The parking lot of the old, abandoned warehouse where we’re meeting today is mostly full. I see eleven clubs are present today, which means more people are interested in Vulture’s territory than the last time it was up for grabs.
When we walk in surrounding Nova in a tight circle, a lot of people stare. Women don’t come to council meetings. Not ever. So, I’m not surprised they are staring. A few of them are craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the back of her cut. They want to know who she belongs to. I’m sure a few of them are pissed that Vulture’s granddaughter is wearing Sons colors.
Cross is already standing in the middle of the room. He’s in his late sixties, and his cut is older than most of the men in the room, the leather worn and rugged. He founded the regional council thirty years ago with two other presidents who are both dead now, and he has been running it ever since.
I pull out one of the few chairs scattered around the room for Nova, and she sits without hesitation. Before I know it, she opens the notebook she brought and uncaps a pen. I stand behind her with my hands on her shoulders.
There are twelve club presidents in the room, including Cross. At least fifty more men are observing. Darkness, the Ironbound president, is standing nearby with his arms crossed. His expression is cold and a little angry. I don’t like the way he keeps sneaking glances at my old lady. I might have to exchange words with him after the meeting.
The younger Molten Horse president is talking quietly to the man beside him and stops when our eyes meet.
Nova scribbles something in her notebook.
I lean slightly down and ask, “What are you writing?”
“Names and positions,” she says quietly. “So I don’t forget who’s who.”
She’s sketched the room layout and marked each of the club presidents with their club name and a one-word physical descriptor. I feel my fondness growing for her every single minute of every day.
Cross opens without preamble. “We all know why we’re here today. This is the second time Vulture’s old territory has been up for grabs in the last year. Let’s try to make a fuckin’ better decision about who gets it than we did last time.”
Jasper immediately steps forward. “The Sons of Rage are requesting Vulture’s former territory. We have the manpower to hold it, the regional relationships to stabilize it, and a direct stake in keeping it from becoming the cesspool it was under Viper’s control. Everyone in this room spent the better part of this year either dealing with that shithead last year or cleaning the messes he made. Nobody wants to do it again.”
The Ironbound president speaks up. “If we vote to give the Sons this territory, you’ll control a corridor that runs from the valley to the coast. That’s a huge territory to be under one club’s control. That’s not stability. It’s more like dominance.”
“That’s just geography,” Jasper says. “We didn’t design the map.”
“No, but you’d be benefiting from it.”
“Every club in this room uses those supply routes,” Jasper says. “The Sons holding that territory keeps those routes open and functioning for all. As long as you all keep to the highways, we’ve got no problems with you riding through our territory.”
Cross is watching Jasper with a certain wariness.
A president from a club called Desert Iron speaks up from the far end of the circle. “What’s the Sons’ plan for the existing businesses? The trucking operation specifically.”
“Vulture’s businesses remain under their current management,” Jasper says. “Stealing the businesses that the old man spent his life building is not up for discussion.”
Cross’ eyes land on Nova. “I’m told you came here to speak, so let’s say what you have to say, girl.”
She stands, and her voice rings out, loud and clear, surprising even me. “It took my grandfather thirty years of blood, sweat, and tears to build his territory,” she says. “He kept what he created by defending it, making alliances, and outsmarting the men who tried to take it from him. He ran routes that nobody else wanted to bother with. Those businesses aren’t up for grabs along with the territory. By law, they now belong to me.”
The men are hanging on her every word because she’s a strong woman with something important to say.
“Vulture’s gone, and his club has been disbanded.” Tapping her chest with one hand, she continues, “But I’m still here, and as long as I draw breath, I’m not gonna let my grandfather’s legacy die.
“I married Mica from the Sons of Rage, and I want to keep Vulture’s territory in the family, so maybe one day my own sons can ride there free and proud on the same roads their granddad did. I’m here to tell you that the Sons have the capacity to protect that territory.”
“I’m standing in front of you today because I believe the Sons holding my family’s territory is the right decision. I’ve watched how they operate, and they’re the right club for this job.”
When she sits back down, I place my hands on her trembling shoulders because I know that took a lot of courage to stand up before these strangers and plead our case. No one expected this twenty-year-old woman to invoke her grandfather’s legacy the way she just did.
Cross looks at me. “Mica,” he says. “Time for you to weigh in.”
I step forward and say my piece. “I vow that the Sons of Rage will hold Vulture’s territory with the same consistency Vulture once held it. We’ll make sure the corridors stay open, and we all have access to it. We’re not here because we’re hungry for territory. Our club stopped expanding long ago. We’re stepping up because I married Nova, and the alternative is watching something valuable get torn apart.”
Nova writes something in her notebook.
I glance over. She’s written two words in the margin beside the table diagram.
