Chapter 6 #2
“She’s Pence’s widow,” Lips explained. “She’s club property now. What do we do with her?”
“She’s not property,” Kansas said, his voice low and dangerous. “She’s a woman who has just lost her husband.”
“A husband who was a child rapist,” Trigger said bluntly. “You think she didn’t know? You think she didn’t turn a blind eye?”
“We don’t know that,” I reasoned, speaking for the first time, and every eye in the room turned my way. “We don’t know what Vivi knew or didn’t know,” I went on, my voice flat and steady. “Until we do, we treat her with respect. She’s grieving. She’s scared. And she’s alone.”
“She’s also a liability,” Blackjack said. “If she talks to the cops, tells them what happened here.”
“She won’t,” Kansas said firmly. “Vivi’s loyal. She’s been with this club for years. She won’t betray us.”
“You sure about that?” Trigger asked. “Because I’m not.”
Kansas stood, his chair scraping back. “I’m sure. And if anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me.”
No one spoke.
Kansas sat back down, his jaw tight. “Vivi stays. She’s under club protection. Anyone touches her, anyone threatens her, they answer to me. Clear?”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.
“Now,” Kansas said, his voice hard as steel, cutting through the tension that had settled over the room like a thick fog. “Back to the VP seat. We need a decision, and we need it tonight.”
“I nominate Monk,” Whisper said again, his tone unwavering and confident. He’d been pushing for this all evening, and he wasn’t backing down now.
“I nominate Trigger,” Ashe said, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. His jaw was set, his eyes challenging anyone to question his choice.
Kansas looked between us, his gaze sweeping across the faces gathered around the table. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows, making everyone look older and harder. “Anyone else? Any other nominations?”
Silence settled over the room, heavy enough to ring in my ears. “Fine,” Kansas said. His fingers tapped once against the table. “We vote. All in favor of Monk as VP?”
Hands went up. Whisper’s shot up first, followed quickly by Angel, then Widow. Blackjack raised his slowly, deliberately. Bongo’s hand rose last, almost reluctantly.
Five.
“All in favor of Trigger?”
More hands. Ashe’s immediately, naturally. Then Judd, Fifty, and Lips in quick succession.
Four.
Shadow didn’t raise his hand. He sat there, perfectly still, his expression unreadable as everyone watched him. Waited for him as the room held its breath. You could’ve heard a pin drop.
“Shadow?” Kansas asked after a few minutes.
“I vote Monk.”
Trigger’s face went red. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No,” Kansas said, his tone brooking no argument. “Monk’s VP. That’s final.”
Trigger stood, his chair clattering to the floor. “This is bullshit, Kansas. You know it is.”
“Sit down, Trigger.”
“Fuck you.”
The room exploded. Brothers were on their feet, shouting, shoving. Trigger lunged toward Kansas, and I was up, my hand on his chest, holding him back. “Don’t,” I said quietly. “Don’t do this.”
Trigger’s eyes were wild and furious. “Get the fuck off me, Monk.”
“Sit down,” I said again, my voice calm, steady. “We’re brothers. We don’t do this.” For a long moment, Trigger just stared at me. Then, slowly, he stepped back.
“Fine,” he said, his voice tight. “But this isn’t over.”
He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
The room was silent.
Kansas looked at me, his eyes searching my face for any hint of doubt or hesitation. “Are you good with this?”
No, I wasn’t good with it. Not even close.
I was scared—scared for Abigail, for my cover, for everything I’d spent years building out of lies and careful restraint.
Every promotion, every scrap of trust they handed me, was just another chain cinching tighter around my throat.
But I nodded anyway and kept my face still. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m good.”
Kansas exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he leaned back in his chair. “Alright. Meeting adjourned. Get some rest, brothers. We’ve got a lot of shit to figure out tomorrow.”
The brothers filed out, one by one, their boots heavy on the wooden floor. Whisper clapped me on the shoulder as he passed. Widow gave me a nod. Ashe didn’t look at me at all. The room emptied gradually until it was just me and Shadow. The silence settled in like dust.
Shadow looked at me across the table, his eyes hard and knowing. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” I asked.
He didn’t answer right away. The question hung between us while those silver-gray eyes pinned me in place. “You know this is gonna get messy, right?” he said finally. “Montana’s not gonna let it go. The Federation’s not gonna let it go.”
“I know.”
“And you’re still gonna do it?”
I met his eyes. “I don’t have a choice.”
Shadow studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded. “Fair enough.”
He stood, turned to leave, then paused. “For what it’s worth, Monk—you’re the right choice. You know what you have to do now, don’t you?”
I sat there, staring at him. Waiting for him to elaborate.
“WITSEC. Time to choose, brother. Can’t live in the shadows and be VP.” He walked out, leaving me alone again.
He was right. I had to choose. I couldn’t keep one foot in each world anymore. Not with what was coming. Not with the weather turning black on every horizon.
I sat there in the silence, feeling the weight of the VP patch settle over me like a shroud.
Pence was dead. Our tie to the Federation was gone, hacked clean through.
We were on our own now—no backup, no allies, no safety net.
And I was second-in-command of a club standing alone at the edge of a war.
The question wasn’t whether it was coming.
It was when. And what it would leave of us when it was done.
I stood, my legs heavy, and walked out of the church room. The clubhouse was quiet now. Most of the brothers had gone home or crashed in back rooms. The bar was empty, and the lights were dim.
I grabbed my keys and headed for the door when my phone buzzed.
James Roberts.
Again.
I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the answer button. If I picked up, I’d have to lie. Tell him everything was fine. Tell him nothing had changed. But everything had.
I was VP now, and that painted a bigger target on my back than ever.
The phone stopped ringing. I shoved it back into my pocket and stepped out into the night. The air was cool, the sky clear, and the stars looked like broken glass scattered across black velvet.
I climbed on my bike, fired the engine, and rode because sitting still felt too much like waiting to die.