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Of course, Rainer lost. Wolf had three Queens — a far stronger hand than his.
“You can’t fight fate,” Baron commented as Rainer pushed the chips toward a happy-looking Wolf.
“No such thing as fate. I’m just a shitty poker player.”
It wasn’t much longer before the meeting was due to begin. The whole club had showed up to The Den, the official club bar, to hear the reading of the will. It was pretty much agreed that there would be an announcement in the will of the next club president, and it was also pretty much agreed that it would be Baron.
Only problem was, Baron definitely didn’t want to be Prez.
“If it had been six months ago,” Baron had shared with Rainer over a drink about a week ago, “I wouldn’t have thought twice. I’d have accepted, and it would have been the greatest honor of my life. But, you know, since Molly, things have been different.”
Baron had fallen hard in love with a Little from his past, Molly. The two of them had gone through a traumatic experience together, and Baron had vowed to never put Molly in danger again.
“If I did become Prez, I’d be in the firing line. Any enemies of the club would be targeting me first. And that would mean Molly would be in danger, too. I can’t take that risk.”
It had been decided that if Baron’s name was called, there would be a leadership election, which, in Rainer’s mind, was no bad thing. Meant that it would be a decision for the whole club, rather than the inclination of one man.
He didn’t know who’d make the best Prez, but there was one thing hewascertain of: it wouldn’t be him.
It wasn’t that the club wasn’t important to him. It was. In many ways, the Drifters had saved his life. He’d joined the club when he’d been at an exceptionally low point in his life. Without the brotherhood of the other members, and the leadership of Marcus, his life could have led him down a very dark road.
But lead the club? Nah.
The President of an MC needed a very specific skillset. Rainer had some of the skills required. He was straight-talking and was well-respected by the other members of the club. He didn’t take shit from anyone. He was tough and could even be ruthless at times. But… he wasn’t exactly a people person. Diplomacy and deception were not his strong point. Also, he was intolerant of incompetence. Maybe he was impatient, too. And a Prez couldn’t afford to be those things.
Overall, Rainer was fine spending time with people, but he was much happier with his hands full of engine parts, and the smell of grease on the air. Nothing like mechanic work to keep you grounded. And when he wasn’t working on bikes in his shop, he had another hobby which took up the majority of the rest of his time.
The atmosphere in the Den tonight felt a little somber. Normally, Littles and Bigs would be laughing and joking together. Wolf would be mixing mocktails, and Baron would be waxing lyrical about his latest blacksmithing project. Molly would be arguing with Grip about the particular issue of a particular comic book in which a particular character appeared for the first time. It was chaos. Wonderful, happy, maddening chaos.
Tonight, though, it wasn’t like that at all. There was no music. No laughter. Just a bunch of respectfully hushed conversations. Even the Littles were being quiet.
“How long has it been since we scattered the Prez’s ashes?” Wolf asked, wistfully. “Fuck, can’t stop calling him the Prez. Old habits die hard.”
“Three months,” Baron replied. Molly was sitting next to him. Most MCs had a strict “no girls” policy at club meetings, but that particular rule was more relaxed at the Drifters. Sometimes, Littles needed looking after, and that was that.
“Still feels like he’s here,” Rainer said, taking a sip from his bottle.
It was true. Even though it had been a while since they’d said goodbye to Marcus, it still felt as though his ghost haunted the club.
Baron nodded. “I think this’ll help. The reading of the will. Gives us a way to carry out his wishes, then get on with our lives.”
A hush descended over the bar as Tatiana made her way to the front of the room. She was carrying a sealed envelope.
Poor Tati. She’d noticeably lost weight since losing Marcus, and it looked as though she’d aged at least five years in about as many months. She’d been through hell.
“Drifters and friends of the Drifters,” began Tati. “It’s so good to see you all. Thank you for being here for Marcus.”
There was a smattering of words of encouragement and Tati continued.
“As you know, this isn’t a legally binding document. Marcus’ official will has already been dealt with. This document though, is about my partner’s wishes for the future of the club.” She opened the envelope and took out a piece of paper, unfolding it. “Here goes nothing.” Then, she read. “My beloved brothers. My sweet, darling Littles. I’m sorry I’ve left you.” Tati’s voice wavered a little as she tried to control her sadness. “I hope you’ve all raised a glass to me already. If not, do it now, you assholes!”
There was a roar of bittersweet laughter around the room, as Drifters smacked glasses together and drank deep.
“Sorry for cussin’,” Tati said, then continued. “I’m going to keep this short. I’ve thought a lot about who I think should become Prez of the club now that I’m gone. We need someone with a cool head, who’s always got the club’s best interests at heart. We need someone who loves the road, and who’s got the courage to help us deal with bad situations when they come up — and they will come up.” Tati’s eyes widened as she read ahead. She looked straight at Rainer. “With all of this in mind, I nominate Rainer Ortiz to be the next President of the Drifters.”
There was a gasp, and everyone’s eyes turned to stare straight at Rainer.
Ho. Lee. Fuck.
