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That would make sense, but it still confuses me. We didn’t take retribution that night or the following days for the death of Ryker’s father, which was another reason that all signs seemed to point to Banner’s involvement. So why come here and make a statement like this again today? Did he not follow through on something? Was there more to the picture that we just haven’t seen yet?
Shit.
If we don’t follow the signs, it will mean we have to share our concerns over the dead Prez, and that would cause uproar right now, which is the exact opposite of what the club needs.
Stability, strength, and family. Three things we have continued to lose over the past few years.
“What’s our move, Prez?” I ask, looking Ryker dead in the eyes, and he offers the subtlest of nods. He knows I’m the thoughtful one, the one that considers every option and outcome, and he knows I wouldn’t be bringing it to the table like this if it wasn’t the right option.
“Retaliation on the Ice Reapers. If not for today’s events, then there will be some solace from my father’s death as we smear their blood across their home.”
Fists pound on the table, thumping in time with one another in a chant of agreement.
Could innocent people die? Yes, but that’s the game we play when we choose this life.
“When do we roll out, Prez?” Axel asks, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips, as Ryker reaches for the gavel.
He twirls the handle in his hand, then makes eye contact with every man in the room.
“There’s no time like the present. We leave now.”
The gavel hitting the wood confirms it. The first order from our new Prez, and I will stand right at his side.
Today. Tomorrow. Always.
FIVE
Scarlett
A sigh fallsfrom my lips, alleviating the pressure in my chest as the water continues to pound against my skin. My body is a light shade of pink from scrubbing my limbs so harshly, but it’s worth it. I need the grime and dirt off me. It’s become an almost therapeutic routine for me at this stage. A distraction from the grim and stale, shared shower stalls.
I’m just thankful there’s no one else in here.
Humming along to the soft jazz that echoes around the room, my head falls back with another sigh. Nothing helps reduce the tension of a job like blasting soft jazz loud enough so that it’s heard over the shower while I wash the day away.
I’m no longer trapped in a motorcycle club with men that make me cringe and a life I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Instead, I mentally transport myself to the vibrant atmosphere of New Orleans. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to see the art, sway to the music in the street, and taste the foods that look like they were served straight from heaven.
As if sensing my joyful moment, the water raining down on me instantly turns cold, and I shiver. Glaring up at the shower head, I turn the damn thing off and step out of the cubicle with a huff.
I wrap my pink towel around my body, disappointed that my moment of serenity is broken. My wet hair clings to my skin, making me feel even colder as I rush to grab my cell phone and head back to my room.
The second I swing the door open though, I’m met by utter carnage.
Two men are rolling on the floor, fists flying and grunts vibrating around them.
Turning my music off, I glare at the assholes blocking my way. It’s not the first time there’s been a fist fight here, nor will it be the last. That shit doesn’t bother me; what bothers me is the fact that I’m only wearing a towel and these fuckers are in my way.
“Can you take your dick measuring contest elsewhere? You’re in my way.”
Neither of them acknowledge my words as they continue to brawl, making me even more irritated while I tighten my grip on my towel, holding it in place.
I manage to step to the left with one foot, but the second I do, the sound of gunshots ring out from somewhere else, and my back stiffens.
Fuck.
Something tells me this is more than two Reapers fighting over the same club whore.
With another step, I take in the men still throwing punches and realize the guy with the upper hand isn’t wearing a Reapers’ cut.
