“Tensions were already rocky,” Cash counters from his other side. “That was before Tom interfered.”
“Yeah, well.” Mace half shrugs, his jaw tight. “He damn sure didn’t help things. But what else is new?”
No one argues with that.
We spend the next twenty minutes hashing out a plan for seeking a new deal with the Peñas. Something that’ll be more mutually beneficial and allow us to rebuild the bridge that was destroyed over the past few months.
We’ve come back from worse.
When the discussion winds down, I push myself to my feet, and the room goes quiet.
I peer around the head table at the men gathered, then look to the rest of the barroom where the non-council members are sitting.
We’ve got a mix of everybody in attendance this afternoon. Some who have been Kings for decades like me. Others who are newer, still proving themselves.
But every single one of them stayed loyal when it mattered. When everything was falling apart, they stood firm.
“I want to thank you,” I say, my voice steady. “All of you. Things got rough these past few months. Our club went through its own reckoning—betrayal from within and enemies on allsides. But you proved yourselves to be real Steel Kings. It makes me proud to be your president.”
I pause, letting my gaze move from face to face. I receive nods of respect and solidarity.
True brotherhood.
“We lost some good men,” I continue gravely. “Big Eddie. Tate. And Mudd’s still fighting for his life in that hospital bed. But they’ll always be Kings. Even in death. Because even death can’t stop us. That’s what it means to wear this patch. That’s what it means to be part of this brotherhood.”
I raise my pint of beer, the others following to do the same.
“To the Kings we’ve lost,” I say. “And to the future of our brotherhood.”
“To the Kings,” the guys echo.
We drink together, the moment of silence in honor of the Kings we’ve lost and our future carrying on their memory.
The meeting adjourns and everyone breaks off into smaller conversations—sidebars about business, family, the usual bullshit that keeps a club running.
I’m about to head over to Mace when I notice somebody approaching from my peripheral vision.
It’s Moses coming up to talk. I turn to face him, keeping my expression neutral.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still on guard. Moses was one of the guys who followed Tom; he bought into his bullshit and stood against me when the club fractured. I know he was fooled, charmed by Tom’s manipulation like some of the others.
But trust, once broken, takes time to rebuild.
Still, I can see the conflict in his expression. He’s not himself; struggling with losing Big Eddie hit him hard. Hit all of us hard, but especially him and Solana. Eddie was almost like a father to them since their own passed away years ago.
“Prez,” Moses says with a nod of his head. “Can I have a word?”
“Shoot.”
He draws a breath, then scratches at his neck. “It’s been hard. Losing my uncle. Nobody saw it going down that way. We had no idea what Tom was really up to… or what he was planning. I should’ve seen it. But I was angry with you over… you know.”
I give him no real response, simply waiting for him to continue and speak what’s on his mind.
“Look… what I’m saying is… it’s my bad, Silver. I know it doesn’t fix things. But I’ll prove myself. My loyalty is with the Kings. Always has been, even when I lost my way for a minute. You’re the president, and I respect that. I support it.”
He holds out his hand.
I glance down at it for a moment. This is the same hand that damn near threw a punch at me during the brawl weeks ago. If Eddie hadn’t, Moses damn sure would’ve done so.
