Page 22 of Seizing Control: Part Two

With the cooperation of the only other man who hates the Mavericks and the Maddisons as much as I do, I plan on wiping the rival MC and any stray mobsters from the face of the planet. I’ve had a hoard of weapons secured for the mission. My club brothers will be assisted in ridding the world of a bunch of human traffickers by a select group of curia-supplied snipers.

Best of all, Gabriel has promised that I can keep funds I retrieve with the victims as part of our deal. I’m not sure how this scheme benefits him, however, I’m not keen on looking a gift horse in the mouth right now. I want to show my wife that I’m serious about rebuilding the trust I lost with my reaction to the kid’s arrival and my part in faking Venom’s death, and I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure she believes me when I vow to never lie to her, keep secrets from her, or leave her again.

“Slash.” Silver exits his clubhouse as I cut the engine to my Harley. His gaze flicks appreciatively over my cammed-out Street Glide before settling on me. I roll the snake-bite piercings in my bottom lip between my teeth while I wait for him to speak. “Welcome to my domain. Show my prospects what you need taken inside... we can talk in the chapel first while they get your brothers settled, then I’ll walk you around my clubhouse to show you how things run.”

Noting the multiple uses of my, I nod to cede to his unspoken undertone. Angelo “Silver Tongue” Cerulli is staking his claim on the chapter he started shortly after Diablo requested the Sydney chapter’s demotion to a support club. They both lost loved ones in the mafia versus MC war that preceded Diablo’s decision. One man wanted out of the life. The other immersed himself deeper than ever. It’s not my intention to upset his apple cart, although it is an interesting tact for him to take during the first visit by the new national president.

It gives me something to hold over his head if he baulks at my proposal.

I can easily have him demoted with a simple vote.

“Handle this, would ya?” I direct Meeyal.

My watchman narrows his eyes at my deliberate exclusion from my sit down with Silver. “Sure.”

After following Silver up the stairs, I stoop to avoid smacking my head on the door frame when I step over the threshold. The building is an older style Queenslander building. A box on stilts to avoid flooding during the wet season. On the outside, it’s unremarkable, bordering on rundown. Once I’m past the lobby, the interior is another matter altogether. The expensive fixtures and furnishings cleverly disguise the bulletproof walls, safety glass, and state-of-the-art surveillance. Cub has taught me the signs to look for, and I can tell that the South-East Queensland chapter of my club is secure as it can be. The feel to the main bar is more welcoming than the mother chapter. It’s homely. Comfortable. Enticing. Devoid of beer stains, pool tables, and stripper poles. There’re no signs of the debauchery.

Which is puzzling...

We’re anarchists.

Outlaws.

This building could double as a Boy Scout clubhouse that also hosts accounting conferences during the weekdays.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” I muse.

Silver turns back to me. “Would like to keep it that way.”

Although a sharp rebuke is burning the tip of my tongue, I keep my mouth shut.

I don’t need to unleash hostility to validate my authority.

“Don’t let the congenial façade fool you,” Silver tells me as we enter the chapel. Similar to my chapter, the room is dominated by a rectangular oak table with our full rocker burnt into it. Unlike my clubhouse, the president’s chair matches his brothers instead of resembling a throne. “You might make your way inside through the open doors with ease, but you won’t be backin’ out without my blessing.”

“That so?”

“That’s so.”

“We’ll see.” With a sniff, I settle into the closest seat. Flicking my cut open, I use deliberate movements to pop the button securing my handgun in my shoulder holster. I count the seats surrounding the table, noting that his chapter outnumbers the mother chapter. It’s a situation that occurred under Brutus’ lax leadership—one I’ll need to rectify as soon as possible. As I slide my hand into the outer pocket of my cut to double check that the knife I keep in there is within easy reach, the athletically built, Italian-Australian man stiffens. In an easy tone, I say, “Seems like you have the wrong impression about my visit today.”

“Doubt it.” Silver leans against the wall and crosses his legs at the ankle. His casual pose doesn’t fool me. He’s got a bone to pick with me. “My cousin made it quite clear that you’re not here for a chapter inspection or to introduce yourself as president.” He trails off and makes a show of inspecting his nails as he drawls, “Seems you want our assistance in takin’ out the Mavericks and the sex traffickin’ ring they run for the clan.”

“This is great,” I muse. Fighting the urge to touch my hair, I grin at Silver while I quip, “I should send Ronni a bouquet of flowers for cutting out the need for a negotiation.” The other man snorts. His eyes flash with a combination of intrigue and revenge. “So, are you in or not?”

“We’re in,” Silver replies. “With one condition.” The headache that I’ve been trying to ignore kicks up a notch. Rubbing my throbbing temples with the thumb and middle finger of my left hand, I scowl at the shrewd man in a silent request for him to get to the point. His tone is deadly serious when he tells me, “I need a couple of my brothers to get caught in the crossfire. Accidentally, of course.”

“What the fuck?” I’m on my feet before the last word has left my mouth. With rage pounding through me, I shove Silver into the wall. Jabbing at his president’s patch with my index finger, I snarl, “Do you know who I am? Do you understand what you’re askin’ of me... of the position you hold in this chapter?”

“I do.” He nods. When our gazes lock, his glass eye gives his steadfast countenance an added edge. A relic of his time as a champion fighter, there’s something strange about being stared down by a man with one eye and a steadfast resolve that matches mine. “I do and I am.”

A second jab, this one harder than the first.

“Do you understand what I’ve been dealin’ with since Brutus left?”

“Yes.”

Silver’s direct responses and his lack of fight cool my temper. I peer down at him, taking my time to properly scan his expression. In his features, I spy the same discontent that has stalked me since I learnt of Brutus’ betrayal. Silver is weary. Tired to his core. In my experience, there’s only one thing that can create that kind of bone-weariness.

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