Beretta (MC#1)

Chapter 11- Him

"The Wizards, Cobras and Serpents from the East side and The Coyotes- the only gang in the West- are now all operating under one single headquarters", Iron says looking at documents with a foreign club's seal on it. Stolen documents, nice.

"They've all signed a deed handing over all governing rights for the next 10 years. Brothers, can you identify this patch emblem?", He turns over the page and three grinning skulls stare back at us, eyes glowing and sharp teeth gleaming as the sun glints off the shiny thread. A Cobra and a Serpent shape peaks from behind the skulls.

"I travelled to each and every chapter of ours, asked all nomads then told them to ask ahead. No one has any idea which club it represents,", Rogue speaks out from his position at the end of the table, looks at Iron who gives a quick, small nod. "Which can only mean one thing- It's a new emblem. Look at it, the cobra," he points at the cobra in the back, "-the serpent," he points at the serpent, "this patch is being renewed as more clubs sign over rights". Nobody speaks, nobody even nods, or breathe too loudly. Silence. Silence in the church is never a good thing. It means nobody has a solution to argue over.

Raven and Vegas look worriedly from their positions outside the circle. Biker customs and some shit. Apparently, back in the day women were considered not smart enough to be included on the table where all the men are gathered. The women were cast aside, not allowed to speak or even present solutions. It's still that way in many clubs- women used like breeding cattle, like a body to find comfort in and that's It, but we found a way to work around that particular custom when Raven demanded to know the internal workings of the club before marrying Diesel.

And so, women are now allowed inside church but not on the table. They're allowed to listen and speak only when something directly concerns them, and we can't proceed without their input. A tough compromise on both sides as others looked down on us for this little concession, members spoke out. But I understood the need for change.

"The Coyotes are of an exceptionally strong leadership; Sting would never allow someone else controls of his club. Like us, Coyotes also date back, passed down from family to family", Diesel finally says after some intense thinking. I have no idea what is going on in that brain of his as he falls back into silence, threading his fingers through his beard with the barest hint of gray hiding behind the black. He is the President, groomed and trained for scheming, predicting and counterattacks since a young age. He thinks at a level no one could attain, sights scenarios no one could fathom. Like a true King protecting what's his.

"Which only means one thing, Prez", Roadkill adds. "They're being threatened or blackmailed"

"And we might be next", everyone looks at me, but I just look at Diesel, willing him to understand my turmoil, to understand the war inside me as I can't help but see yet another clubhouse blown to pieces with the people in it.

I take out one of the knives strapped to my waist and run it over my arm under the table. No one sees and no one hears. Except Don, who nudges me under the table. The brother reads me so well, knows me so well that he can tell what I'd do next. A scary thought, given the thoughts that haunt me lately and the impulses that urge me lately.

"No, no that couldn't be soon", Roadkill looks at me then at everyone else in the room, except the two women. It's better he pretends they don't exist than to, yet again, try to get them out of the room. Vegas would do his head in. A strong one that one.

"Whoever it is, they have the East side of the territory and the West in their control. They'd go North from there, try to get the Bacchus to yield because that's what they'd use against us. They'd surround us until there's no other option but to yield. Which, I know, that all of us would rather die than do", Diesel nods at the idea, finally coming out of his glazed look.