irrevocable

{Twenty-Three}

What It Takes // Aerosmith

Jackson

"What crisis do we have to solve this time?" Brax asks as he enters the garage, pulling up a crate to sit on. He's bouncing his son on his lap as he looks around the room at the few assembled Reapers who came running as soon as Grinder called.

Grinder approaches Brax, arms out. "Give me my boy."

Brax smiles, shakes his head and hands his son, little Robby, over to Grinder. The boy smiles a drooly smile and tugs on Grinder's beard.

"Every time," Grinder grumbles as he disentangles his beard from the kid's chubby fingers.

"You wanted him." Brax shrugs. "Savanna is making my favorite tonight and I don't want to get home to a cold dinner. What's going on?"

Grinder looks across the room at the hardened club members, wrinkled with age and I suspect a level of cynicism. These guys are weathered. All of them came willingly but I wonder if they're here more out of obligation than desire. Grinder's the leader by default, not by their choosing based on what I've heard. From what he's told me, he's changed the club drastically from what they once were, no longer thieving or running illegal businesses with heavy hands. Grinder insisted this was the next step needed to deal with Judge. The club decides together according to him, and this falls under club business. So be it. I cross my arms as I lean against the wall and look on. I don't have a say in any of it, but I'll be damned if I keep quiet at the first sign of anyone brushing his actions under the rug. Holly doesn't deserve this. Neither does her mom. It's long past time something was done about it.

"I want to hear anything any of you knows about Judge's comings and goings. He's now a liability and before I remove him from club status, I want the facts." Grinder proceeds to catch everyone up to speed on what's been going on with Holly and her mom, what we know about the interaction he's had with my mom over the years, and the hints we have about him being involved in illegal activity.

"Jeez," Brax groans, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm getting some deja-vu here."

"True," Grinder says. "But in this case, Judge isn't running the show the way your uncles did. He's a worker bee for something."

The guy next to me clears his throat. He's called Mud, another crazy club nickname. I've never met him before today but when Grinder called him, my dad told me he's a long time Reaper. He looks the part of a biker club, too. Long hair pulled back into a ponytail paired with a scraggly beard that rolls over a beer gut makes him appear almost homeless. If it weren't for his refurbished Harley and the leather vest with the Reapers emblem, I'd think he was asking for a handout.

"Mud, you got something to say?" Grinder presses the guy who I must admit, looks uncomfortable with the conversation.

"Well, see, I don't exactly know." The guy pulls on the back of his neck. "Judge is a tight-lipped guy, but he made mention of a woman he frequented a time or two."

Grinder looks on with a raised brow, waiting for the guy to continue. I feel a little sick to my stomach so it's fine with me if he doesn't want to say more.

"Ya know, he never mentioned her name but would smirk a lot. Mostly at gatherings when Butch was around. Judge would give him a greeting then retreat to my side, nudge me and say something lewd about men who couldn't satisfy their wives. Anyone in the vicinity could hear. We'd all chuckle a little and move on. That was pretty much it, but I always thought it was strange he'd say things after talking to Butch. Took me a while to notice, but once I did it was like something I couldn't unsee. He did it every single time, like clockwork."