A lot of people misjudge Whosie because he is so unassuming and blends in. Even his road name gives that impression. Whosie got his name because people forget his face and are forever asking ‘who’s he?’
“We still have work to do,” I scowl at him.
There is a good council around me, and I trust them, but there is always the worry in the back of my mind that things can go to hell like they did for the Kingsmen. A club that had been around for three decades was wiped out in a matter of weeks.
I will never let this new club fall to ruin like that. I’m always watching out for dissent or anyone sneaking around. So far, everyone here seems loyal, but I will always be on guard.
Our clubhouse is small, in a more built-up area of the town. It doesn’t have endless rooms or places for people to live but there are a few residents. The rest of the brothers live in town. I have my own place off site too.
It’s nothing like the clubhouse in Sussex, which is on its own compound, gated and protected by armed men and cameras. There, it’smore like a village, with homes for the brothers and their families, and even businesses on the property.
That reminds me of Handlebar. I never did anything to warrant the way he turned on me, but I sure as shit know what caused it.
Cassie Beillo.
I don’t have time to think about her, or Handlebar right now. What would be the point? Nothing will ever happen. And I have more important things to do than worry about hot women, when I can get that whenever I want it from someone much easier to tame.
No, Cassie Beillo is all wrong for a guy like me. And whether he wants to admit it or not, Handlebar is in the same position.
We get through Church, discussing what needs to be done in the coming weeks, figuring out a run that we’re going to be involved with. It’s only a protection ride for a middleman running some product to Ohio.
We break things up and everyone files out to go do their thing. Only one guy is hanging back.
He takes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up, inhaling deeply before blowing the smoke up to the ceiling. He’s our current treasurer who keeps an eye on all the finances. An original Kingsmen.
“What’s up?” I ask, checking my phone and finding six texts. I lock it and put it in my pocket, I can deal with that later.
“You thought any about what I asked about?”
“You’re still stuck on that shit?”
“It’s not shit. It bothers me.”
“It’s been your road name for eight years.”
“You think I don’t know that.”
“We don’t hand out names haphazardly, Chaos. There is a reason you were given that name and to request it to be changed isn’t a small thing.”
His jaw clenches. This is the kind of shit I don’t want to have to deal with, but having bad blood amongst the men also isn’t what I want in my club. I’ve heard him out, he made his case a few days ago about changing his road name.
The issue is, he’s an officer on the council and everyone here, and at the other chapters of Devil’s Chaos, know his name. To change it would be a massive fuck you that would be felt around the MC.
“You can tell them it’s about respecting the patch,” he makes his case again. “That I should change it because we’re still proving our shit to them.”
“That is not how it will be taken.”
“It’s bullshit.”
My jaw flexes. We all made a choice when we signed up for this. Being an asshole about it won’t be tolerated, not now. Not by me and certainly not by King.
“You had a choice, Chaos. You signed up for this. You could have walked away. King didn’t force anyone to join.”
“Leave my brothers and walk away from who I am?” He stops talking and glares at the wall.
“This is who we are now. It’s too late to change your name or your choice. You know how this works. Do you want leave?”
“No,” he grinds out.
