"The Prez—" He cleared his throat. "Ex-Prez, the VP, the Secretary, and the Road Captain were on the take."
"You didn’t think to contact West Orange?"
"And do what? Snitch?" He scoffed. "Yeah, right."
"You know why?"
"They had bad coke habits," he admitted gruffly.
"Why didn’t you say anything?"
Slayer gritted his teeth. "Which part ain’t you understanding, Storm? I’m not a goddamn snitch."
I respected that, more than he’d probably comprehend, especially as he looked like he was bracing himself for a reprimand. "How’d you feel about becoming my Secretary?"
He reared back, his surprise clear. "Huh? Me?"
"Yeah, you." Fuck, don’t be a dumbass and make me take back the offer, I thought to myself, suddenly weary with how slow this process was going.
He swallowed. "You sure? I ain’t got no schooling or nothing. Just learned what I know on the job."
"Even better. I’d prefer goddamn experience over letters after your name."
Well, that wasn’t exactly true.
Look at Cruz—more degrees than a doctor and a wicked chemist as a result.
Sometimes, ya needed the letters when it came down to destroying dead bodies and turning them into goop so the authorities couldn’t find dick.
Slayer blinked. "Well, sure, then. I mean, I’d love to be Secretary."
I waved my hand at the table. "Come and take your place."
Glancing back at the group of men, I decided to get on with this before they ended up pissing me off even more.
Plus, I had Keira and Cyan here, I’d prefer to spend my time with them than these assholes.
Okay, brothers.
Not assholes.
Brothers.
Maybe if I said it enough, then I’d fucking feel that way.
Barely refraining from grinding my teeth, I disregarded the idiots who hadn’t recognized the Sparrows when I’d mentioned them. Then, I discounted the ones who were morons and hadn’t come to the realization that this place was falling down around them.
That left twelve.
Pursing my lips, I asked, "Slayer, did any of the guys in here question what Butch was doing? Make noises about Peggy’s authority over the MC?"
He wiggled uneasily in his new seat. "It ain’t my place to say, Storm."
"You’re on the council now, fucker. If you want to be Secretary, start acting like you’re a councilor. Your loyalty is to the brotherhood first, then the individual. If you can’t deal with that, then that’s your fucking problem and, I repeat, you know where the goddamn door is."
Slayer gritted his teeth, but murmured, "Mash, GIF, Techie, Sweet Lips, Picasso, DD, and Shadow. They questioned shit."
I dipped my chin, relieved that those names aligned with my earlier assessment. "Okay, all of you, come and take your place at the council table."
As their eyes widened with shock, that was nothing to Grim’s reaction. "The fuck? You know I should be VP!" Once again, he was on his goddamn feet.
"I don’t know dick about you being VP. Thinking you deserve it and deserving it are two separate things entirely," I snarled back, before I lifted my hand and ticked off, "You didn’t know about the Famiglia, or the Sparrows, didn’t even question shit about Peggy, for fuck’s sake.
"VPs need a functioning brain," I mocked. "They need to have critical thinking skills and shouldn’t be afraid to speak out for the good of the club—none of which you just did. In fact, you spoke up about the only fucking thing that this chapter has done right for years by the sound of it.
"Now, get your ass back in that chair and stop bitching like a pussy before I make sure you take your last breath." He plunked his ass down like I’d smacked him in the face. "If you got shit to say, then there’ll be a time and a place that ain’t here or now. This is church. This is for councilors."
I scanned a look over the rest of the room, taking in all the brothers, and found mostly relieved looks, some confused ones, but only Grim was mega pissed.
The problem with his anger, when tangled with a bruised ego and his dumbfuck brain, I knew he’d be trouble along the way.
Scrubbing a hand over my chin as I tucked keeping an eye on him onto my mental to-do list, I muttered, "If any of you don’t like that you ain’t been chosen today, it’s tough shit.
"If you decide that the way to get back at me is to hurt the MC, or to act against the chapter, then just know, I’ll make the Spanish goddamn Inquisition look friendly when I respond to whatever infractions are taken against the Sinners." I made sure to slam that threat home by staring at Grim, long enough for him to reach up and rub his throat. When he bowed his head, finally breaking eye contact with me, to everyone else, I stated, "Right, as for the rest of you, thank you for coming here but you can go and hang out with your families now."
As they scampered off, leaving me with my new council, I rubbed my hands together, turned to face them, and declared, "Let the Hunger Games begin."
Five
Storm
PAST - Twenty-two years ago
"You’re gonna break your fucking hand you keep on doing it that way, boy."
I twisted around to smirk at Bear. "I ain’t gonna break shit."
"How many times I gotta tell you? Thumb out, not tucked in."
"That’s how Coot lost his fucking thumb," I argued.
"He lost it because he’s a dipshit, Asher. Not because he had his thumb tucked in or out. Boy couldn’t keep his bones together if his skeleton was taped up."
King laughed. "Dad has a point."
I glowered at him, then shoved him in the side. "Fuck off."
He smirked. "That sounds like you think I’m right."
"Storm’s always gotta be right, so it’s a shame he’s always fuckin’ wrong," Nyx retorted.
King snickered, but Bear huffed out a sigh as he trudged over to me, grabbed a hold of my hand and properly fixed up my form. "Remember, hand out, fingers straight, thumb cocked. Curl your fingers in, curve your thumb and press against your index and middle finger. Keep your hand and forearm straight, and make sure you punch with your knuckles.
"Got high hopes for you, son. They don’t include the insurance nightmare with the surgery you’d need to get your hand working again when you break it."
"It feels better with my thumb inside my fist," I complained, even though I appreciated his advice.
I had… issues. That was the kindest way to phrase it, and beating the shit out of stuff put me on a more even keel.
That was why my brothers and me were always down here.
If I didn’t work out, I lost my shit.
A broken hand wasn’t something we could afford, and it had nothing to do with health insurance.
"Won’t when you snap your goddamn thumb," he retorted. "But hey, you carry on doing you and I’ll make sure I don’t cover your surgery when you get a compound fracture."
I grunted as I made to jab at him, but he was quick enough to back off before he grabbed my arm, jerked me around, then twisted it up along my back.