Grave (Royal Devils MC #1) - Erin Trejo
“I don’t know, brother,” Psycho says as he scratches at the back of his neck. I don’t need his agreement on this.
“You don’t need to know, Psycho. Just need to know it’s gonna happen,” I tell him as I check the ammo in my gun. When I’m satisfied that I’m good, I shove the gun into the back of my jeans. Freak looks between us, not really saying a whole lot which I expected from him. Preacher, on the other hand, he has a lot to say.
“I’m not sayin’ this is a bad thing but why do you need to do it so soon? I thought we were plannin’ this shit out?” he asks, looking right at me. I let out a long breath before grabbing my beer and taking a long pull.
“Plans change, yeah?”
“Fuck that, Grave! He’s the fuckin’ prez, but even more, he’s your dad. You sure you want it to go down like this? I have no problem steppin’ up and you know it.” I smirk at Preacher, knowing damn well he’d like the chance to put a bullet in my dad’s head. Most of the guys in this club would. Hell, even other chapters would love a shot at this motherfucker, but there are rules that have to be followed which leaves it to me.
“I have no problem steppin’ up either, Preacher. This is my place, man. I know what I’m doin’. Let’s just get this shit over with and I’ll deal with what comes next.” The guys all look at me and nod their heads as the bastard himself walks into the room.
“You bitches havin’ a meetin’?” He chuckles, looking around the room. Too bad he doesn’t realize the meeting is about him.
“No, Prez. Just gettin’ ready for the run,” Psycho tells him.
“Better be,” he huffs and walks back out of the room. Cash, our president, my father. The piece of shit bastard who only cares about how much money he has in his pocket and if he has the purest white powder filling his nose. We’ve always butted heads, even when I was a kid. Now that I’m a man and a part of this club, which wasn’t an easy feat in itself, he hates me more. The way I look at it? If he hates me, then he should fear me. He doesn’t know the kind of monster he created. My life has been a series of beatings, starvation, you name it, I endured it. Cash always said it was to make me stronger. He succeeded. I’m one of the strongest this club has, and they all know it.
“Fuck!” I growl, tossing my bottle into the trash and heading out the back door. Stepping into the cold air, I inhale. Chicago has been my home since I was born. My mom wasn’t born here, but my dad was. She came to live here in the Windy City when she was ten. That’s when she first met my dad.
“I don’t know about all this, Grave.” I look over my shoulder to see my best friend, Psycho. We grew up in this club together.
“He’s got the older brothers on his side, Grave. Us younger ones would follow you to the end of time and you know that, but the others? I don’t see them turnin’ a blind eye, brother.” He’s right and I know he is, but that isn’t going to stop me from moving forward.
“I get it, but once I’m voted in, fuck what they think, yeah? They can choose to drop their colors if that’s what they want,” I tell him as I pull a joint from behind my ear and light it up.
“I hear ya, but that don’t mean they will.”
“Thought you were on my side here?” I snap a little louder than I needed to.
“Fuck you, Grave! I am and you know that. I’m just afraid of the blowback. Cash has been here for a long fuckin’ time. Some of these bastards still think the way he runs this club is the right way. They won’t back down, that’s all I’m sayin’!” Dragging my hand through my hair, I blow smoke into the night air, watching as it rolls with the wind.
“I know that, and I agree. There’s gonna be blowback, but I want to minimize that as much as I can.” Psycho walks closer, resting his hand on my shoulder before looking me in the eye.
“I get it, brother, and I got your back. Whatever it is you choose,”