He rubs a hand through his beard, scratching it before taking a paper from the file folder. He looks at it, then tosses it down. “I’m not much for legal jargon, but from what I can see in our lease agreement and the addendum that the previous owner wrote in before putting the place on the market, if the new owner breaks the agreement in any capacity, we have full repercussion to go after them for breach of contract and damages caused by displacement of the club.”
“In other words,” King cuts in, taking the conversation over. All heads snap to where he sits at the opposite end of the table. “If the new owner gives us shit, we give him hell.”
“Or we seek legal action, but sure, that too.” Headsfly back to Cain. A few men chuckle at the comment, and for the first time since joining the Sinners, I see the president's lip lift in the faintest smirk.
Shoving the papers back into the folder, Cain leans back again, and I watch as he meets eyes with a man who sits a few seats from me.
Damon.
As the club's enforcer, Damon is the eyes and ears of the Sinner’s Warlord and makes sure the club's name only comes out of everyone’s mouths in a positive light.
Although I have only attended two other Church meetings, and he has only spoken at one, I quickly learned it is never good when Damon has something to say.
My focus is glued to him as he cracks his knuckles, then crosses his arms over his chest. “Northwood P.D. is accusing the Sinners of being behind a small string of robberies in their city. Three auto-shops have been broken into, the vehicles inside stripped of parts.”
Damon barely finishes his sentence before anger erupts. Fists slam on the table, and shouts ring out. A few even fly from their chairs and start yelling at each other in disbelief.
Looking at Cain, I find him calm, watching the scene unfold. Damon, King, and I do the same, where everyone else allows their emotions to control them.
After several moments of allowing the club to voice their frustrations, Cain speaks in a tone that is deadly, controlled, and final. “Enough.”
The word is audible but not loud, yet it silences the room immediately.
It is my understanding that Cain is new to his title of club presidency, and newer to the club itself. Nixon explained to me that while typically a club member is initiated into a higher ranking from within, the former president proposed Cain for his role, knowing King didn’t want the position.
It surprised several that Cain was voted into the position, although I can easily see why he was chosen, despite the doubt that sometimes flashes behind his eyes.
Cain is a good man, but I sense he has his secrets. There is a deep regret that’s settled just below the surface, and it makes me curious to learn what it is, though I know he will not divulge that information unless our friendship becomes more deep-rooted. He doesn’t seem like the over-sharing, personal information type.
“Northwood’s my hometown, and I may have moved from there, but my family hasn’t.”
Many of the men furrow their brows, wondering where Cain’s going with this, but I see his picture quite clearly. He is telling them he has connections.
It’s fascinating how many people in this room are not picking up on his subtle hints, or how Cain clearly already has a plan, or at least an idea, on how to diffuse this situation.
“So, uh?” someone from the far end of the table asks.
Exasperated and ready to hear the rest of what is to be said, I do something I have yet to do since joining Sinner’s Warlord. I interject.
“So what il nostro presidente is trying to say is the situation is already handled.”
Our eyes meet, and he slowly offers half a nod before taking over again. “My dad’s old golf buddies with the captain of the P.D. Tomorrow, a few of us will take a drive over there and get this all sorted.”
“Who you takin’?” Silas, the club’s road captain, asks.
Cain looks around at the men seated around his table. “You,” he says to Silas, then his gaze drifts as he decides. “Damon, Nix. And you too, pretty boy. Now, everyone out. We’re done for today.”
Shocked that he would want me to come along, I can’t help but to question him as everyone accepts their dismissal and stands to leave the room. “Why do you want me to go?”
It is not that I’m not interested in going, but that I find it curious he would want me to. I’m new, and I suspect he has yet to fully trust me. Perhaps that is changing.
“Are you questioning my judgment, prospect?”
“Just curious as to why you would bring aprospect.” My tone is dry but lacks any disrespect toward him.
Cain grunts, shaking his head. Standing, he picks up the file and holds it by his side. “Because unlike half the assholes in this club, you actually use that thing that your skull protects. And considering I’m not surewhether we’ll be welcomed into my hometown with open arms, I feel it’s best to have a decent crew along for the ride tomorrow. You going to prove me wrong, pretty boy?”
I rise, stepping away from my chair before I push it in. “I have no reason to make you think otherwise. However, if you do not stop referring to me as ‘pretty boy’, you will find yourself with one less brainandprospect. Is that going to be a problem,amico?”
