Chapter Two
Zeppelin
It feels like an eternity has passed since I last sat in the clubhouse. The first time since making Johnny’s funeral arrangements.
It doesn’t feel real to be here without him. I keep glancing toward the front door, waiting for him to walk inside. But it’s stupid and pointless.
In the Chapel, my eyes can’t leave the empty chair Johnny will never sit in again, and my fingers tap on the table as I wait for others to join. There are a million things running through my mind that will never happen again without him here.
The cigar he smoked won’t waft into my face and make me kick him in the calf under the table.
Which always made him laugh. That damn thing was always in his left hand to make sure the smoke smacked me in the face.
And if it didn’t earn him a reaction from me in the timeframe he wanted, he’d blow smoke out of the corner of his mouth in my direction.
I always said I hated it, but it was our thing. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to smell that again. As much as I hated it, it was him. It was Johnny.
God, I miss him.
As if that isn’t bad enough, the familiar restlessness that comes after Chanel leaves is back in full force. Antsy. I just want to crawl out of my own fucking skin.
I hate it.
She shouldn’t come back again. At some point, what we have going has to stop.
I’m not stupid. I know it’s the truth. And I wish I was strong enough to tell her to go, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
Especially right now. I can only push her to make the decision and leave me alone. It’s the only way.
When we were younger and madly in love, the future was ours. We’d be together. I’d be in the club, and she’d be a lawyer. She’d keep my ass out of jail, and I’d kill anyone who ever threatened her. Which happens far more often than either of us thought it would.
At one point in our lives, I was enough. Or so I thought. And then, I wasn’t.
Suddenly, she started talking about a future that sounded different from the one we’d talked about. It stopped being we and more you and me. Then she was just gone.
Finding out Chanel was engaged just about killed me. I wrecked my bike, and I wanted to die. She kicked dirt in the wound when I found out her fiancé was a man I once considered a friend.
It was Johnny who pulled me back, and I honestly don’t know that I’d be sitting here today if it wasn’t for him. How do I continue going when the man who kept me grounded is gone?
It doesn’t help that he warned me about Chanel. The first time she darkened my doorstep again after getting engaged, he saw the hope rise. It was a hard conversation to have, but he was right. She was never going to stay. Not for the long term. It was only going to be a visit.
My mindset shifted. He helped me see our relationship for what it was, and while it hurt when she left, it wouldn’t kill me. Or, rather, I wasn’t going to kill me.
“Welcome back,” Pacino says, sitting across from me and giving me a slight nod.
Our sergeant at arms isn’t always one for many words, but he’s damn sure dependable. And fucking good at his job. Makes sense he’s in the personal security business. And I know he’s the reason we have a few more cameras around the clubhouse since Johnny’s death.
He was the one who had to break the news to me about Johnny. And he was there. Just sat with me, let me drink, and refused to let me hop on my bike to take justice into my own hands.
“Any update?” I ask.
He just shakes his head, the scar on the left side of his face white and stark against the tan of his skin. “Sorry, man.”
I know the Black Venom killed Johnny. I know it. But if there was something to find to prove it, Pacino would have. The cops in this town are fucking useless, partially because the turnover is so high, so I know they won’t be looking for the truth.
“How was the ride?” Jethro asks, taking his seat beside Pacino.
The redheaded road captain knows exactly what it was like, but I humor him anyway. “She makes me want to break Rule Seven.”
This earns a laugh, and anyone who knows Johnny’s wife knows exactly what I’m talking about.
They only stayed married to protect the club, and she’s a raging bitch.
Damn near shut the door in my face until I told her I brought her half of Johnny.
Like he wanted. The reason? Beat the fuck out of me, but I did it.
“What’s Rule Seven again?” Penn Calloway asks.
“Always protect the women,” we say in unison.
Jethro got his name because of his twenty-five-rule code he lives by. For life and for the club. Just like Leroy Jethro Gibbs from NCIS.
Personally, I like Gibbs more than Jethro when it comes to road names, but when he joined, there was a guy in the club for a hot minute with the last name Gibbs. It would have been a disaster.
And this motherfucker looks nothing like a Leroy.
So, Jethro it was.
He also has a few rules that fit my predicament with Chanel, but Johnny made it clear it’s not to be discussed with me. Now that he’s gone, I expect to get an earful now and then.
Good. Maybe I’ll have an incentive to get her out of my life.
“The ride was good, though? Aside from seeing… Medusa?” Pacino asks.
“It was like it always is. Scenic. Something Johnny would’ve loved. Suppose it was his final ride, huh?” I take a deep breath and release it slowly, letting the pain stabbing at my chest subside. “How’s business?”
“Fucked,” Capone says.
Gino “Capone” Greco shakes his head. It’s comforting to know that Johnny being gone is the only thing that’s changed. Capone looks like he could put on a jacket rather than a kutte and jump in as an extra in some mob movie. And his mood is as dark and cloudy as when I left.
He and Pacino come from that life, so it fits. In most cases, his mob ties should disqualify Capone from handling our money, but he knows the tricks to keep our shit clean. And the IRS off our asses.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Venom are just fucking shit up everywhere they go, but what else is new?” he says and leans back in his chair. “They poached Tommy. He’s part of SnakeBite Ink now.”
Tommy’s our best artist. He did a lot of my ink. “What?”
“Yeah. And that’s not the end of it. Shot out all the windows of the gym, which of course hit the equipment. That’s setting us back a few grand. The pawn shop got raided, which I have no doubt was their doing, and they got into Velvet and assaulted two of our girls.”
Jesus. If anyone mentions the Hellfire Daredevils MC, they immediately think of Velvet Desire. We run a brothel of high-end ladies with even higher-end clientele.
The girls are paid more than fair, and they have more protection with us than anywhere else. It also helps that the club can’t sample the product, which tends to make prospects leave when they realize they don’t get free sex anytime they want.
“Are they okay?”
“They’re fine. Queenie hit one of them with a paddle, and Jethro and I were nearby to make sure they never come back,” Pacino says with a smirk.
“We got the money, though, and Pacino increased security,” Capone says.
Sniffling, I nod, taking it all in. “And the guns? How have the first few runs with the Drifters gone?”
Jethro smiles. “Fucking fantastic. Now that we can work with them, I think the guns are going to rival our income from Velvet.”
There was a big consensus that we didn’t want to work with family when we brought up running guns.
There’s a demand for it around here, but with my uncle in the head seat, there was a potential for issues.
Once Jennings Molloy stepped down and put someone other than his son in the president spot, the club voted to move forward.
“We’ve doubled business already,” Capone says, his slicked back dark hair reflecting in the light. “It’s paid for all the damages we’ve had recently.”
“I think we need to teach Tommy a lesson on loyalty,” I say and crack my neck. “I volunteer for that one.”
“Sounds good,” Jethro says. “Let us know if you need any help.”
The room falls silent, and I know they want to talk about the elephant in the room. The one I’m trying desperately to avoid. “Anything else?”
The question hangs over us. Is the vice president going to move up into the head seat?
No one has the guts to say it, though. They’re all waiting for me. Treating me like a fucking child.
“Let’s just get it over with,” I bark a bit harsher than I intend to. “Johnny’s seat.”
Kannon Reed leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. “I nominate you, Zep. You’re the VP and acting pres. It’s a logical shift.”
I can feel all eyes on me as I stare at the empty spot. All I want to do is punch something and scream before heading out to kill the head of the Black Venom.
“No.”
“No?” Jethro asks.
Shaking my head, I turn back to the rest of the table.
“I know the Venom killed Johnny. I know it in my bones, and I want… vengeance. Revenge. I want to fucking murder every goddamn member of that club. Blow up their entire clubhouse and every one of their businesses. They’re nothing but a cancer on this town. ”
“Not sure you’ll get too many arguments on that plan,” Penn says.
“But that’s not a leader. The club needs someone clearheaded. Someone who can take charge. Not someone who only sees and wants revenge.”
“He groomed you to take his spot,” Pacino says. “You sure you wanna turn that down?”
Swallowing, I stare at the table as I nod. “He groomed me to take over when he stepped down. Vacated the seat but not the club. Not when his murder was staged to look like an accident.”
“Zep—”
“That’s not my spot. Not when all I have brewing is anger and hatred.”
“That’s why you’ll make a hell of a president one day,” Penn says. “Brotherhood means more than control.”
Most people think Penn’s a kiss ass, but he’s just a sentimental guy.
The cheery pretty boy of us. As long as you don’t talk about catching his brother fucking Penn’s fiancée the night before the wedding or learning she was pregnant with his brother’s baby instead of his.
He tends to lose that cheeriness pretty fast.
“So, who do we put in that head spot?” Pacino asks. “Not it.”
“Same,” Capone says.
“Most clubs have people fighting for that spot,” Rooster says with a laugh. “We have three guys immediately opting out.”
Pacino’s eyebrow lifts. “You think I’d be any good sitting in that fucking seat?”
“You’d have to talk to more people. So… no.”
“Exactly.”
“We’re not what you’d call people persons,” Capone says. “We’ll make more enemies than allies.”
“Throw Kannon in there with you guys, and you’re the angriest group of motherfuckers,” Penn says. “Which maybe isn’t the worst idea…”
My eyes lock on Kannon Reed who just sits silently in his seat.
In the same room as Pacino, Kannon makes Pacino look like a cheerful extrovert.
He came to us after his wife and daughter were killed in an accident, and he lives like he wants to die.
But that man has the best luck of anyone I’ve ever met.
Or maybe the worst, since he’s still standing. At least, according to him.
“I vote Jethro,” I say.
“Second,” Pacino says.
Everyone turns to Jethro who scans the room in confusion but also appreciation. “I accept.”
“All in favor?” I ask. Everyone raises a hand. “Done. But now we need a new road captain.”
“I vote Rooster,” Jethro says. “You up for the job?”
“Fuck yeah!”
We take another vote, and everyone agrees. The dark blond man laughs maniacally.
“What the fuck?” I ask as Jethro takes Johnny’s seat.
“Joke’s on you, assholes. No more trips through goddamned turkey farms,” Rooster says and beams.
Shit. Rooster earned his road name because he’s terrified of birds. All birds, but especially large ones. Half the entertainment on long runs is riding through areas with turkey farms. Hell, we went out of our way to take him by a peacock farm once.
The best memory that never fails to make me smile is watching him try to climb up a fence after being cornered by a rogue rooster.
This asshole screams for help when he can’t get his boot to stick enough to scale the fence.
Nothing is funnier than watching a grown ass man stuck against a fence by a damn rooster.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” Jethro says, his voice low as he leans over to me. “And we aren’t forgetting about what happened, Z. If you need to talk—”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
I know he knows it’s a lie, but life goes on. It’s time we start moving forward. Forward to killing those fucking bastards.
“Pacino, I need a favor. Later,” I say.
He just nods, and I continue pretending that I’m fine. Like I’m not a mess of anger, rage, and hatred.
“Now, I’d like to talk a little more about the issues at Velvet,” Jethro says.
The rest of the meeting is just a blur. Aside from being told I’m good to take the lead to pay Tommy a visit, I couldn’t tell you a single thing we talked about.
I spent most of the time trying to ignore how fucked up it was to see anyone but Johnny in that head spot.
How Jethro will be wearing that PRESIDENT patch by tomorrow.
Time heals all wounds, but I don’t know how I’m going to make it through this. The man who raised me is gone. Mama is a mess but holds it together for Johnny’s daughter, Lainey. And both of the women in my family look to me for vengeance.
At least not leading the club means I can channel my rage into more productive means. Focus on Butch fucking Ballard. The president of Black Venom.