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Will was also voted in.
Poet stood from the table and glared at Dragon as his son-in-law moved to help him.
I stood straight as the men around me rose from their chairs and Poet moved against the wall, sweating as he stood straight and tall.
Then everyone moved.
Dragon swallowed hard as he braced his hands on the table in what was once Slider’s place. Then he tapped it twice and sat down.
Grease followed suit in the seat Poet had just vacated.
Will’s seat stayed empty. I wondered if he knew what was happening at the club and chose to miss it, or if his dad hadn’t mentioned it.
“Well,” Poet said roughly to me, gesturing with his arm when I was the last man standing.
I moved around the table slowly and pulled out my new chair, not meeting anyone’s eyes as I dropped down.
Subdued clapping and cheering filled the room, and I was thankful for it. It sure as shit wasn’t the best circumstances to become an officer, but it was mine. My night.
“Sit down before you fall down, old man,” Dragon suddenly barked at Poet, who was looking really fucking gray.
Casper kicked Will’s chair away from the table, and Poet hobbled his way over, taking a seat, but remaining separate from the table.
“News?” Grease asked, bracing his elbows on the table. I watched him silently for a moment as he fidgeted and noticed how much he’d aged in the past week. His hair and beard had little streaks of gray that I’d never noticed before.
“Congrats, Hulk,” Samson said quietly, reaching over to grip my shoulder, and I nodded my thanks. He’d been completely silent at every other meeting I’d attended in that room, more of an observer than anything. I wondered if he ever gave input, or just stayed to keep on top of shit going down with the club.
“Two boys from Western Oregon University, one from University of Oregon,” Poet announced to the room. “Those are the dead ones.”
Grease turned his head and spit on the floor.
“Contact in the police department says the roommate of the U of O kid was involved. Haven’t been able to find him. Not sure if he went home for the summer, or what.”
“Name?” Casper barked.
“That’s it?” Dragon asked in confusion. “Only four of ’em?”
“Looks like it,” Poet answered, shaking his head. “They were doin’ little shit. Kid shit. That fuckin’ attack was—it didn’t make any fuckin’ sense.”
“Little cunts,” Smokey rasped, his breath labored.
“Name?” Casper asked again.
“Steve Smith,” Poet replied. “Waitin’ to hear where he’s from. Maybe he’s run home to Mummy and Daddy.”
“He’s mine,” Grease announced, his voice resolute.
“Steven fuckin’ Smith? Jesus, like finding a needle in a haystack,” Casper commented in disgust. “Talk about the most average name in the fuckin’ United States.”
His words nagged at me. Average. There was something right at the edge of my mind, but I couldn’t grab hold of it.
A knock sounded at the door and all our heads snapped up in surprise. Casper pushed to his feet and opened the door.
“I’m sorry. Really sorry, but Patrick’s not supposed to be—”
“Wife!” Poet bellowed, his face a mixture of embarrassment and fury.
“Don’t ye use that tone with me, Patrick Gallagher!” Amy’s voice was shaking, and oddly had a hint of a Scottish accent. “I’ll twist yer balls straight off yer body.”
I covered my mouth with one hand to hide my smile and dropped my eyes to the table. If I met anyone’s eyes right then, I’d fucking lose it.
Dragon helped Poet get to his feet, and the old man stomped off the best he could while putting very little pressure on his wounded thigh. When the door closed behind him and we couldn’t hear him bitching at his wife anymore, the entire room roared with laughter.
“Did you see her face?” Grease asked, a small smile on his face. “She probably woulda tore off his balls.”
“Nah, she needs ’em,” Casper argued, his voice hitching as he tried to fight off his guffaws.
“Aw, fuck. That’s disgustin’,” I groaned, making a new round of laughter roll through the room.
Dragon’s eyes were crinkled at the corners as he glanced around the table, meeting each of our eyes one by one. “I’ll do my best,” he announced seriously, his face falling back into severe lines.
Every single man went silent as we nodded.
“We gotta talk arrangements,” he said roughly, leaning back in his chair.
“Farrah’s been takin’ care of Slider, Vera and Gram,” Casper announced. “Got ’em at a funeral home—” his voice broke and he cleared his throat. “Waitin’ on details from you.”
Dragon nodded. “You got the cash for that?” he asked bluntly.
“No,” Casper answered. “With Lily…”
My stomach rolled. “I got it,” I cut in. “Got some savings.”
“Got a baby on the way,” Casper argued.
“And income comin’ in, we’ll be fine—” I shot back.
“Club’ll handle it.” Dragon cut me off. “Least we can do. Clear?”
