Chapter 12 Vin #2
The corridor led me to a small room at the back, tucked away like an afterthought, or a secret. Inside, Moab, Shivs, and Canon were already there like a trio of dark omens. Usually, we'd be shooting the shit or planning the next ride, but tonight, the air was thick with truth and trouble.
"Vin," Moab nodded, his eyes sharp beneath the brim of his cap.
"Boys," I grunted in acknowledgment, my hand instinctively going to the back of my neck, rolling out the tension. "What's this about?"
"Take a seat, brother," Shivs said, gesturing to the empty chair with a hand that told stories of brawls gone by.
I dropped into the chair, the leather creaking under my weight. Canon, always the silent type, just gave me a nod that said more than words ever could. We were brothers, bound by more than just ink and blood oaths, but tonight I could feel something new weaving into that bond.
"Alright, spill it," I said, bracing myself for whatever confession session this was shaping up to be. "And it better be good, 'cause if you hadn't noticed, we've got bigger shit on our plate."
They exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them before Moab leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "This is about that 'bigger shit', Vin. It's about what we're up against... and what we are."
"Speak plain, man." I wasn't in the mood for riddles.
"Everything's about to change, brother. For all of us," Moab said, his voice low and steady like the rumble of a distant storm.
"Change how?" I pressed, feeling that cold dread again, coiling in my gut like a snake ready to strike.
They looked at each other once more, and I knew. Whatever they were about to drop on me was going to be one hell of a revelation. And suddenly, Ma's warning didn't seem so crazy after all.
Moab cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing in the quiet like a warning shot. I could see it in his eyes—whatever secret he'd been sitting on was big... otherworldly big.
"Okay, Vin," Moab started, and damn if his voice didn't sound like rocks being churned under a tire. "You know we're all about loyalty, living by the code, riding 'til we can't no more. But there's something in our blood, something ancient and powerful."
I leaned forward, feeling the room shrink as the gravity of his words pulled us all closer.
"It ain't just tattoos and leather that bind us," he continued, glancing at Shivs and Canon with something fierce and proud in his eyes.
"We've got a connection to the old ways, to the spirits and shit you only hear about in stories.
Jameson knew, and so did Mama Celeste. Hell, she's practically the gatekeeper of this supernatural freak show. "
Shivs shifted uncomfortably, his usual smirk replaced by a tight-lipped line. Canon simply stared, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made me think of wolves under a full moon.
"Go on," I urged, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted out.
"Each of us discovered it in our own way," Moab said, nodding to Shivs to take over.
"I walked away from an ambush that should've killed me?" Shivs spoke up, a shudder rolling through him. "Wasn't just luck. It's like I could feel the bullets before it happened. They left me for dead, and I did die."
"What the fuck are you saying?" I frowned, trying to wrap my head around it.
“That, like you, I died and woke up later…alive.” Shivs sat back, giving me time to process. I glanced at Canon as he was about to speak.
Canon unfolded his arms, and I braced for whatever brand of crazy he was about to unleash. "I can hear things," he said, voice low and steady as if confessing to a murder. "Whispers on the wind. They guide me, warn me."
"Christ," I breathed out. “What does that mean?”
"Let's just say he can convince anyone of anything," Moab cut in. "And not by talking them into it."
"Mind control?" My voice was a whisper now, disbelief wrestling with the raw truth in their faces.
"More like... persuasion," Canon corrected. “Doesn’t work every time, so I’m still trying to hone the skill.”
We sat in silence, a brotherhood united by chrome and now, apparently, some hoodoo voodoo crap. Trust wasn't the issue, but accepting that we were part of some mystical gangland tale? That was a leap even Evel Knievel wouldn't dare.
"Alright," I rasped, feeling like the world had just tilted on its axis. "So we're a bunch of supernatural freaks. What now? We join the X-Men or something?"
"Nothing changes, Vin," Moab said firmly. "We ride together, we fight together. This... it just gives us an edge, is all."
"An edge," I repeated, letting the word roll around my tongue like a new flavor of whiskey—strange but somehow fitting.
"An edge," they echoed, each man wearing his power like a second skin, strength and vulnerability wrapped up in one badass package.
"Then let's use it," I said finally, meeting their gazes one by one. "Let's use it and tear Stansfield apart."
A silent promise passed between us, heavy as the humid air outside. We were the Royal Bastards, rulers of the road, now touched by shadows and light in ways we never imagined.
I leaned back against the cold concrete wall, letting their voices wash over me.
One by one, they laid bare secrets that'd make a preacher clutch his Bible tight.
Moab's tale of visions that came true, Shivs seeing through lies like he had X-ray vision for bullshit, Canon's uncanny knack for controlling people and things.
"Like some twisted superpowers, huh?" My voice was dry as desert bones. I wasn't buying into the comic book crap, but deep down, something nagged at me, something real and terrifying.
"Yeah, man," Moab nodded, his eyes serious as a heart attack. "We've been dealt a hand most wouldn't believe. But it's ours to play."
I let out a low whistle, my mind racing faster than a souped-up Harley barreling down black asphalt. I couldn't deny the weirdness I'd noticed in myself, things I chalked up to gut instincts or lucky guesses. Now, though, the pieces clicked together like a puzzle from hell.
"Okay," I said, my resolve hardening like forged steel. "Let's say I'm on board with this supernatural trip. How do we use it to send Stansfield to meet his maker?"
"Carefully," Canon chimed in, his voice steady as a sniper's hand. "We ain't invincible, Vin. This stuff has a cost."
"Cost?" I shrugged, feeling that old familiar itch for action. "Everything has a price. If it means protecting our own and taking down that piece of trash, I'll pay it."
"Damn right," Shivs added, a feral grin spreading across his face. "We've got the upper hand now. Time to show Stansfield what happens when you corner a pack of wolves."
"More like a bunch of rabid dogs," I corrected with a smirk. The room's energy shifted, charged with a newfound purpose. Whatever doubts I had were shoved aside. This was about survival, about the brotherhood. And if using these freaky deaky talents gave us an edge, then hell, I was all in.
"Alright, brothers," I stood up, pushing off the wall with a newfound determination. "Let's put these gifts to good use. We ride at dawn, and by nightfall, Stansfield's gonna wish he never crossed the Royal Bastards."
Their nods were solemn, a silent vow exchanged in the dim light. We were outlaws, renegades, and now, something more. Bound by blood, leather, and a touch of the otherworldly, we were ready to turn the tide in a war we never saw coming.
The clubhouse was quiet, a graveyard hush that hung thick like exhaust fumes in the air. I leaned against the bar, a bottle of whiskey forgotten in my grip, as the weight of everything we'd just unearthed pressed down on me like a bike pinning you to the pavement.
"Damn," I muttered to myself, thumb running over the label, peeling at the edges. "This shit's heavier than a semi-truck."
It wasn't just about riding and surviving anymore.
It was about protecting Raven, the brothers, and hell, probably the whole damned world from Stansfield's twisted games. An ex-president’s daughter or not, Raven had the fire of a warrior, and she was one of us now.
The thought of her in danger twisted up my insides worse than a wreck on the highway.
"Live hard and die free," I whispered, the club's new motto echoing like a ghost through the empty room. But freedom had a cost, and I reckoned we were all about to pay up in spades.
I knocked back the last of the whiskey, feeling the burn trail down my throat like the exhaust of my Harley on an open road. The boys, my brothers-in-arms, were counting on me. And I wasn't about to let the shadow of death that loomed over us snuff out our light. Not without a fight.