused a beat. “He’s bringin’ enough men with him to deal with the beatout, if that’s the route taken.”
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” He pulled in a measured breath, trying to ratchet back his anger. His single shout had a family across the way huddling closer together, shying away from even looking at him. Shit. “Never mind. I’ll give him a call, see what’s on his agenda so I know what he expects from me.”
“And that right there is what makes you such a valuable member. You won’t tell him what you want, not unless he asks and digs a little. But the club? That’s your first priority and thought. That’s why it’s gonna kill him to lose you. Shifting to the support club might seem like a demotion, but it ain’t. Gonna need somebody as charter president, might as well be you. I think you’ll be surprised at the members you’ll have flockin’ to your side.” Truck’s voice became quick and strident, full of business. “Now, you think on what we’ve talked about, and we’ll hear your decision tomorrow. Ride safe, brother.”
Bane didn’t give him a signoff, simply terminated the call. He sat there, tossing the phone lightly in his hand, flipping it back to front and back again. Charter president, responsible for rolling up a brand-new chapter. Not something he’d ever aspired to. The phone landed face up again, and he tapped a speed dial, listening to it ring. Voicemail picked up, and he listened to Blackie’s recorded voice. “You got me in the middle of some shit or something. If this is who I think it is, then yeah, the old man has the right of it, but you gonna hafta earn it. Won’t mean anythin’, not a damn thing, if you don’t.” There was no invitation to leave a message, and the call terminated immediately after the recording cut off.
“Shit.” Shoving his phone deep into his pocket, he grabbed the helmet and strapped it on. The bike roared to life underneath him, and he took a minute to appreciate the machine. It was everything he would want in a bike, plenty of power in the large engine well balanced between his legs, had ample room in the side bags for his and Myrt’s shit, and the back seat was fit for his queen. Rolling the throttle as he let off the clutch, he angled out of the parking lot and towards the grocery store he’d seen a few blocks away. After the last conversation, he needed more than convenience store beef jerky and cheap beer.
Chapter Thirteen
Bane
Rolling to a stop in front of Truck’s house, Bane took inventory of the bikes and other vehicles scattered throughout the drive and yard, and along the ditches in the narrow road. From the various tank paint jobs, he saw at least four separate patches represented, only one of which surprised him.
Then Luke and Thad were first through the door, with Marian and a flood of men and women and kids pouring out behind them. He killed the engine and settled the kickstand at the same time he reached a hand over his shoulder, steadying Myrt as she climbed off the bike. He fought back a grin as she hobbled towards the boys, fumbling with her helmet as her run towards her brothers looked more like someone on the chain gang than a woman scarcely in her twenties. She might be sore as hell, but he hadn’t heard a single peep of discomfort from her, even as he saw the pain building with each stop along the way.
We’re here now, and hopefully even with all the extra guests, we’ll be able to stop movin’ for a time.
Bane stepped off the bike and stretched, arms over his head before opening them wide to greet Blackie with a hard hug complete with rib-breaking pounding across their patches. The man looked good, rested and fresh—not as if he’d ridden his own ten-hour day to get here. Of course that ride had been yesterday, so the man would have had a few hours to rest up. Scanning the crowd behind