Chapter Twenty
Edge
Here we fucking go again.
Steel sits at the head of the table and I sit off to the side.
As usual, he refuses to look at me. The men gathered around shift uncomfortably in their seats or where they stand, sensing the usual tension that never used to be there.
We don’t feel like a solidified unit, and at the moment, we need it more than anything, because Wraith and Tracker just said that they could find out almost nothing about the new club in Jacksonville, except that they’re just that.
New. Not formerly established. A band of rough men running drugs and women as per usual.
Their Prez, an older guy who should know better with a few daughters of his own, owns a strip club in Jacksonville and one down in Miami, which they use to funnel the cash through and most of the girls.
Why he decided to take shots at us, I have no fucking idea and neither does anyone else.
It’s currently up for debate whether it was this new club at all, fuckers that go by the incredibly original name, the Devil’s Slaves.
“At least they don’t call themselves anything sinners. Sinners this or that,” Wraith mumbles, as usual, full of helpful insight. “That would just be disrespectful to certain previous fucking clubs.”
I roll my eyes. “Jesus, Wraith, do you ever shut the fuck up?”
“Not that I know of,” Tracker says on an eye roll. “And I just spent two fucking days with him.”
“Shouldn’t have put us out of business,” Wraith mutters, surprisingly good natured even though he’s referencing the slaughter and downfall of his previous MC.
“Worse just crops up. You think we were bad? You have no fucking idea. I guess the real question is though, what are we gonna do about it? This kind of shit can’t go unanswered. ”
The room breaks out in full on argument at that. Wraith hasn’t quite gotten the hang of not being the leader of meetings yet. He might be the newest patched in member, but once a Prez, always a Prez.
Steel bangs his fist on the table hard enough to make a few of the men jump.
I feel myself tense up, my shoulders drawing back.
I don’t look at the bastard beside me, because that would only incite violence, I’m sure.
It’s gonna come down to that. To a good ass kicking and this time, I’ll give as good as I get.
Steel deserves the sense knocked into him if he’s not gonna come around any other way.
“This happened because we weren’t here,” Steel barks.
His head swivels in my direction and I can feel the abrasive rage rolling off of him, the waves crashing my way.
I stay silent, even though we all know why we were gone that night.
“My daughter, my own daughter, and your old ladies, our men, they were hurt because of what’s happening in this club. ”
“No,” I say slowly, as soon as Steel finishes.
“It ain’t got nothing to do with what’s happening in the club.
They were hurt because our enemies have been watching us without us realizing it.
Either we have a rat, or they just took a chance and rolled the dice that night, and it was dumb fucking luck.
Or not, seeing as neither of us were there, and we’re the ones they probably want to take down.
” I wonder what Steel would do if he knew those words came directly from his daughter.
“You’re right about what you said if we have a rat, but wrong on every other account.” Steel bristles and I don’t turn my head, because I’m sure I’ll catch a punch in the good eye. The room goes absolutely silent.
“My daughter was hurt because you weren’t there to protect her,” Steel grinds out.
“Because we were riding after your ass, making sure you didn’t do anything fucking stupid.” There are nods around the room and it makes me bold enough to continue. “Seriously, Steel, we have to put this to rest right fucking now. Nothing is changing. Harley is my old lady now—”
I fully expect it when Steel gets to his feet.
His chair clatters to the ground and he’s on me like a feral fucking demon.
Snake, Wraith, and Tracker are out of their seats again before he can do much damage.
He lands a blow to my jaw that echoes through the room, but I have a tough fucking face, and it doesn’t do much more than glance off and rattles my teeth.
Steel is wrestled into his seat, fuming and cursing, fighting against the men who have to restrain him.
I stand slowly and look around the room, my gaze lingering on every man there.
If shit was tense before, it’s like a bomb is about to drop now.
Everyone is on edge. This isn’t the way the club was supposed to be run.
Brothers hating brothers. A fucking civil war going on, about to split the ranks.
“I want to take a vote,” I say slowly, giving time for every word to sink in.
“That we put this vendetta to rest and get on with business, that we go back to being a brotherhood, because that’s what this club is about and we’re no good divided.
We leave ourselves vulnerable and open with this shit.
If you want to head outside and fucking settle this with our fists, then so fucking be it, but I vote, here and fucking now that you put this to bed and go back to being the Prez we all know and fucking love.
This club ain’t just about us, Steel. It’s about all these men. ”
“I second that shit,” Wraith bangs the table.
The other men follow, banging their hands hard on the table top and stomping their feet in agreement.
We’ve never had a vote like it, with all the noise and the stomping and banging.
Steel stops struggling and takes notice, because it’s pretty fucking hard not to when the message is loud and fucking clear.
They’re as tired of this bullshit as I am.
I turn towards Steel, my face completely neutral. “So what’s it gonna be? We gonna put this vendetta to rest and go back to being how we were?”
Steel’s brow tightens and his eyes burn into me. I’ve seen that look before. I know what a stubborn bastard he can be, and I know that he isn’t going down easy.
“How we used to be?” Steel scoffs. “You mean before you decided to lay your hands on my daughter. Before you stabbed your brothers in the back? Before you betrayed not just me, but all of us here? You couldn’t even protect her. She could have died because of you.”
Anger rattles through me, but the hurt I feel creeping in around the edges is worse.
I miss the man I used to call brother. I miss the man who led us fearlessly, who was always one step ahead who loved this fucking town and all of us, because we’re all he has in the world.
I don’t know who this new man is, a man who refuses to see past the black cloud of hatred blocking his view.
A man consumed by rage and his thirst for vengeance.
“Goddamnit! Are you so fucking blind? Yesterday had nothing to do with me and Harley, can you not get your fucking thick skull around that?”
And then I realize that as long as I’m around, nothing’s gonna change.
I know Steel. I know him like a real brother, because he’s been the closest family I ever had.
He stuck his neck out for me more times than I can count.
If not for him, I wouldn’t be here. Literally.
This club is my life, my family, my everything, and I’ll belong to them until they cover me up in that cold dirt mound and even then, if we have souls, that part of me will always be with them.
I made vows to protect the club. Vows that said I’d fight for them and die for them.
If that means that I have to take a step back and give this up to stop the whole damn thing imploding, then that’s what I’ll fucking do because I won’t have any of them getting killed because of this.
And all of this… all of this fucked up shit
The words come out before I can stop them, acrid and bitter, scalding their way up my throat like bile.
“I can see where this is going, Steel,” I start. “If you’re not gonna see reason, then there’s only one thing I can do. I signed up for this to do what was best for the club and for my brothers. It don’t matter that we started this together. What’s best right now is for me to go.”
Stunned silence fills up the room. It’s a different kind of silence than before.
It’s so loud that it rips through my head, hurting my skull.
It shreds through my heart, through the core of my being, because The MC was once everything that I had.
If not for Harley, they’d still be all I had.
Ever. It was the first place a sorry ass shithead like me ever felt he belonged.
No one says a thing. Not even Wraith. There’s not so much as a heavy breath or a sharp intake or a sigh. Until finally, finally, Steel clears his throat roughly.
I look right at him and still, still he looks at me like he sees straight through me, as if I don’t exist, with that black, bitter hatred that’s crawled so far up his ass, he’ll never hope to pick it out.
I just hope, that for Harley’s sake, some miracle occurs and he decides to behave like a loving father again, or it will shatter her.
A vein jumps at Steel’s temple as his slate gray eyes bore right through me.
“We have no fuckin’ rules about leaving in this club.
If someone wants to go, it’s their choice. ”
“I think we should put it to a vote—” Right on cue, Wraith sticks his head out for me. It doesn’t matter. Once my mind is made up, there’s no fucking changing it.
“Shut the fuck up, you little prick, before I snap you in fuckin’ half,” Steel growls in Wraith’s direction.
“I’m the Prez of this fuckin’ club, so for once, shut your fucking trap and just sit there and goddamn listen.
If Edge wants to leave, to abandon his brothers, he can damn well go.
He’s already turned his back on us, so might as well make it official.
” He shoves to his feet and this time no one stops him.
“Hand over your cut. You’re not worthy of wearing it anyway. ”
I sit in my chair, the weight of every single man’s stare burning into me. I study my folded hands, hands that have spilled blood for this club, hands that would do it all over again in an instant.
Finally I stand. I don’t shove my chair back rough, like Steel.
It scrapes across the floor like a damn death knell, but I refuse to give in to that black cloud of doom bearing down on me, choking up my chest and my throat so no air gets in or out.
I peel off my cut, that vest that I’ve worn for years, the symbol of everything I hold close to my heart.
The cool air of the room rushes up to meet my ink-clad arms. I feel stripped down, naked, vulnerable in the basest of ways, as I hand that leather over to Steel’s outstretched hand.
His fingers curl over it and not even he can treat it badly, no matter what it symbolizes to him at the moment, no matter how much he wants to hate me.
There isn’t a thing in the world left to fucking say after I’m stripped of that jacket, so I turn and walk out of that damn room. Out of the only church that I’ve ever brought any kind of reverence or worship to.
My boots echo down the halls, halls I’ve walked a thousand times over the years, halls that I’ve felt safe in. I have a room there at the clubhouse, in case I ever needed it. I guess that it ain’t mine anymore.
The sunlight assaults me when I escape out the back door, into the compound where my bike is parked. I mount up and all those layers of heavy chrome, leather and steel, are like a welcome caress around my torn up insides, a patch holding me together, keeping me from bleeding out.
I tear out of the compound, riding free, the wind tugging at my hair, uplifting me, giving me wings.
I know that I’m going to have to go home and face Harley, and fucking hell, I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to do it, so instead of turning in the direction I should be heading, I veer off south.
I don’t stop, pushing my bike hard until I reach a stretch of freeway with nothing but grassy hills and wide blue sky, houses in the distance and wet fucking humidity pressing down all around me.
I pull over at some one-horse town and ride on until I find a gravel road that takes me off into the middle of butt-fuck, nowhere.
And there, with only the sky and the grass and the wind as my witness, I drop to my knees and yell until I’m hoarse and no sound comes out of my aching, dried up throat.