He explained that Atlas went to smoke a cigarette and abandoned him alone on the hill; he had no idea that the man was going to rat on us. For now, I have no choice but to believe him. His actions spoke louder than his words, but I will be keeping my eye on him.
“We can’t afford to go on the offensive, but I agree,” I reply.
“It’s only a matter of time before the feds get involved. The body count is too fuckin’ high right now,” Doc chimes in.
“What? We’re gonna just let them act first?” Tank asks. His deep voice is startling, cause you hardly ever hear it.
“We need to get our house in order and figure out their plan before they have a chance to act,” Axel says.
It shouldn’t feel this significant having every member adding to the conversation, but it does. I feel like I’ve finally done something right.
“No one acts alone when it comes to the Wraiths. We’re gonna get our revenge, but it needs to be at the discretion of the entire club, understood?” I say and there’s agreement throughout.
“We’re going to need to expand some of our businesses to deal with the loss of income that Kurt’s activities were bringing in,” Cash brings up, and Blaze nods from the corner.
“I’m working on expanding our grow house situation, and there might be an opportunity to grow opium,” Blaze states.
“Opium?” Mickey asks apprehensively.
“If we want the big money, that’s where it is. Unless Doc can get more guns in from his supplier?”
“They’re already sending over as much as they fuckin’ can with them being international shipments,” Doc replies, seeming frustrated.
Blaze wins the vote, ten to six.
“I’m going to need help getting set up,” Blaze says. “Is there a possibility some of the Omegas can help?”
“No,” Ink interjects quickly.
“It should be up to them, don’t you think? We’re housin’ them, offerin’ them protection. If they want additional cash, they can help Blaze,” Mickey reasons.
“Not the opium—weed only,” Ink responds sternly.
Ink wins the vote, and a few of the guys offer their assistance to help with the grow house along with anyone else on the compound who would like to earn their keep.
“Old members’ bikes are in the shop. I’ll be workin’ on gettin’ them fixed up and sold,” Axel says, adding his contribution.
“I’ll work on gettin’ a new table, and I think that’s all... unless anyone else needs the floor,” I state.
All the surrounding men look at me like I’m not a complete bastard, and there’s a glimmer of hope building inside of me. I’ll be able to make a difference and right the wrongs of my father.
I don’t have a gavel, and I plan on burning my father’s along with the table. I stand and leave, my club at my back. The future in front of us won’t be easy, but it feels fuckin’ bright.
I’m takingan axe to this piece of shit table when the male Omega—fuck, I can’t remember his name—approaches me.
“I can make you a new table,” he announces.
“You know woodworkin’?” I pant, wiping the sweat off my forehead and placing the axe down.
“Yeah, I know how to ride too,” he says, looking at me like I’m not picking up what he’s throwing down.
“Okay,” I reply.
“I want to prospect for the club,” he deadpans.
Fuck.
“I’ll bring it up at the next meetin’.”
