I turn to look at him. “We need to find a way to adapt and keep doing what we do. We go across the border and into other provinces. It’ll be more legwork, but we can work with other clubs and do bigger hauls less often. RCMP can’t touch us inthe US, and we can throw them off by bringing auctions across Canada. It’ll keep us moving, and we’ll be harder to pin down.”
The table is quiet… and that just won’t fucking do.
“What?” I ask, glaring around at everyone. “What’s the alternative? And don’t say fuckingguns.”
Eyes start shifting around the table, and Kurt exhales.
“Cross-border auctions are a big gamble, Alder,” he says. “Huge.”
“And running guns isn’t?” I snap. I lean forward, crossing my arms on the table. “Drugs rot people from the inside out, and guns tear them apart from the outside in. Either way, it’s dead kids in the street. You think that’s something we can walk back from?”
Mac nods at me. “I agree. Even if we try to keep them in the right hands, they’d still find their way to the wrong ones. I don’t want families inourtown burying their kids because of something we put into our community.”
I meet his eyes and nod in appreciation.
Boot shifts beside him. “I’m with you on that. But we need more than just talk. We need a plan that keeps us strong enough that the Dominion Sons can’t smell weakness.”
My gaze drops as I spin a lighter on the table, watching the blur of metal. Weakness… I fucking hate that word.
But no barrier is perfect. There’s always a little give and some weak point in the structure.
Boundaries are only absolute until they’re not.
“They won’t,” I say.
Boot huffs. “You say that like it’s certain.”
“Because it fuckingis,” I say sharply, lifting my eyes to glare at him. “They don’t findourweakness. We findtheirs.”
I can feel the uncertainty circling the room without even looking, as I reach for the pack of cigarettes on the table. I slide one between my lips and light it as silence lingers. The firstinhale is pure sin as the smoke burns a path into my lungs, and I close my eyes in appreciation before slowly blowing it out.
“We’re not running fucking guns,” I say in a low voice, as I open my eyes and look around the table.
But for every one of my brothers that appears to be on my side… another looks uncertain.
Fuck.
“We’re not deciding this now,” Kurt says, leaning forward to pick up the gavel. “After this fucking raid tomorrow, Alder and I will see what Donnie can find out about the Sons’ movements. Once we know more, we’ll figure out the best way to stay ahead of them and keep the pressure off.”
Before he can bring the gavel down, I’m on my feet and pushing through the door.
I love my brothers. But if this goes to a vote, and the majority chooses guns… it changes everything. The Basin Kings won’t run drugs because we won’t destroy our own streets. We steal from the rich, sell to the rich, and work hard to keep damage far from home and our community. Guns break that code.
I know why some of them think we need to do it. But they’re not seeing the alternative staring them right in the fucking face… the one this club was built on.
And our codes are what keep us from becoming just like them.
I head straight for my bike, tossing the cigarette as I swing a leg over it, and pull my helmet on. I can feel Kurt’s eyes on me from the doorway, but I don’t look back as the engine roars to life beneath me.
I’ve got a different barrier to break through right now.
EIGHTEEN
I rollinto the parking lot and into an empty space, passing the sign that readsPERMIT PARKING ONLYin large red block letters.
Fuckers. It’s aparking lotat auniversity.People pay a fortune just to be here, and they still have to pay to leave their car on a slab of asphalt.
As I pull my helmet off and tie my hair back at the nape of my neck, a security guard watches me from across the lot like I’ve just wheeled in a live grenade. His sunglasses hide his eyes from this distance, but I can see the stiffness in his stance from here.
