Phoenix
Two Days Later
Off a gravel road, on the outskirts of Ashton, past an old-school gas station and behind a chain-link fence, stood a building that looked like it had once been a warehouse for car parts. The outside didn’t have much going for it; it was rusty, with window frames hanging either by their edges or on the ground completely. If someone passed by it, it would have looked like an abandoned building.
But if they looked a little closer, they would see several bikes surrounding it. And if that someone took the steps needed to move in even closer, they would see that the interior was actually decently active, although it was still very much a work in progress.
Today, five of us sat at a wooden table that did not fit in with the interior design of the place—as if someone had lifted it from their grandmother’s home and plopped it down as a placeholder. Unlike the Black Reapers’ table, which made it clear who the president was with its oblong shape, the circular table made it seem like everyone was on equal footing.
There was, of course, Cole, the President of the club, its founder and the long-lost Carter; there was Owen, a former member of the Black Reapers who had served the dual roles of Vice-President and Sergeant-at-Arms before I had offered my services as the latter; there was Thor, a tall, thin, blond-haired man who looked exactly like his movie counterpart and served as the club Treasurer; and Beetle, a man with a necklace that had such a thing inside and who served as the club Secretary.
And around us, in the open space, were other members of the Gray Reapers, either listening closely, doing other activities while listening, or just being within earshot in case anything else needed to be done. Cole had deliberately set up this club to resemble an open office environment, the better to make it clear that anything discussed between the officers could be heard by the club members and that any and all club members—even prospects—were welcome to contribute.
While I could certainly appreciate the club being more open and inclusive than the Black Reapers, I had to admit that this felt like a step too far. Sometimes, leaders had to make decisions based on complex information that the younger or less experienced members could not understand; it wasn’t fair to include them in the process of decision-making when they didn’t know any better. Plus, I just disliked the idea that anything I said could be overheard.
But it was Cole’s club, and if I was going to be his SAA, then I damn well needed to keep my mouth shut about such matters and act as his do-everything and do-dirty-work man.
“All right, gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s meeting,” Cole said, tapping the table with his pen.
I looked not just at the officers but at the club members around the table. It was staggering how many of them were former Black Reapers. In fact, the entire officers’ corps was made up of former members. Of all of those in the club, I think two members did not have ties to that organization.
It was like no matter how hard we tried, we could not escape our pasts. We were Black Reapers on some level.No, stop, that’s absurd. You are Gray Reapers now, and that is what matters.
“So,” he said. “We’ve already had a couple of meetings with our influx of members, and that is great. I’ve been trying to build the club to be in line with the vision of my father, and I think we’re doing a great job of that. But, as much as it pains me to say this, because I know how strong you all are... I don’t think we have enough numbers to deal with the Fallen Saints when they come.”
A silence fell over the room. The Fallen Saints? That was the Black Reapers’ problem.
The Saints were back in Springsville. We operated out of Ashton. True, many members of the Gray Reapers still lived in Springsville, but we generally avoided attacking each other at our houses.
“You mean if they come,” Owen said.
That was another thing that I was not used to. Cole not only allowed dissent during his meetings, he welcomed it. For him, getting interrupted in the middle of a meeting was a sign that someone had something important to say, not that they were being rude. Lane would have lost his shit if someone had interrupted him like this in a meeting, or at the very least, he would have looked very annoyed. It wasn’t hard to hear his outbursts in church.
While I didn’t agree with Lane’s reactions, I tended to lean toward finding it obnoxious and chaotic than beneficial. There needed to be a hierarchy in place, and that meant when the President spoke, only he spoke. A good President would give everyone the chance to speak their mind, but otherwise, these meetings would have a tendency to turn into kindergarten classes of people screaming and shouting over each other.
“I would like to believe that it is an if,” Cole said. “But Owen, you know that the Fallen Saints will not be happy with just Springsville. They will want to expand and take what they believe is theirs, or just what they can. And they will stop at nothing to make that happen. If the Black Reapers are not able to hold them, we will need to fight them eventually.”
“That’s an awfully big if, though,” Owen said. “The fight had always been between your father and Lucius, and now it’s between Lane and Lucius. We are out of it.”
Except...
“Lucius knows we came to help Lane those two previous times, Owen.”
Yep.
“Even if we say that they didn’t know that we helped, if they somehow were blinded and thought that devils and angels of a supernatural kind came to help the Black Reapers, they will realize that we exist, that a Carter runs this club, and they will see us as a threat. Especially since, let’s be honest, we’re not exactly walking around with a name like the Monarchs. The name Gray Reapers is as much a near-mirror image of the Black Reapers name as it is a homage to me improving what my father started.”
But Owen didn’t look convinced. Half the room seemed to agree with what Cole said, while the other half seemed less bothered.
“Who’s to say that we can’t just figure out this issue when the time comes?” Owen said. “It’s not like the Black Reapers will collapse tomorrow. They got men, they got resources, they got guns.”
But they don’t have men anymore. Not like they used to. We took that from them.
And for that reason, they’re screwed.
I had my own opinion on the matter, of course. I preferred to let the Black Reapers die, every single one of them except Father Marcellus, whom we could integrate into our club. It was really MC Darwinism at its finest; if the club couldn’t survive an attack from someone else because of weak leadership, then that club didn’t deserve to live.
The club that your father loved.
