Page 51
“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” I’m a bit surprised that my name isn’t mentioned. It pisses me the fuck off that Cut hasn’t thought to include me in this before he chose to bring Tiny in.
Turning his head to me, he lifts his brow, annoyed that I’ve questioned him in front of the others. “You’re here to maintain the club and get your personal shit straight.”
“Fuck that. You know I can handle my shit.”
“I’ll help any way I can,” Cruise calls out.
Cruise’s voice alone pisses me off, now that motherfucker is trying to inch his way into the position I do for this fucking club. No fucking way in hell.
“I got it handled,” I tell the fucker.
“You get your shit handled. Business will always be here,” Cut commands.
“Bullshit.”
“You’ll be working at the garage,” Cut tells me. “Sin is gonna need your help on a project. It needs to be street ready within the next month. That’s something that only you can do, brother. But I promise, if I need you on the other end, I’ll make that call.”
I nod, not willing to look at him or anyone else at the table. I’m beyond fucking pissed. I’ve been by Cut’s side this whole fucking ride, and I’m not about to get off now.
“We got this handled,” Dyke encourages.
Cut stands. “As our numbers grow, so does the need to make sure this club runs smoothly. When we were small, it seemed to run like a well-oiled machine. But with the club membership increasing, and different personalities taking up residence here, we need to get some shit straight.”
I take a deep breath because I know this has to do with the shit I keep having to deal with from that fucktard Cruise. I lift my gaze, peering at each and every one of the men who surround this table.
“We are here for one reason, our belief in brotherhood and family. It’s not about the bikes we ride or the deals we make. It’s about us coming together. I’m not fucking stupid, and I know that none of you are fucking stupid either. We aren’t going to be without our fucking issues, but act like grown ass men and stop fucking around like children. Grow the fuck up.”
My gaze drops back down to the grain of the wooden table. I can feel the hair on the back of my neck lift in fucking anger. I’m physically restraining myself from opening my mouth because I know, once I do, words are gonna spew and nothing pretty is gonna come from it. All because of fucking Cruise.
“This is my club,” Cut continues, “my father’s club, and I’m not gonna deal with this internal shit when we’ve got shit outside these walls that need to be dealt with. Squash the shit. Don’t be taking fucking sides, and act like the fucking men I know you to be. Now, that being said, Bubba is coming back in two weeks’ time. He’ll be on probation, but the brother is sober, and he deserves another chance to wear his cut. This is the decision that I’ve made, and the club is standing by.” Murmurs come from around the table.
“Now, on to other business.” He grabs the envelope from the table. “Dyke, as one of the key members of this charter, as one of my father’s trusted men, I’m officially giving you the title of Vice President.” He throws a patch across the table. If I’m absent or unavailable, and shit needs to be dealt with now and not later, he’s the man to go to.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll do you proud,” Dyke comments.
“Lick.” My head snaps up. “Without a doubt, you’re my right hand. You have been since we were kids, and you’ve done more than proven yourself to this club and me since the day my father was murdered. There is no one else that I’d have by my side to protect me and the reputation Devil’s Fury holds. Although you already take care of the responsibility this title carries, you, brother, are officially Sergeant at Arms.” He tosses me a patch, my official title.
“Thanks,” I tell him with a nod.
“May those mother fuckers who cross your path, tread lightly,” Cut says.
The table rumbles in agreement with Cut’s last statement.
“Brass, since you’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember, I’d like for you to officially be the Treasure of Devil’s Fury.” He tosses Brass his patch.
“I’ve never been a guy who needed a title. I do this for the love of the club, for the loyalty I have for you pieces of shit. But regardless, thank you.”
“Sin.” I look up to see Sin push off the wall, taking a step forward.
“No disrespect, but you know that I’m not looking for a title. My thoughts haven’t changed on the subject.”
“Maybe if you keep your trap shut, you’d be able to hear what I’m about to say.” Sin nods. “This doesn’t have shit to do with the club in any official capacity. It’s about the shop–your shop. I’m officially turning over all rights and ownership of Fury to you. It’s because of you and your creativity that we’ve been noticed. With your hard work, your ol’ lady’s business smarts, and Lick’s engines we’ve closed the deal with Chopper West. The shop will always be a part of Devil’s Fury, just as you will. But it’s time to let you do you. I know you’ll make this club, me, and pops proud.”
He slams his palm on the face of the table, signally the end of Jury. A few of the guys walk up to Cut, slapping him on the back. Sin has a smile on his face. All this hard work is paying off. I don’t move while the others stand. I’m itching to get back to the house. The need to feel Jenni’s hot as fuck pussy clench around my cock is strong, but first, I need to clear the air with Cut.
“What’s up brother?” he asks as he throws himself into the leather of his chair. Kicking his feet onto the table, he intertwines his fingers, resting both hands on his stomach.
He’s the spitting image of his father. A born leader whose head has always been screwed on his shoulders straight. He’s doing a fucking sweet ass job, and I’d never challenge his decisions. That’s not the type of member I am. I’ve always followed his rules and lived by his word. “I don’t feel comfortable not being involved in such a large job.”
