When I got to the clubhouse, I could smell the fresh oil of choppers having just shut down and hear the roaring of engines yet approaching. Everyone had gotten the message, and everyone understood what needed to happen next. Converge back at the base and figure out a retaliatory action immediately.
Our days of training were over. Our days of doing things as best we could were over. I suspected—hoped, really—that we were now going to go to war to kill these fucking bastards once and for all. If it cost us our lives, so fucking be it.
But Rachel…
I ignored that thought as I swung open the door to the clubhouse. Inside, the doors to our church were open. Brock and Lane each stood, not quite at the head of the table but to the side, the better so that they could see everyone entering the clubhouse before they got into church. Neither said a fucking word.
I took my seat in my usual spot. Everyone except Garrett and Cole was here. No one at all was fucking talking. Everyone had the same, serious expression on their face.
It took less than a minute for Garrett and Cole to arrive, Garrett beating Cole by mere seconds.
“This everyone?” Lane said to Brock, who nodded in the affirmative. Finally, Lane and Brock moved over to the president’s seat. Notably, neither actually sat. “You all know why you’re here. You all know the sheriff is fucking dead.”
It would take some fucking time to get used to those words. I had no illusions that Sheriff Davis was this indestructible man, but he’d been in the Bandits’ pockets for so long it felt inconceivable to believe they’d suffer the wrath of higher-ups for some revenge.
But there was an awful lot about them that was unthinkable. I guessed that’s why they were the bad guys and we were the, well, not the fucking good guys but at least not the shitheads.
“At this point, the town is now part of the war between us,” Brock said, “and accordingly, we cannot wait. However, to attack now in a fucking chaotic, head-spinning state won’t work. Additionally, given that we can presumably expect authorities to come in, we need to start making good with the townsfolk. So, for now, we’re going to do our best to find a nugget of usefulness in this shitty situation.”
My facial expression, like everyone else’s, didn’t change. But I was mighty curious to see where the hell Brock and Lane were going with this.
“We are going to patrol this town and act as a de facto police force,” Lane said. “Essentially, we will constantly have at least three officers on patrol in different parts of this town, and prospects and club members out there as well. We’ll cover the north, west, and central side. The south side only has the NME Services building, and the east side is obviously prime Bandit territory.”
He ceded the ground to Brock. At least that was going well.
“It goes without saying we’re not cops, and we damn fucking better never be. But someone’s going to step into the void that Sheriff Davis left, and before it’s the state or the feds, it’ll be the Bandits if we don’t do anything. So you know what to do. Keep an eye on any trouble from the Bandits. Step in as need be. And for fuck’s sake, don’t any of y’all cause any unnecessary trouble.”
No one dared crack a joke, not Garrett or anyone else. I suspected many of us probably wouldn’t even say hello to a stranger unless it was necessary. The more we got the town on our side, the better our long-term prospects were.
If we had long-term prospects at all, that was.
“Every night at midnight,” Lane said, “we will meet here to discuss plans, minus the three who are on patrol. We need to move swiftly and quickly to figure out a strategy, so once we have something, we come in with the full force of our power and wipe these fuckers off the Earth. That, however, is still a work in progress, so as soon as this meeting adjourns, we need three of you to go on the run protecting this area.”
“And to be clear,” Brock said. “We’re one club now. There’s no California Reapers, no New Mexico chapter. We’re all the fucking Black Reapers. No bickering, no fucking fighting. If you have petty shit with anyone, fucking put it to the side until Eduardo is nothing but a corpse for the vultures.”
I caught Axle looking at me, and I shot him a look back. We both gave a slight head nod. And that was it. It was all that was needed.
“First patrol,” Lane said, “will be Mason, Axle, and Connor. The rest of you all—and the three of you, when you finish your patrol around midnight—lay fucking low and move in pairs if you go off club grounds. Last thing I need is for the Bandits to ambush your ass and add to the death toll. Meeting adjourned.”
With that, we stood up. I didn’t question it, and I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed a machine gun and headed right out the door to my bike. Only when I’d gotten halfway did I realize the three of us hadn’t settled on locations within Santa Maria, so I waited until they came out. Which, fortunately, wasn’t very long.
“Mason,” Axle nodded, “you’ve been here the longest. How do you wanna do it?”
I opened my mouth to speak but had a brief moment of hesitation. Fucking Axle was asking me for help. That was the most goddamn humble thing I’d ever seen that asshole do.
Nothing could have better exemplified the fact that this was real shit and that we couldn’t have any bickering from here on out.
“You can have north side, since that’ll probably be the least dangerous area, would be good for you to get acquainted first,” I said. “Go to Main Street and take a left at the first light. From there, you’re basically covering about a half-dozen blocks of businesses and then maybe another half-dozen of apartment complexes, fast food stores, the usual. North side is where most people live; it’s pretty low-key.”
“Nothing will be low-key these days,” Axle said, “but thanks.”
He nodded and walked to his bike. I looked to Connor.
“You care where you go?”
“Any place I can fucking cave in a Bandit’s skull.”
“Only if provoked,” I said, though my eyes didn’t suggest that was mandatory. “Take the west and south side. I know Lane said the south side only has the NME building, but last fucking thing we need is Tara and Elizabeth yelling at Brock and Steele because daddy’s new project got ruined.”
