“There are times when people need to step up and be leaders, man. Right now, it feels like the MC is rudderless. And bein’ rudderless is a bad thing for this club since it means we could drift right into some rocks,” Spyder presses. “It’s nothin’ against Doc, it’s just that he’s got a lot on his plate, dealing with his grief and shit. It’s fuckin’ him up, man. He’s not seein’ straight right now. Right now, we need somebody who can step up and put us back on course.”
“I don’t think I’m your guy, Spyder,” I tell him.
“I think if you got something to offer up that’s better than going straight at Zavala, then you are,” he says simply.
“I just don’t see Doc calling for that,” I say. “He’s careful. He’s deliberate.”
“And he’s also a dude in a lot of pain right now. Like I said, he isn’t thinkin’ straight,” he says. “But you may be right. He may not be thinking all-out war. And if not, then it’s all good. But if he is calling for all-out war, you’ve got to step up and say something. You’ve got to offer up an alternative if all Doc has is askin’ us all to commit mass suicide.”
The door to the clubhouse opens, and Adam sticks his head out. “Need you in here.”
Spyder gives me a pointed look then drops his smoke and crushes it out. I take another drag and let it out before dropping the butt and stepping on it. A frown crosses my lips, and my stomach is churning as I think about what Spyder said. He’s not wrong. We have felt adrift since Prophet was killed. We haven’t had much of a direction. I’ve chalked it up to the shock we’re all feeling.
There’s no doubt we’re rattled right now and that we’re still trying to find our way. I’ve been waiting for Doc to take the wheel and steer us, but I can’t say that Spyder is wrong. Doc’s been flailing around a bit. I know he’s a good leader. I’ve been figuring that it’s just going to take him a minute to get his footing. Once the shock of Prophet’s murder wears off, I imagine he’ll be good to go and will lead us where we need to go.
Unless there’s no MC left to lead. If Spyder is right and Doc wants us to launch a straight-up war with the cartel, that very well could be the end of us. We’re outmanned and we’re outgunned. I think we’ve got a tactical advantage just because all of us have served and most of them haven’t. But that advantage is only going to get you so far. When the cartel can come in with state-of-the-art military-grade weaponry, that puts us at a disadvantage. And like I said, Emiliano is smart. He’s not going to fall into any of the traps we set. He’s not a testosterone-driven idiot like his brother was.
My mind spinning out in a million different directions, I walk back into the clubhouse. The atmosphere is grim, and the boxes are still sitting on the table. Leadership is standing at the front of the room, most of them red-faced and looking pissed off.
“All right,” Doc begins. “You all know what we had dropped off at the gate today. Two more of our brothers murdered.”
Doc points at the boxes to emphasize his point. The air in the room is still but crackles with tension. Everybody’s eyes are fixed on Doc. I casually look around the room and see that half of our guys seem ready for war. The other half seem… hesitant. The same can be said for Leadership—Cosmo, Trig, Poe, and Cueball seem split right down the middle. And if that’s the case, Doc would have cast the deciding vote. I just don’t know which way that vote went.
“You all know what this means,” Doc presses, his voice quietly intense. “We’re done sitting on our asses, letting Zavala murder our brothers. We’re taking the fight to him.”
As I expected, half the guys are on their feet, stomping on the floor and banging on the table. They’re juiced up and ready for a fight. The other half, me included, are ready for war but not on a blind run into a buzz saw. I catch Spyder’s eye, and he gives me a meaningful look.
But I’m no leader. Like I said, I’m a foot soldier. A damn good one. But I never aspired to command, and I’m not the guy you want leading a charge. I’ll never back down from a fight but I’m self-aware enough to know my own limitations. My weaknesses. And being a leader is one of them. I know though that I can’t let Doc lead us into a fight we won’t win. Avenging Prophet, Axle, Beaker, Dex, and Halo is important. But getting ourselves killed in the process is just stupid and avenges nobody.
When the furor in the room dies down and everybody takes their seat again, I get to my feet. All eyes turn to me, and I look straight at Doc.
“We need to go to war, I don’t disagree. We can’t let the murder of our brothers go unanswered,” I say. “But throwing ourselves face-first into a wood chipper isn’t going to do us any good. It’s not going to avenge our men. It’s only going to get us dead.”
“You’re not in Leadership, Volt. So, when I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.” Doc is seething. “Until then, sit down, shut up, and do as you’re told. Either that or get the fuck out. Doesn’t matter to me.”
The room falls silent, and I see the guys all exchanging looks. Doc is normally soft-spoken and even-keeled. I think his outburst shows just how much pressure he’s under and how intense his emotions are right now. It’s obviously wearing on him.
We’re all grieving, but I’d be lying if I said Doc’s words didn’t sting. This club is a brotherhood. For most of us, it’s the only family we have. And to hear Doc say what he did is fucked up. It hurts. But I try to tell myself that it’s his grief talking. I have no doubt Doc cares for all of us like family and right now, he’s stuck in his grief. But damn, those words didn’t feel too great.
“I want to hear what he has to say,” Cosmo says.
“I don’t,” Doc spits.
“Let him speak,” Cueball says.
Doc looks at Cueball, the club’s treasurer, like he just stabbed him in the back. Which tells me Cueball voted along with Doc at the table.
“You know I agree that we need to fight,” Cueball says. “But we also need opinions from everybody. This can’t be a unilateral decision.”
“We voted for war,” Doc snaps. “You supported it at the table.”
“And I still do. But I want to hear other input,” Cueball responds. “We need to fight but we need to fight smart.”
Doc’s jaw is clenched so tight he could probably chew through steel right now. But he waves Cueball off then turns to me, his annoyance written all over his face. I can feel the weight of everybody’s eyes on me, and I shift on my feet, feeling uncomfortable. I’ve never liked being the center of attention, and I find that when we’re weighing matters of life and death, I like it even less.
“Fine. What?” he growls. “Speak.”
“Like I said, I’m for taking the fight to Zavala. But we need to be smart about it. He’s unlike anybody we’ve run up against before. And if we take him straight-up, we’re going to lose. Every single one of us is going to die. And who does that avenge?” I start.
