“Yes, every fucking day.”
Vicious pointed to Teller, who now stood at the end of the rows of brothers. He would have to get through them to get to Teller, who held up a full patch that read on the top rocker “Royal Bastards,” while the bottom read “Montreal Chapter” If he wanted to wear it, he would have to take it from his president. “You want it…” Vicious stepped in front of Tank, blocking his view of Teller. “Go get it.”
Before Tank could make a move Vicious decked Tank, causing him to stumble back.
Tank refused to go down and lunged for Vicious. Grabbing him around the waist he managed to shove him back a few feet, only to get elbowed in his back by the chapter’s veep.
The two men fought until Vicious threw Tank into the rows of patch holders and the waylay began. The brothers shoved, kicked, punched, slapped, and all-around beat Tank, making every step he took one that he earned, proving to them he deserved his patch.
Tank never stopped going forward and after what he ultimately wanted: his patch. It wasn’t just a piece of fabric, it meant he belonged.
When he finally broke free of the group, he was facing Teller, a man he had never underestimated. Just when he thought Teller would simply hold out the patch, the chapter president lunged for him, taking Tank to the ground. That’s when the real battle started.
There was nothing soft about the way Teller fought. The brother held nothing back, he kicked, punched, and even bit Tank. He even pulled Tank's hair.
When he threw the last punch, sending Tank backwards, Teller laughed, then held out his hand to help the brother up. Pulling Tank in, Teller hugged him as his brother and slapped him on the back.
“Congratulations, brother.”
Tank took the patch with a shaky hand. His knuckles were split and bleeding. Grass and dirt were in his mouth, and he couldn’t see good out of one eye. Hell, he thought he might have a broken rib for a fraction of a second.
Teller, who was sporting a busted lip and bruised jaw shouted, “All right assholes, before we start celebrating for Tank, he still needs to sew that patch on his cut before we head back for the real party back at the clubhouse.”
“He’s still our bitch!” yelled Double-tap.
“My room still needs cleaning at the clubhouse,” shouted Sherlock.
“Shut the fuck up! I’m not finished, assholes.” Teller clapped Tank on the shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “Once he’s got that patch on, he’s no longer anyone’s bitch.”
“Lunch is being served inside. After we eat, we have a ride planned before we head back for the real party at the clubhouse.”
It was a lot more slaps on the back and a few brotherly hugs for Tank. Razor couldn’t be prouder of the guy. He’d come a long way in the last two years with the club.
“What about the social call?” one of the brothers shouted.
“This is the social call!” Teller shouted back with a chuckle.
That’s when it actually settled in for everyone that the social call was a ruse all leading to this moment for a brother that deserved to wear their colors.
Chapter Thirteen
Engines growled like thunder crashing against asphalt as the chapter rolled down the street, a storm of chrome, denim, and black leather, slicing through the stillness of the late afternoon.
The line of bikes stretched down the road, each one glinting beneath the sun, custom paint catching the light like fire. The deep rumble echoed off nearby buildings, a sound that turned heads and sent a pulse through the ground.
Teller signaled for the turn and one by one the Bastards entered the parking lot.
It was full when they rolled in. After getting his patch, they’d made sure Tank rode directly behind Teller and Vicious. A chapter tradition to show
the newest member respect and recognized he’d earned his place among them.
Tomorrow, Tank would be in formation, right in front of the two remaining prospects. Aires and Stretch would have their turn in the sun when the time came.
As they backed into the front row spots, kickstands dropped and engines cut out one by one. The moment helmets came off, it became painfully clear a party was about to kick off.
The silence only lasted a second before cheers and congratulations were thrown Tank’s way.
A few sweeties made a beeline for the new patched brother, butTank sidestepped with little more than a half hug as he plowed through the crowd with one destination in mind— his ol’ lady, waiting near the edge of the chaos for her man.
