Outlaw's Vow: Grizzlies MC Romance(116)

A few guys snickered. Brass gave me a nod, then looked at the Prez.

“Roman's right. Look, Prez, I do all the background checks I can on these guys, but I can't catch everything. One of them could be some plant wearing a badge, trying to get into our operation, or even some fucker working for one of the cartels.”

Several guys stared at the Veep in disbelief. “It happens. Believe it, or don't. Better you hear it from me than find out the fucking hard way.”

Thank fuck. Maybe hearing it from the VP would make the Prez see the light. Then Asphalt piped up, his bald head shining, reminding everybody the asshole's the biggest hothead at this table.

“Yeah? Excuse me, Veep, but what fucking good's that gonna do if we're all dead? The cartel's picking guys off one by one. Sure, we've made progress, but just wait 'til they call for reinforcements in the spring. These bastards are huge. They've got shit stretching all the way down to Colombia, and if they think we're a big enough problem, they'll bring in reinforcements.”

Damn if I didn't want to grab his head and bounce it off the table like a goddamned basketball. “You're thinking short term, Asphalt. And that's being pretty fucking generous. How bad do you think we'll have it if this club gets caught between some DEA mole and the cartel's shit? We can barely keep the bribes flowing now to make sure the Feds look the other way with all the blood turning this state red. Shit, next year, we've got an election coming up, and all the money in the world might not save us if those peacocks in their suits latch onto it.” I let my fists hit the table. “Think harder, brother.”

Yeah, that last part was an afterthought. I didn't give a shit when he started eyeballing me neither. Too bad the Prez started doing the same thing.

“You know we're in a desperate situation, son,” Blackjack said. “If we hadn't spent so much time and effort sorting out our own problems in this club, the cartel wouldn't be tightening its hold at all. The stakes have never been this high.”

Several guys coughed. I was the only man in the room who could take the Prez head on, while everybody else just wilted underneath his sorcerer's gaze. I never had trouble seeing why Blackjack held the Enforcer spot before me under Fang. Shit, he'd been cracking skulls for this club since most of us were kids.

“Imagine it's you. Your families, brothers. I know there's nobody wearing this patch who'd hesitate to shed sweat and blood for the bear, but no man ought to risk his lifeblood, his woman, his kids. We protect our old ladies and our children as viciously as we backup any man with our patch. If that means we've got to bring in a few more good, eager soldiers faster than we'd like, then you'd better believe I'll fucking do it.” His fist came down hard.

The old table was probably gonna take a lot more punches before the meeting ended.

“You know what the revised charter says. It's every full patch member's right to call for a vote, and we'll go by majority rule.” Furrowing his brow, he folded his arms. “Do it. I can't have dissent when we're fighting for our goddamned lives. If anyone here disagrees, call the vote. We'll sort out your objections without any hard feelings.”

My hand twitched. I wanted to fucking do it bad. Of course, I didn't. Gauging club politics came easy to me. I'd been through enough tense church sessions like this one to know I'd be on the losing side.

That's the thing about democracy. It only fucking works when the votes go your way.

“Well? Nobody?” Blackjack paused. “Good. Then we've aired our objections and we can move forward like men. Roman, you have your orders.”

My hands balled into fists. All I could do not to give the Prez the world's most sarcastic-as-fuck salute.

“I'll make sure the new recruits are up to speed,” I said. And I meant it too.

I'd been in the life long enough to know Prezes and Veeps don't always make perfect decisions. But brothers like Blackjack and Brass deserved my respect, and I was damned sure going to give it to them – even at the cost of bringing down more shit for this club we'd all have to clean up.



Church ended on a high note. Several brothers hit the bar with our newest full patch members, laughing and serving them shots. I kept my distance like always.

Evening rolled in, and the guys with old ladies invited them to join the celebration. The whores and club sluts began to show up too.

I needed to keep my ass glued to the bottle. So, I sat, watching Rabid and Brass hug their women close. Every time they kissed their girls, there was love in those lips, the only kind that comes from a man putting his brand on his old lady.

I couldn't decide what the fuck was worse – the lovey-dovey shit with the old ladies, or watching dudes like Asphalt, Stryker, and Beam slobbering all over tonight's easy pussy.