Chapter 12
Fuse
Storm’s phone buzzed as we were getting ready to leave for the council meeting.
He looked at the screen before stepping away from the group.
He took the call standing about ten feet from our assembled bikes while we stood quietly waiting for him to join us.
At this distance we could only hear Storm’s side of the conversation.
“Storm. What do you want, Viper?”
There was a pause before Storm’s aggravated voice snapped, “I said we’d be there. We’d already be on the road right now if you weren’t calling to irritate the fuck out of me.”
There was another, longer pause before he snarled, “The fuck you will. The woman stays with us. That’s not up for debate, so don’t fuckin’ bring it up again.”
I had no idea what Viper was saying, but it pissed Storm off even more.
“Don’t fuckin’ threaten me about the woman or any damn thing else, Viper. I don’t take well to threats. They make me fuckin’ homicidal.”
There was a much longer pause this time before Storm’s voice said tightly, “I heard you the first time, asshole. Now you hear me. The Dark Slayers made a deal and we’re honoring it.
That’s what we do. But don’t think for one goddamn minute that we are ever gonna be friendly after this deal is over. Just the opposite, in fact.”
He ended the call and stood there for a second before stalking back over to us.
Grit asked, “What the hell was that about?”
“Viper wanted to confirm we were coming and prepared to vote in his favor,” Storm replied. He climbed onto his bike before continuing. “And he was ballsy enough to remind me what will happen to Winter if we don’t execute the three favors like we’re supposed to.”
I felt a surge of panic lance through my body. “Can he actually take her back?”
Storm looked at me for a long hard minute before speaking.
“Three months ago, I’d have said no. His club only had a handful of brothers in brand new cuts with no alliances to back them up.
Right now, he’s got close to fifty patched brothers.
He fought for and claimed territory. That means he’s stronger than ever before.
I think we could take them in a fair fight, but when have you ever known Viper to play fair? ”
“Goddamn, are you saying that asshole could make a move on our clubhouse?” Grit’s question made us all uncomfortable.
“He might be stupid enough to try,” Storm replied bitterly. “If he did, we’d handle it by calling in help from allied clubs. But I don’t particularly want to risk the lives of our club brothers and affiliates dealing with an unpredictable fuck like Viper.”
I could see where Storm was coming from with that train of thought. It would be a shame for someone to get killed or maimed dealing with a garden variety asshole like Viper.
Storm continued, “Viper is more trouble than he’s worth, so let’s keep to the deal we made with him. The sooner I see the back side of him the better.”
Thunder spoke up, “Let’s just get our asses to the council meeting, cast the Dark Slayers’ vote on his behalf and check the fuckin’ second favor off our list. Don’t fuckin’ give him a reason to escalate the situation.”
They were saying the best way to keep Winter safe was to walk into that room and do the last thing any of us wanted to do by helping him get his hands on Vulture’s old territory.
We hit the road, Storm, Celt, Thunder, Grit, Breaker, Renegade, and myself. Riding the open road should have made me feel free and proud. It did, but enjoying the ride was hard when all I could think of was Viper double crossing us somehow in order to get his hands on my old lady.
The others were in a somber mood as well because a lot was riding on this road trip.
No matter what, we had to knock out this second favor.
Vulture’s territory was up for a regional vote and Viper wanted everyone to see us support his claim.
This favor seemed simple enough, except nothing involving a shifty ass fucker like Viper was ever simple.
The Savage Legion joined us about twenty minutes out, Siege at the front of their formation, matching our pace without a word being exchanged. One of their officers, a broad guy named Tank, pulled up even with me and rode there for a while before stopping for gas.
He spoke, “Is your club sure about voting for Viper to get Vulture’s territory? You know it puts that dipshit closer to Griffinsford. You really want Viper and his shit in your backyard?”
Tank was exaggerating about them being in our back yard, but they would be a hell of a lot closer. Pulling the gas nozzle out of my gas tank, I slid it back into its housing. Turning to Tank, I told him, “No. We ain’t certain of nothin’, except keeping my old lady safe.”
His eyes flew open. “She’s your old lady now?”
“Yeah, she sure as hell is. She’s wearing my property cut and I ain’t giving her back to an ignorant fuck like Viper.”
Tank gave me a resigned nod. “Fair enough. I didn’t know she was your old lady. That changes everything.”
When everyone else hit the road again, we joined them. Ten minutes later we pulled into an abandoned feed lot.
The loading bay doors were open, and I could see a multitude of brothers from different clubs were already assembled inside.
As we walked inside, I could see cuts from the Sons of Rage, Molten Horse, and Iron Verdict.
A good half of the men present were young and wearing Stolen Oath cuts.
Viper had brought most of his crew and wanted to make sure everyone was aware just how quickly his club was growing.
Halfway across the room I heard the first negative comment about our club. A voice rose from the crowd, sneering and unafraid, “Well what have we got here. A bunch of arsonists.”
Every man in the Dark Slayers just kept walking. Some clubs would have jumped at the chance to beat someone’s ass over a comment like that, but not us. Our one and only goal was to cast our vote and get the hell out of here.
I stood against the wall, watching everything that went on. My job was to protect my club brothers when they were distracted with the business at hand.
I caught sight of Viper in the crowded warehouse.
He was strolling around wearing a clean cut and ripped jeans sagging off his ass.
I hated everything about him, his swagger, his arrogance, and most especially his cruelty.
He was looking for someone, searching the room visually, even going so far as to shove people aside.
When his eyes landed on Storm, he made a beeline for him.
By contrast, Storm barely acknowledged Viper when he saw him approaching.
Viper stopped in front of him and clapped him on the shoulder. It was the kind of gesture that read as brotherhood from twenty feet away.
“Storm,” he said. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Viper,” Storm said by way of a greeting.
But the damage was done. I watched two Sons of Rage officers exchange a glance across the room. I saw the Molten Horse club president’s expression close down. Being seen with Viper was costing us the respect of other clubs.
The council elder was an Iron Verdict man named Cross.
He was over sixty and had been holding the council together through grit and determination alone for over thirty years.
He called the room to order without raising his voice.
The noise died away fast when he spoke because the brothers were interested in what he had to say.
“I’ll explain how this works for anyone who is new.
Vulture’s Pride has disbanded. Their territory is now unclaimed.
Unclaimed territory is a problem for every club in this region, not just the ones with a border claim.
The clubs in this region decided long ago to assign unclaimed territory to save a bunch of infighting.
” He paused and looked around the room. “This council exists to solve small problems before they turn into big ones.”
Mostly the faces of the assembled brothers remained neutral.
“Every president in this room has a vote. The majority rules. The decision we make here is binding under council rules and that means exactly what it sounds like. If you win the vote and are assigned this territory, it will be yours for as long as you can hold it.”
After a brief pause, he explained. “That means the council awards claim. It does not guarantee it. We don’t enforce borders or prop up clubs that can’t hold what they’ve been given. Whoever leaves here with Vulture’s territory must defend it.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Now that we have that out of the way, who wants to make the first argument.”
The first club to make their case was one by the name of Ironbound. They had claimed the territory north of Vulture’s old stomping ground long ago. I remember them clashing with Vulture’s Pride in the distant past.
Their president chose his words carefully, “We share a forty-mile border with Vulture’s old territory. We’ve got the manpower to stabilize it and take over his existing businesses without undue conflict. We’re obviously the best choice to take the territory.”
The second club to step up was a small, scrappy club that called themselves the Dust Devils.
They had been existing along the western edge of Vulture’s territory for years without causing trouble.
Their president was younger than most of the men in the room.
He just stood up, put his hands on the table and delivered his speech with very little fanfare.
“I know you are all busy men, so I won’t waste your time. You already heard a very good reason to choose Ironbound. What I’m going to give you is who really has the capacity to fuckin’ hold it.”