Sonny
Inside church, on a Thursday afternoon, my father, Spawn, and I all sat at our usual table. My father at the front, Spawn to the side, and me directly across from him. Whenever we walked club grounds, I always addressed my father as Satan to ensure that no one thought he was playing favorites.
Today, that was no different.
Because of the private nature of these meetings, we could discuss sensitive issues. New club members, or ones who needed discipline. What to do about police involvement. These days, what to do about King and the King’s Men.
Again, today, that was no different.
And in the air right now, to an unusual degree, was an unspoken tension, as if everyone could sense the other’s palpable frustration but had not yet given any air to it.
Today, that was very different.
Say what you will about men and not being willing or able to share their feelings, but for the most part, as an MC club, we did a hell of a fucking good job about being honest. Maybe that was because we were family outside of the club, maybe that was because my father had just made a good example of it, or maybe we were just the exception that proved the rule, but we always addressed things head on. But now, with King’s Men coming in and rumors spreading, it seemed like no one was facing the issue.
My father hadn’t once looked me in the eye so far in the meeting. Spawn had looked between the two of us like he expected to break up a fight at any moment. He probably wasn’t wrong.
Finally, I couldn’t fucking take it.
“Goddamnit, Satan, we need to be practical.”
He looked me in the eye with the most focused glare I’d ever seen in my life, likethiswas the moment he’d been waiting for. We’d refused to acknowledge that we were clashing heads. But now that that was dropped, he was determined to clash even harder.
“It’s not self-defeating or weak or pessimistic to say that we’re in trouble,” I said. “You heard what Spawn just said. Crush and Prince are in town. They’ve got a hundred fucking men coming our way. That’s some serious shit we can’t just ignore.”
Satan sat in silence, then held his hand forward, his palm up, as if shrugging with defiance in my face.
“Is that all?” he said. “Is that all you were holding back from me, Sonny?”
“How is ‘that all’ not ‘oh shit, that’s a good point?’”
“You act like I’ve never stared down the barrel of a gun e before, in this case with the King’s Men,” Satan said. “You don’t know fucking shit, boy.”
“Look, let’s focus on facts,” Spawn said, trying to play mediator. “Crush and Prince—”
“Shut the fuck up, Spawn,” Satan said. “I founded this club. You two have only known me in charge, and that’s the bottom fucking line. I’ve seen shit and been through shit I don’t tell you, because we’re not some club therapy. I’m the goddamn boss and I gotta fucking make sure we take care of business. We didn’t get this far, without any fucking challengers in Phoenix, without understanding which ones were worth squashing and which ones were barely worth laughing at.”
Maybe in Phoenix. But not when someone out of town comes. Not when King comes.
This wasn’t going to go anywhere as long as we addressed this as a business. I needed to speak to him as a father.
“Spawn,” I said, “can you give us ten minutes?”
Spawn immediately stood up and walked out the door. He knew how this worked. He knew when I wanted to speak to him as a father or him to me as a son, no one, not even the only other club officer, was in the room. Since we all tried not to take club business back to our personal homes, this was the only place where our personal lives and our club lives mixed.
As soon as Spawn left, I looked right at my father and softened my expression.
“Dad, I’m worried about the club,” I said. “I’m worried about you. I do not want you getting in the line of fire because you’re too proud or because I’m not ready.”
His expression softened in return—somewhat. My father was never going to be a hugger, a laugher, or anything that resembled openness and friendliness. He was right in one regard—there was so much we didn’t know, and judging by the type of person he was, there was shit I probably didn’twantto know.
“Someday, son, you will run this club,” he said. “That day will come when one of two things happens—either I stop breathing, or I stop riding. I’ve had people try and kill me. I’ve had people try and break my knuckles. I’ve had people do all sorts of shit. I keep it all going because I know this is bigger than me.”
He sighed.
“Yes, you are right. I can be too hardheaded and too stubborn for my own good. Perhaps if things continue to get worse, I will have you and Spawn assume greater responsibilities. But to this point, every time a danger has gotten greater, I rise up to it. I have never failed—and you know this to be true because of where we stand today, even with the Black Reapers trying to color us up and the King’s Men trying to bury us.”
And then he looked away, almost like he couldn’t say what was next to my face. His voice definitely wavered some, though it wasn’t like he was on the verge of a blubbery mess.
