Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(69)
His wrinkled face smiled. “You're a good boy, Jackson. All you boys.”
He looked up, taking my hand for a second, before I let him go back to clutching the bloodied trophies he was holding. “Dusty, you've done right by this club. Right by me. You did what you said, even if it was a long goddamned detour.”
“No. Don't deserve none of that praise. Truth is,” Dust said, standing up, pulling his pipe from his lips. “Every man here made this happen. It should've happened sooner, if we'd been stronger, and I f*ckin' lied so it didn't.”
Everybody went silent. Yeah, I'd forgiven his lying ass for holding me back on my choke chain for years. But the rest of the brothers? Who the f*ck knew.
They'd gotten their shit together well enough to come storming in with the Grizzlies, kicking Deads' ass. Didn't mean the wound was closed. Half the boys around me looked like they were seething, waiting for an apology that hadn't come.
Dust cocked his head, looking around. “Everybody here, you delayed the vote on whether or not you wanted me to put down the gavel so we could deal with Hatch and his *s. That was the right choice. Now, ain't my place to say what's right and wrong anymore. It's up to you. I owe you boys that vote.”
Grandpa looked at him slowly, and the two men locked eyes.
“You strike me down,” Dust said, a tremble in his voice. “That's your damned right by the club charter. I'll step down in peace and pass the Prez patch to Joker, 'til you decide whoever the f*ck you want running this club permanently. That's the other reason you're here, Don. You've got yourself a vote as long as you're alive and breathing. You rode with my old man, Skin's old man, and all the brothers who ain't here anymore to make a choice one way or another. You weigh in with the rest of us.”
Grandpa leaned in his chair, the scrap of Hatch's cut dropping to the ground. He looked at me. “Joker votes first. It's only right.”
All eyes were on me. I stood up, grinding my teeth through the pain, steadying myself on that f*cked up walker.
“Brothers, I know what Dust did. His shit cut all of us, but it cut me the f*ckin' deepest. He lied, sure. Fuck, though, he kept us alive.” I paused, feeling the tension roil the air. “You demote him, I'll take his patch for ten days. No more. I don't want the f*ckin' gavel. Going through the shit I did – all the beatings, the torture, watching that piece of shit taunt me with my own kid – it flung my head around 'til I came face-to-face with God. He told me exactly how I oughta live the rest of my life, and I'd be a damned fool to say no. I'm doing my duty to this club, to my brothers, but I ain't taking on any more. Soon as I'm healed up, I'm going home every second I'm not here. I'm gonna give my woman and my son the world.”
Slowly, the brothers began nodding. They understood.
No matter how much shit went flying between us, sometimes, we all had each other in our hearts.
Always. Fuckin' always.
Dust was about to start the vote, looking at Firefly first, but I stopped him in his tracks.
“We're not finished yet. Every brother gets to speak before this shit goes down, and I'm putting in my word. I want Dust keeping the gavel.” A couple men snorted, and others balled their fists. “He's a motherf*cker for lying about my brother, but he's been a f*ckin' hero every time the bullet meets the gun. He just cut us a deal with clubs a helluva a lot bigger than us, ten states away, when they wouldn't have given us a f*ckin' second of their time a couple weeks ago.
I turned, staring at Firefly, his blue eyes raging the most. “Whatever the hell he did, or didn't do, that counts for something. Something big. There's nobody else I'd want at the helm when the blood flies, and we've got more coming. Sooner or later, it always comes. There's always f*ckin' more, but gutting the Deads in Georgia like we just did, looks like there'll be a little less to worry about for the first time in forever.”
I sat back down. Fuck, that felt amazing, especially when the fire in my legs had been about to put me under.
“We'll start with you, Veep, because we already know your vote. All in favor of turning me out, handing over the President patch, say 'aye.'”
“Nay,” I said, without a second of hesitation.
“Nay.” Grandpa voted the same. He looked at me and bowed his head, more respect shining in his eyes than he'd shown me since the night they butchered Piece.
Two more Nays came quick. Sixty, moving onto Skin, who both voted the same way.
Club charter said it took seventy percent to elect a President or turn him out.
“Aye.” First one came from Lion, who'd taken a f*ckin' beating a few months back, almost as bad as mine at the hands of the Torches MC. “We need fresh blood, somebody who'll give it to us straight.”
He stared at the Prez, anger in his eyes. Turned my damned stomach, but I respected his balls, him and Tin both for flexing nuts when they were the newest boys here.
His closest brother, Tin, followed with another Aye. If the tension was like a vice before, it felt like we'd dropped ten thousand feet beneath the ocean, the pressure caving in our skulls.
The vote moved to Crawl, staring at us through his long dark hair, a hint of Hispanic in his skin. His old man had been Brazilian or Argentinian or some shit.