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“—Vote’s to check out new business,” he looks squarely at me, his eyes black and round, “without you at the table.”
My stomach drops. I hold his gaze, not wanting to look guilty. Grinding my teeth, I don’t know why I feel so riled. This is what I want. “You want me to leave the room?”
He smiles. “No, brother. We took another vote.”
Mop stands, pushing out his chair.
“Without me?” My hands start shaking, my fists curling. I look at Mop. His face is flat. Hard lined. This is what I knew was coming. They don’t want me anywhere near the club. They have to kick me out. Take everything I have related to Rippers MC. Cut off my ink. Banish and beat me.
“You were busy,” Travis says.
Yeah, busy looking after my family.
Jack steps forward. His shoulders tense. Can he sense this turning sour? I didn’t think it would. But fuck, it just might judging by how Travis’ forehead wrinkles.
“What are you saying?”
Mop walks beside me, clearly backing whatever decision’s been made here. They have no choice but to do what comes next.
My body tightens.
“I’m saying that, when I thought you weren’t coming home, I started getting in the head space that I might actually have to take over this club. I found safe business, stable enough to keep the club on its feet. Then you came back.”
I watch as some bow their heads. The mood around the table, shifting.
“I was so fucking relieved you were back, but it’s obvious,mate.” He turns his frame toward me.
“What is?”
Rubbing a hand down his face, Travis continues. “Another life’s waiting for you.”
My eyes shoot to his.
“We can find business that won’t bring heat to us.” His face softens. “But we voted you out.”
I balk, looking around at them all.
Their heads slowly lift.
“Youvotedmeout?” No pleading needed? No forcing them to listen to why I need to go? “Why?”
Travis shrugs. “We know how rough you’ve had it.”
“But the club…”
Mop rests his hand on my shoulder. “You’re our family, Prez.”
“We look out for family, don’t we?” Skitz adds.
I look around all of them, my hands shaking for a new reason. I sit forwards, linking my hands, pushing my thumbs into the bridge of my nose. My heart’s going like the clappers. “When did you vote?”
Travis leans back in his chair. “When you sacrificed everything for us, knowing what you really needed was the two people downstairs. You deserve to live the life you want, mate, not the one expected of you.”
Is this happening? “But the rules?” I’m unable to look at them.
“Fuck the rules,” Beats says, and it’s then I peer over my hands. “Rules are made to broken.”
None of us have ever questioned the rules for leaving because none of us have ever had reason to leave. The club’s been a lifeline for most of the men in here. It became my life when there was nothing else going for me. Now I have. “What are you saying?” I look at Travis.
