Chapter 21 #2
I sat across from Blackjack, my coffee mug still clutched in my hand as Widow leaned against the wall near the door, his arms crossed, his expression dark.
Kansas didn’t waste time. “Whisper,” he said, nodding at him. “What did Benedict say?”
Whisper leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the table. “He’s got the inventory,” Whisper said. “AR-15s, Glocks, shotguns. All untraceable. He’s asking fifteen grand for the lot.”
Kansas’ eyebrows raised slightly. “Fifteen?”
“Yeah,” Whisper said. “But it’s quality. No heat.”
Kansas nodded slowly, his gaze flicking to Blackjack.
“You trust him?” Kansas asked.
Whisper didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Like I said before, Benedict’s a straight shooter. No games. No bullshit. Just business.”
Kansas considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Whisper, Blackjack, Monk—you three will make the run next week. Get the details locked down and report back.”
I nodded, taking another sip of coffee as Kansas shifted in his seat, his expression darkening slightly. “Now,” he said, his voice dropping. “We need to talk about Satan’s Angels.”
The room went still. Satan’s Angels were a problem we had been avoiding since they attacked us before when Reaper’s ol’ lady Remi was staying with us.
Now, that was a shit show. A rival club out of Alabama that had recently taken up with the Death Dogs, and now word was, Satan’s Angels were making noise about expanding their territory into Oklahoma.
They had already hit a few smaller clubs in the surrounding states, burning clubhouses, killing brothers, sending a message that they weren’t fucking around.
And now, apparently, they were getting closer.
“They hit another club last week,” Kansas said. “Burned it to the ground. Killed three brothers. Left a message spray-painted on the wall: ‘Oklahoma is ours.’”
Whisper’s jaw tightened. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” Kansas said. “Shit.”
Blackjack leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “What’s the play?” he asked.
Kansas’ expression was grim. “We fortify. We prepare. And we make it clear that if they come for us, they’re going to regret it.”
Widow pushed off the wall, his arms uncrossing. “We going to war, Prez?” he asked.
Kansas met his gaze. “If they force our hand, yeah. But I’m not looking for a fight. I’m looking to protect what’s ours.”
The room fell silent again, the weight of his words settling over us like a heavy blanket. Then Kansas’ expression shifted, the darkness lifting slightly. “On a lighter note,” he said, his tone almost casual. “Kali wants to throw a club barbeque this weekend.”
I blinked.
A barbeque? After talking about a potential war with Satan’s Angels, Kansas was talking about a fucking barbeque?
Whisper snorted. “Of course she does.”
Kansas shrugged. “She thinks it’ll be good for morale. Get the brothers together, let the kids run around, remind everyone what we’re fighting for.”
Blackjack grinned. “I’m in. Kali throws a hell of a party.”
Kansas nodded. “Good. Spread the word. Saturday afternoon. Bring your families.”
I didn’t say anything. I just sat there, staring into my coffee, my mind already drifting back to Lina.
To Tatum. To the family I didn’t know how to claim.
Before Kansas ended the meeting, Blackjack cleared his throat.
“One more thing,” he said, his gaze flicking to me.
“We’ve got a few officer positions that need filling. ”
Kansas nodded. “Yeah. We’ve been putting it off long enough.”
“Specifically,” Blackjack continued, “we need a new sergeant at arms. Since Monk got promoted to VP, the position’s been vacant.”
Whisper leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “Trigger’s been here the longest,” Whisper said. “He might be ready for it.”
I set my coffee mug down on the table with a sharp clink. “No,” I said, my voice flat.
Whisper blinked. “No?”
“No,” I repeated, my gaze meeting his. “Trigger’s not ready.”
Whisper frowned. “He’s been with the club for years, Monk. He’s loyal. He’s—”
“He’s a good soldier,” I interrupted, my voice hard.
“But he’s not a leader.” The room went quiet as Kansas leaned back in his chair, his eyes on me, waiting.
I took a breath, forcing myself to stay calm.
“Trigger follows orders,” I explained. “He does what he’s told.
He doesn’t question, doesn’t hesitate. And that’s valuable.
But the sergeant at arms isn’t just about following orders.
It’s about making decisions. Hard decisions.
Decisions that could get brothers killed if you fuck them up. ”
Whisper’s frown deepened. “You don’t think he can handle it?”
“I know he can’t,” I said bluntly. “I’ve seen him freeze when faced with authority. I’ve seen him look to someone else to make the call when he should be making it himself. He’s a good brother. But he’s not sergeant at arms material.”
Blackjack nodded slowly. “So, who do you have in mind?”
I met his gaze. “I don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out. And when I do, I’ll bring it to church.”
Kansas studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Monk’s call. He’s the VP. He knows what the club needs.”
Whisper didn’t look happy, but he didn’t argue. Blackjack just shrugged, and Widow—Widow looked like he didn’t give a fuck either way. Kansas stood, signaling the end of the meeting. “That’s it,” he said. “Get to work. And don’t forget—barbeque on Saturday.”
The brothers stood and filed out of the room, leaving me alone with my coffee and my thoughts as I sat there for a long moment, staring at the empty chair across from me.
Lina had left. Gone home to our daughter, and I was still here.
Still trying to figure out how the hell I was supposed to be a father when I didn’t even know how to be a man worth loving, but I would figure it out.
I had failed at a lot of things in my life.
Failed Lina. Failed myself. Failed in ways that left scars nobody else could see.
But this—I couldn’t fail at this. Not with Tatum.
Not with Lina. The thought of standing on the outside of their lives forever, knowing I had one last chance to step up and had wasted it, made something cold settle in my gut.