“Then suck it up.”
“Fuck,” he grunts, still not making eye contact.
“We done?” I ask impatiently. He nods. “I said, are we done?” I repeat, with a cold look.
Back when I was the VP at the Kingsmen, I had no trouble making people fall in line. My authority here is much greater. To go against me, will leave Chaos in a whole world of shit. Something I don’t want to have to do.
We all know the rules when we sign up. Yes, our situation is different, I’ve repeated multiple times we all agreed to it. Chaos knows I’m not asking. He drops this, or we have a major issue.
“It’s done.” He takes another long inhale of his cigarette then dips his chin.
Long after he’s gone, I stand in the massive room, looking down at the table where all our decisions are made.
When he first came to me, he made the point that if anyone else asked to change their name, it wouldn’t be an issue. He accused me of not doing it because his name is Chaos.
It’s partly true. There is politics involved here. More than that, it’s about identity. Chaos is exactly what he is. He was well known for causingchaosback in the Kingsmen. Not for the club, but for anyone who got in the way of the club.
No one I’ve ever known in my whole time in an MC has asked for a road name to be changed.
My phone beeps again and I pull it out. Reading through the texts I send one back saying I’ll be there soon and head out of the room.
Talon is outside and pauses his conversation, lifting his brow in question.
“Zelda.” It’s all I need to say.
My bike is parked close to the clubhouse, and I walk over, admiring the machine.
Handlebar was fucking with me keeping it as long as he did. He could have fixed the issue in an hour. He kept it for almost a week.
Instead of dwelling on that because it’s fucking pointless thinking about his motivation, I’m thankful to have it back.
The ride doesn’t take too long. The staff at Meridian Behavioral Health Hospital are used to me but I try not to let the residents see me too often. I head for the office of Megyn Merritt, the manager.
“Mr. Connelly, please have a seat.”
It’s odd hearing someone call me by my legal name. I’m so used to being referred to as Mace. There is something jarring about it. A reminder of the person I was a long time ago, when I first found this place.
Megyn is an older woman, maybe ten or so years more than me, but younger than the previous manager.
“What’s the problem?” I ask.
“She’s been asking questions. We’ve managed to keep her appeased for a few weeks. But she has started…” she pauses thinking of what to say. “Acting out.”
“Acting out?”
“Getting herself distressed, becoming argumentative and lashing out. She thinks we’re keeping something from her. And we are indeed doing that.”
“It’s for a purpose.”
“Which you haven’t disclosed, and I haven’t pressed like youasked.”
She says that like she was forced. We might be intimidating but I’m not in the habit of scaring people. Especially ones who spend their time looking after and caring for those who have issues with their mental health, or substance abuse.
The majority of the residents here deal with those issues. The problem is, Zelda won’t react well to finding out what happened to her family.
“It’s causing me a problem. She has a right to ask these questions about her family and not being able to give her answers is no longer sitting right with me. Zelda has been a resident for a long time, she is well liked, an active member in her groups. And she follows the rules. Her mood is changing. It’s affecting other residents.”
“Finding out the truth is going to be hard for her.”
