There’s a rumble of yes and some soft bangs on the table in agreement.
“If anyone has any concerns about any of these fuckers patchin’ in, now’s the time to state your piece,” he says.
No one utters a word, and he bangs the gavel one more time. “Welcome to the club, boys.”
There’s slapping on each other’s backs, along with a ruckus as the doors open and we’re released from Church. Probably the quickest patch over I’ve ever seen, but I’m definitely not mad about it.
I’m keeping to myself, mostly just sipping my beer at the bar when Tate sits next to me. Haven’t spoken to him since our littletrip down to Panama Beach. Cora gives him a smile from the bar and hands him a beer before walkin’ away.
“Sup, man?” I ask him, and he nods his head in greeting. “Welcome to the club, I guess.”
“Was pretty uneventful, wasn’t it?” he asks, and we laugh.
“Suppose he already patched you before, didn’t need to make a big deal of it again.”
“Suppose not,” Tate says. “You got a minute?”
“Sure,” I say, taking the opportunity to at least sneak out of the clubhouse, which is part of my plan, anyway. I follow Tate to the body shop, wondering if he needs me to look at his bike or what’s goin’ on. When we’re finally inside, he directs me towards the back office where we sit on the piece-of-shit couch that Ambien and I picked off the side of the road on collection day.
“How do you feel about makin’ some extra money?” he asks, making my brow furrow.
“I’m always down for a job. What is it?” I ask, not even asking if it’s club-sanctioned.
“I got some intel that the Wraiths are transporting some cargo over the next few weeks. I think we need to make sure that shipment doesn’t get to where it’s supposed to be goin’.”
“You know Prez signed a truce with them?” I ask him, wondering if he doesn’t know or if he’s trying to stir the pot.
“That’s odd, isn’t it? The club that abused his Omega, the one that killed one of his best friends is the one we have a truce with,” Tate questions.
“I assumed it was a matter of self-preservation. They’re the biggest club in the south by far,” I reply.
“It doesn’t make you curious?” Tate asks, and I take a moment to really think about it. I guess I never really gave much thought to it before. I patched in, was told we had beef with this other club, but it was squashed now, and that the Wraiths were off-limits.
“Listen, man, I know you have shit with your dad. Is this really the way you want to go about it?” I ask him.
“Forget I mentioned it,” he says, and I tilt my head at him.
“You know going after the Wraiths could rip this club in half right?” I ask.
“Well, maybe it’s about time someone did. I’ve been here less than a week, and I can see every vulnerability of this place, and what has my father done? I’m here to set shit right, go back to being an actual fuckin’ club where every voice matters. Aren’t you sick of him controlling everything, controlling you?” Tate asks.
Lily is the first thing that comes to my mind. If the Prez is out of the picture, there’s nothing holding us back. It’s an extremely fucked up thought, and I feel like shit for it even crossing my mind. But if I take this job with Tate, I might at least get some serious coin out of the deal, enough to start over with Lily.
But if the Prez wasn’t standing in my way at all, I could have everything I wanted. The girl, the club, the freedom.
“I’m in,” I tell him, not taking another second to debate over it in my mind.
“I’m trustin’ you,” Tate warns.
“Yeah, and I’m trustin’ you to not get us killed and destroy this club in the process,” I counter.
“That’s not what I want. I want this club to be run differently. I want everyone’s voice to matter. You can’t tell me you think the way shit is runnin’ right now is fair,” he poses.
“I’m ridin’ with you, man. I’ve got my own motives,” I reply.
“As long as you got my back, I’ve got yours. Things are goin’ to be different around here,” he promises.
“You’ll let me know when the shipment is?”
