Page 80 of Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC 7)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Early Summer 2015, Austin, Texas, USA

The state of Texas was unique in many respects, but one in general that pertained to me. The state was occupied by a 1% MC who claimed the state as theirs sixty years prior. Any club who wanted to be respected, even non-1%ers, needed to get authorization from the Banditos to open a chapter in the state. It wasn’t as much a matter of necessity as it was a matter of respect.

Although our club was not going to be an outlaw club, we respectfully set up a meeting with all of the local clubs to assure there were going to be no surprises after the club began to operate in full force. Shane, Ripp and I went to the meeting with high hopes of their being little if any resistance to our starting the club.

The three of us were seated on one side of the room, with the entire group seated across the room glaring at us. More than a dozen various clubs, primarily 1% clubs, each had their respective presidents in attendance, with the exception of one local club, the Selected Sinners.

Their support came from my home town of Wichita, due to the local chapter being on a mandatory run. As Wichita was the parent chapter for the Sinners, no exception was taken to their representative or their participation. Although their representative showed up late, I was glad he did, because he seemed to be the only sensible man in the group.

With Shane on one side and Ripp on the other, I did my best to respond to the questions as they were asked.

“So you ain’t even gonna have a bottom rocker?” one of the men asked.

Jesus, how many times are you going to ask this question?

“That is correct. Our colors will employ an upper rocker, club logo, and an “MC” patch with no lower rocker. We claim no territory,” I responded.

“So you ain’t claimin’ the state of Texas as your territory?” another man asked.

The president of the Selected Sinners cleared his throat and turned toward the man who asked the question.

“That same question has been asked a dozen fucking times. Asked, and answered,” he said.

He continued to glare at the man, and continued. “They’re a fucking do-gooder club.”

Well, I wouldn’t call it that, but…

He turned to face me, met my gaze, and stared. After a moment of our eyes remaining locked, he leaned forward slightly and cleared his throat.

“What’s your hustle?” he asked.

He was asking what, if any, criminal activity the club was going to participate in to support themselves. Not all, but some 1% MCs ventured into a criminal enterprise.

I shook my head. “We don’t have one, nor will we. Simply some local fellas that have a common love for bikes, riding, and enjoying the open road. I’m a former Marine, and the brotherhood a club offers is important to me. We don’t need a hustle to support the club.”

He leaned back into his seat and nodded his head once.

“I say we vote,” he said. “They’re not claiming territory and they aren’t going to interfere with the business of any of the clubs in attendance. If a club isn’t here, as far as I’m concerned, they don’t care, and therefore have no say. We’ve been here thirty minutes, and that’s about twenty-eight too fucking long.”

He paused and turned his head toward the left and then toward the right. The meeting was a fly by the seat of your pants affair that no one was really in charge of, and although many had asked questions over the last thirty minutes, the Selected Sinners President seemed to be the one in charge, or at least he was taking charge.

“All in favor?” he asked.

“Aye,” voices from the group rang out.

“Opposed?” he asked.

Silence.

I glanced at Ripp and Shane and grinned. “There you have it, fellas. It’s official.”

“Appreciate all your time,” I said as I stood from my seat.

As a matter of respect, I waited for the men to stand up and either come speak to me or show their lack of interest and go speak to someone else. The first man to come speak was the president of the Selected Sinners.

“Slice,” he said as he stepped in front of me. “Welcome to Texas.”