Page 5 of Ruger's Rage
The only thing she does is look straight at me and I know what that means.
It means I'd better not argue with her.
This woman has survived her first husband's death and raised a child that wasn't her own while building a nursing career.
The things my uncle has done won't ever diminish the steel in her spine.
By one in the morning, church is filled with every patched member.
Confusion riddles everyone's faces when they see Aunt Ellie sitting beside me, her injuries impossible to hide.
My uncle Striker is the last to arrive, striding in like he owns the place—which, technically, he does.
He freezes when he sees his wife.
His eyes dart from Ellie to me. "What the fuck is this?"
"Church," I reply calmly, standing at the head of the table where the VP's place is. "Take your seat, Prez."
Something dangerous flickers in his eyes, but he complies, settling into his chair at the table's head.
The way he ignores my aunt Ellie's presence tells me everything I need to know about the man I once idolized.
"Brothers," I begin, looking around the table at the men who have become my family. "I've called this emergency meeting because we have a situation that can't wait until morning. A direct violation of our most sacred code."
Striker's jaw tightens.
He knows what's coming.
"Our code says we protect our women. Our code says we honor family." I gesture toward Ellie. "Look at what was done to her tonight. Look at what's been done to her for years while we all looked the other way."
"This is my business," Striker interrupts, his voice cold. "Not for an open forum."
"When it's your wife, my aunt, sitting here with broken ribs and a face that barely looks human anymore, it becomes everyone's fuckin' business," I counter.
The room falls silent again, the tension thick enough to choke on.
"You making accusations, VP?" Striker asks, emphasizing my rank as a reminder of his authority over me.
"I'm not accusing anyone," I say. "Ellie is."
All eyes turn to her.
She straightens in her chair, wincing at the pain the movement causes, but her voice is steady when she speaks.
"For three years, he's been using me as a punching bag whenever things go wrong with the club, whenever he drinks too much, whenever the mood strikes him." Her words are simple, matter of fact. "Tonight wasn't even the worst. Tonight was just the night I finally ran."
The expressions around the table range from shock to fury.
Striker isn't even bothered in the least bit. It's as if this isn't bad, like it's something that should be happening.
"My ol' lady, my business," he says dismissively. "Club matters stay at the table. Family matters stay at home."
A few of the older members nod, ingrained in the traditional ways of the MC world where women are possessions more than partners.
But I see the younger ones shifting uncomfortably, the world changing around them in ways the old bucks refuse to acknowledge.
"Then let's put it to a vote," I suggest, playing my hand. "Club code says no brother raises a hand to a woman. Club code says we protect our own." I look around the table. "Is Ellie one of our own? Or is she just property to be used and discarded?"
