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“—I swear to fucking God, Striker, sit the fuck down or I’ll send you to the afterlife and you can chat with all the fucking biblical figures.”
Smiling, Striker sets his cards down on the table with a ‘clack’ and then sits.
It’s my turn.
I stand, clear my throat, and look directly at Striker. “When I first met Owen, or ‘Striker,’ as we’ve known him for so long, I knew he was someone that exemplified leadership. Brave, quick-thinking, loyal, he was a man that I was proud to serve alongside, and if he were elected president, he’d be a man I’d be proud to serve…”
“Thank fuck, someone is finally talking some sense, even if it’s for fucking Striker,” Rook murmurs.
“That’s a feeling I’ve long held. Until I met Rook. Rook is a man among men, a man who puts all others to shame. The only man for the job of MC president.”
Rook's face goes from relieved to enraged in a split second.
"God damn it, Smokey, not you too!" He shouts, slamming his fist on the table. "I will gut every one of you backstabbing sons of bitches. I will cut you open and feed your entrails to your weeping families."
I try to hide my smirk as I go on. "Rook's leadership and sacrifice are unparalleled. We would not be sitting here today as a club if not for him. His gruff exterior hides the heart of a genuine hero. There is no one else I would rather follow into battle or trust with my life. Rook is the only choice for MC president."
Ghost goes to stand, but Rook rises just as quickly and slams his hands on the table.
“Before you even open your fucking mouth, let me ask you this: who are you going to endorse?”
“Not who you think,” Ghost answers.
“Fine. Go ahead.”
“I haven’t known him long, but Rook —”
Rook takes out his gun, switches the safety off with an audible click, and raises it, hammer cocked. “Not another word.” He then aims it at Hawk, who stares back at him placidly. “Were you going to…?”
Hawk nods. “Duh. Is there anyone else more qualified?”
Rook sighs and puts the gun away. “I hate you all.”
"Well, looks like it's unanimous then," Thunder says with a satisfied grin. "Rook is our new club president. All hail President Rook!"
"All hail President Rook!" the others echo loudly, hoisting their beers.
"I fucking despise every one of you," Rook seethes. "Mark my words, I will make you regret this."
But beneath his scowl, I catch the faintest hint of pride in his eyes. We’ve made the right choice. No matter who else we elect to fill the other leadership positions, the club will be in excellent hands with him at the helm. We know it, and whether or not he’ll admit it, Rook knows it, too.
Chapter Thirty-One
Dixon
At three in the morning, my phone rips me out of my sleep.
I roll over, heart racing, and snatch it off my nightstand and flip it to silent. Try as I might, I’m not fast enough, though — Alexandra stirs alongside me.
“Go back to sleep. It’s just club stuff,” I say. Ghost’s name is on the caller ID, and I keep that from her, because I know that if she knew, she’d be wide awake alongside me, and it was only an hour ago that she got back from her shift at the bar.
Her answer comes in a sleepy, sing-song voice. “Fine. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I say. It’s funny how quickly those words came, and how right they feel. In the few weeks we’ve been together, we’ve settled in to something that almost might be a normal life. At least for two people like us. I doubt we’ll ever have an entirely normal life, not with what we both do for a living, but we have something that feels real. I start each day glad that I’m alive, thanks to her; by nearly killing me, she’s given me a reason to live.
I take the phone with me into the living room and sit down on my couch.
“Ghost? What is it?”
