Page 41 of Allegiance
“No, we’re not ready. We can’t act on emotion. This is a mission. We do this just like any other deal we have in the club: cool, detached, and collected are what rules.”
“Tank’s right,” Snake said.
Neon rolled his eyes and propped his feet up on a chair. “Yeah, yeah. I get you.”
“Right now, Raptor’s not stepping down as president. That was damn clear when I went to his house yesterday. He’s distracted and fucking set on not making waves right now because he’s got enough shit to deal with, but he’s not giving complete control to that asshole. Once we get a plan and someone to lead the club, Raptor will step down, I know it. So, are we all in?”
There were shouts of agreement down the length of the table. Everyone was on board to fuck shit up when the time was right. They had a good handful of members on Raptor’s side, and more than half the club was willing to put their asses on the line to keep the club running as it was, and not like it had been during Skull’s regime. Yesterday proved to Tank that the club couldn’t count on Raptor to be the stronger leader he’d once been, so in order to keep some of the members from going over to Hammer’s court, they needed to get an interim president to take over for Raptor as soon as possible. Maybe he’d pay Raptor another visit and feel him out. If Snake was right about him being too proud to admit he couldn’t run the club anymore, then an interim president could be the solution. And if Nick beat the cancer, and Raptor wanted to take his presidential seat again, then all would be good.
“I need to talk to Raptor about appointing someone to take his place for now,” Tank said.
Snake nodded. “Yeah, that may work. It could be a temporary position until Raptor gets his shit together, but if things go badly with his little boy, then whoever’s president will stay.”
“You don’t think Raptor will tell Hammer what’s going on?” Neon asked.
Anger had Tank nearly rising out of his chair and across the table. “What the fuck? Raptor’s no traitor!”
“Raptor was raised in the club, and he wants what’s best for the brotherhood,” Maniac calmly interjected.
“But he lied to Tank about the money. He gave the okay to Hammer to shake down hard-working citizens. I don’t know…” Neon’s words trailed off.
Snake slapped the table. “Raptor’s solid.”
“One hundred percent,” Fester seconded.
Tank leaned back in his seat. “Does anyone else think the way Neon is?”
Ice gave a chin lift. “I can see where Neon’s coming from. I’m gonna admit, I’ve got my doubts.”
“Let’s take a vote. All those in favor of Tank speaking to Raptor about a temp prez, raise your fists.” Snake was the first to raise his.
In the end, three out of twelve had misgivings about trusting Raptor to stay true to them and the club. Since the majority ruled, the consensus was that Tank would speak with Raptor.
“The only thing we got left to settle are the candidates to take Raptor’s place. Let’s think about it, then we can meet back here next week. I’d like to have some members to offer up to him.”
“We may have someone in mind,” Snake stated matter-of-factly.
“Sounds like a plan.” Maniac looked around the room that had filled up since the group had first arrived. “There’re some cute sweet pieces hanging out at the bar.”
Fester rolled his head. “Not for me. I’m gonna have one more beer and head home.”
Snake chuckled. “Your old lady would kill you if she ever caught you looking at another chick.”
“What can I say? My woman’s crazy about me.”
The men guffawed, and then the conversation turned to motorcycles.
Tank took a long pull of his beer and looked out over the moonlit beach as his brothers talked amongst themselves. Staring at the ocean was a woman on the beach with her back to him. Tracing her ass with his eyes, a slow grin eased across his lips.
“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me,” he mumbled under his breath. He downed the rest of his beer and rose to his feet. “I’m outta here. Keep me in the loop if anymore shit goes down.”
“You got that look in your eye, bro. Are you gonna duck in the back for a quickie with that big-tittied waitress?” Snake asked.
“Not exactly.” Picking up his beer bottle, he threw a ten-dollar bill on the table.
The gritty strains of hard rock music filtered down to the beach as Tank strode over to the familiar woman with the fine ass and high ponytail throwing stones into the water.
There’s no fuckin’ way. This is too perfect.
