“Maybe we can run blocker for you. Distract him,” Ramona suggests.
“That’s a good idea.” Carmen jumps on board.
“I love you all for this. I hope you know that,” I say, grabbing them in a group hug.
“One for all and all for one, I say,” Ramona chimes.
*****
Blue—
My Harley rumbles beneath me as I roar down the highway, the desert stretching on both sides. Saguaro cacti stand like soldiers, their arms raised to the sky.
The wind picks up, and a dust devil swirls. I swerve to avoid a rolling tumbleweed bouncing across the road.
The blue haze of the Organ Mountains sits on the horizon.
I slow and make the turn onto our clubhouse property. The acreage the club purchased is miles outside of the city limits and surrounded by scrubland, with a large wooden fence at the roadside. Las Cruces Salvage is painted in faded blue letters on the gray wooden fence planks from a previous business.
I roll through the gate and down a long gravel drive toward the back of the property. A large metal building comes into view. Our clubhouse. The outside can be deceiving; on the inside we’ve spared no expense in tricking the place out with bedrooms for all six of us originals, plus a meeting room, bar and large common area.
Dropping my kickstand, I shut the engine off and climb off my bike, hanging my helmet on my handlebars.
“You get ‘em?” Bagger asks where he stands outside the door, smoking a cigarette.
Squatting, I open my saddlebag and pull out a crumpled paper shopping bag. “Yeah.”
Bagger drops his cigarette butt and grinds it under his boot. “Come on, then. Boss is waiting. He’s been nervous as a cat. Wants everything to go perfectly tonight.”
I follow him in, and just as he warned me, Rio is off his barstool the moment he sees me.
“You get ‘em?”
“Yeah.” I dig in the bag. Each plastic-wrapped white dress shirt is marked with a name. “Zig,” I call out and toss him his. “Mauler.” Another one flies through the air. Once they’re all passed out, my brothers and I rip into them and shake the shirts out.
“Be quick about it,” Rio says. “I don’t want to be late picking up Shelby.”
Once I’ve shrugged into mine and put my cut over it, I look at Rio. “Prez, you and Zig got a minute?”
“If it’s quick. Come on.” He leads us to his office—a beautiful room he spared no expense on.
Rio goes behind his big desk and pulls a bottle of whiskey and three shot glasses out, setting them up. Rio is dressed in a black suit, and it’s weird seeing him out of his colors.
“You okay, Prez?” I ask.
“Just want this night to go well.” He lifts his shot, and we all do, then down them. “What did you want to talk about, Blue?”
My eyes shift from him to Zig, our VP. “Gonna be blunt, okay?”
“Sure. Blunt and quick, Blue.”
“Yeah. Okay. Here goes. I want my own chapter. It’s what I want to work toward. Maybe upstate near Albuquerque or Santa Fe or Taos even. I know my options here are limited, and I hope you understand why I want my own. It’s no reflection on you, Prez.”
He slowly nods. “I get that. You’re talking to a man who wanted the same thing. How can I blame you for that goal yourself?”
“The kid’s got leadership skills,” Zig adds. “He’s been a great Sargeant at Arms. I can see him leading a chapter one day.”
“How far in the future do you see this happening for you?” Rio asks, his head tilting.
