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Numerous eyes dart in Archer’s direction, but no one speaks. Archer slowly gets to his feet, the pen in front of him clattering across the desk as his arm inadvertently hits it. Killer slaps his hand out, grabbing it. Archer ignores his errant stationery.
Once he is standing, he turns to Holton, shrugging out of his cut.
“Sorry, Prez.” His words are heavy with emotion. Holton’s lips thin, his eyes suspiciously bright as he claps his old friend on the shoulder.
“Life’s a fucking bitch,” Holton growls. There are murmurs of assent around the table.
Taking a deep breath, Archer presses his cut into Holton’s hands.
“I nominate Viper as secretary.”
Holton nods, taking the cut. Archer sinks back into his seat, still jerking around. Killer vaults out of his chair.
“I second the nomination.”
I join the boys in slapping my hand on the wooden table, signaling my approval of the nomination. Killer doesn’t immediately take his seat, reaching across and placing the pen back on the notepad in front of Archer with a nod. He also puts a joint there.
Their eyes lock, and Archer nods stiffly at him, a deliberate movement contrasting with his involuntary ones.
“We’ll miss you, Archer,” Killer says, dropping back into his seat. Holton clears his throat, and the table slapping dies away.
“Show of hands, boys. Viper for secretary.”
One by one, all hands raise around the table. Archer is the last to raise his.
“Unanimous,” Holton nods, clapping Archer on the shoulder again. Killer vaults out of his seat again, striding out of the room.
Palmer, to my left, lifts his hand and claps Archer on the other shoulder, where he’s sitting beside him. The doors behind us creak open again, and Killer strides back in, Viper trailing him.
Archer stands, crossing to Viper, grasping his hand, and simultaneously clapping him on the shoulder. He says something, and Viper lowers his head, eyes closing. Viper’s other hand comes up to grip Archer’s upper arm.
Killer keeps walking, collecting Archer’s cut and taking it over to the door. Tammy-Lynn reaches in, taking the cut, and ten seconds later, her hand reappears, handing Killer theSecretarypatch she has removed and the cut. Killer brings them both back to the table, laying them in front of Holton and taking his seat.
Archer and Viper finish their conversation, moving back to the table. Holton hands Archer his cut, and Archer nods, slowly leaving the room. It’s dead silent until the door swings closed behind him.
Once Archer has left, Holton claps Viper on the shoulder, holding up theSecretarypatch. Viper’s throat moves as he visibly swallows.
“Welcome to the inner sanctum, son,” Holton drawls. “Secretary. Unanimous. We’re putting a lot of faith in you. Don’t fuck it up.”
“Not a chance, Prez,” Viper chokes out, his fingers closing around the patch.
“Tammy-Lynn will sort that out for you when we go to the bar for a drink. In the meantime, we have another order of business.”
Holton steers Viper into Archer’s seat between Palmer and Aric. Only once Viper’s ass has hit the plush leather does Holton let go, striding away to resume his place at the head of the table, though he doesn’t sit.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Viper staring wondrously at the highly polished wooden table in front of him, placing both hands on the smooth surface with reverence.
“Another vote, boys.” Holton’s voice rings out, and all eyes snap to him. What the fuck? Another one? Who? “Darius White.”
“Who the fuck is Darius White?” Buster frowns from where he’s seated across the oval table from me. Grinning, I roll my eyes at him.
“Rattler,” I supply. Buster is still frowning. Fucking road crew.
“Hang around behind the bar,” Bruiser grunts from beside Buster.
Buster’s face clears, and he nods. “What about the kid?”
Holton smirks, shaking his head. “We’re voting on his prospecting, genius.”
