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Maverick let the moment sit and swell before he said, “No.”
Eight added his voice. “No. JJ keeps his patch.”
As the rest of the club relaxed and grinned, and Gargoyle clapped Zach on the back, Maverick said, “There needs to be some price he pays.”
“You mean like a kidney?” Zach retorted.
“No, kid,” Maverick shot back. “I mean he owes the club. There’s a reason freelancing is against the rules. He could’ve pulled us into a world of hurt, and it’s dumb fucking luck he didn’t. What he didn’t know about the guys he was playing with could fill a fucking encyclopedia. He needs to pay.”
Caleb leaned in. “So we levy him. We pull, say, twenty percent of his take, for however long, and put it in the club chest.”
Apollo nodded. “Six months. That’s enough to hurt, so he won’t forget.”
“He’s already having trouble making his dues,” Gunner said. “Let’s not push him into more trouble.”
Jazz laughed. “You’re getting soft in your old age, Gun. If you think JJ’s stupid enough to pull this shit again, under any circumstances, maybe we need to redo that vote.”
“We don’t,” Zach said at once. “He won’t fuck up again. I vouch. I’ll keep him in line.”
Seeing that there were too many opinions happening at the table, and the question was getting scrambled, Eight stepped in. “I think six months at twenty percent penalty fits the situation. If JJ can’t figure out a way to stay above water during that time, that’s a different problem to deal with when it is a problem. Do we need to vote the levy?”
All the heads around him shook, including Zach’s, which was as good as a vote in his eyes. “Okay. Next: Dunc. He’s about to time out. We need to decide what to do. He’s caught up in JJ’s mess, so we gotta talk that out. Let’s put it all on the table before we figure out what the vote is. Mav, he’s your boy, so go ahead and say your piece.”
But Maverick surprised the whole table. “I’m not gonna fight it anymore. Duncan wants this. You know I wish he wanted something else, but he doesn’t. Jay says Dunc had no idea what he was up to until it was happening. As a prospect, there wasn’t much he could do to stop him, anyway. He’s a good boy. He’s smart, and he’s strong. He’ll be a good mechanic. He’s a better shot than I am. He’s been a solid prospect. Most of you have pointed out at some point that if he weren’t my kid, I’d have said yes on the first vote, and that’s probably true. Jenny and I talked, and the risk of losing him over this is bigger than the risk of losing him in club violence. So if I’m the only one holding him up, I won’t anymore. But I want to be the last vote.”
Whoa. The whole table sat there in stunned silence. Maverick had been fighting his kid over this for two fucking years—longer than that, in fact. Since Dunc had been in high school, making it known he wanted a patch.
Into that heavy quiet, Eight looked down the table and said, “Gargo, you want to put his name up for a vote again?”
“I do. Like Mav says, Dunc’s been a good prospect. I think he’s ready for a patch. But I don’t want to extend him. If we don’t give him a patch today, it’s time to stop dicking him around and kick him, let him figure something else out for his life.”
“Anybody else got a word?” A lot of eyes scanned the table, but no one spoke up. “Then the vote is this: All those in favor of making Duncan Helm our next patch, say ‘Aye.’ Dex, you first.”
It was unanimous. Grinning, Caleb and Gargoyle both stood. Caleb went to the cabinet at the back of the room, and Gargoyle headed for the door. Duncan was out in the party room.
“Hold up, Gargo,” Maverick said, rising from his seat. “You mind if I get him?”
That was a break in tradition—the sponsor always patched his prospect—but Gargoyle stepped back with a nod. After all the shit they’d been through over it, it meant more for Maverick to welcome his son into the Bulls.
He went out, and the table was quiet. Caleb put the new patch and flash under his own kutte. Normally, they did a big fake-out when they patched someone new, making the prospect think he was in trouble before surprising him with the news. But with Duncan, Eight thought it would be a mistake. The kid had been through a lot, wanting it so bad, fighting for it so hard, knowing his own father was holding him back.
Eight looked to Caleb, and then around at the others. “Let’s not fuck with him. Let’s play this one straight.”
He got a few strange looks he couldn’t interpret, but everybody nodded their agreement. Apollo stood and went for one of the spare chairs against the back wall. Other patches shifted their seats, making a space next to Zach, and Apollo pushed the chair in. Caleb set the new patch and flash on the table before it.
He’d just returned to his seat when the door opened, and Maverick came through. Eight could tell by his expression that he hadn’t told his son what was going on, but he also hadn’t played it up like trouble.
Duncan came in behind his father, looking worried. Of course he’d figured what was going on in this special meeting.
Then his eyes landed on the big, pristine Bull on the table before an empty chair. He looked straight at Eight, his eyes shouting the question.
“Welcome to the Bulls, Duncan,” Eight said, and the table exploded into cheers.
Duncan’s mouth dropped open. He turned to his father, who nodded.
The room was loud, men were clapping and cheering, getting up out of their seats to congratulate the kid. But Eight sat where he was, watching father and son. He saw Maverick sayI’m proud of youand pull his kid into his arms, and he saw the way Duncan held on, his fists clutching hunks of his father’s weathered kutte.
For the first time in his life, Eight wanted to know the power of that bond.
