Page 1 of Festive

CHAPTER ONE

SIX

My head is pounding like the god of thunder is slamming his fucking hammer into my skull himself. But I guess that’s my fault. The club celebrated Thanksgiving last night, and we got a little festive with the feast, though it is special when the club and all the families unite in celebration.

We’ve come a long way since I was just another biker brat working my way through the club. Now I have children of my own, another on the way, and I’m learning the ropes of being the president of this club.

It still astounds me that I sit in this chair, gavel in hand, the king of this place. I know I was born for this role, but I still find it a reality check sometimes. Honestly, I never thought I would get there, especially not at the damn young age of twenty-four.

I was supposed to sit back in my older brother’s footsteps. Learn from him. Watch him grow old in the president’s chair and eventually take over when the time inevitably comes.

This chair wasn’t supposed to be mine this early.

But after the last few years, I’m feeling more confident in the role and slowly settling into the position. Having my brother and ex-president, Zero, taking on the duty of the Wise One of the club—or for the lack of better wording, to lend a helping hand when shit gets sticky—is helpful. I’m fortunate I didn’t have to take over the reins because of Zero’s death—as is the typical ascension process for an incoming president. However, watching my brother being attacked so brutally that he can’t ride anymore because his hands were mangled will forever stay with me.

There’s a real threat to safety when you step into these boots.

And they are big ones to fill.

But that’s what we Walkers have done for generations and will probably continue to do.

For now, though, everything is running fucking great at the club. Revenue is up. Scout is working the Slavers in extra shifts at the drug distribution center, where it’s all meshing together. The Slavers were our opposition back in the day, but when Kevlar was in New Orleans, he met Jovie, who would later become his Old Lady. We didn’t realize it at the time, but her brother, Scout, was a high-ranking member of the Slavers Syndicate, which was run by her father. It was a big deal back then. Fights were had, lives were lost, but in the end, Scout took over the Slavers and patched into the club.

Bringing both of us together, working side by side.

And we’ve been an unstoppable powerhouse in Houston ever since.

For once, life is going right .

Glancing over to my Old Lady, Rebel, she’s helping our two-year-old daughter, Kinzley, eat while our five-year-old, Kenna, swirls around in the little dress Bub made for her. Rebel’s heavily-pregnant stomach has me flooding with joy at seeing my family growing again.

Finally, we’re having a boy.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore my two girls, but Zero keeps giving me shit about the fact I haven’t been able to produce a legacy until now.

Asshole.

I know he’s only fucking around, but I’ll admit, I was ecstatic when the results of the ultrasound were staring back at us—my boy’s dick is making the family proud.

Growing up, all I ever wanted was to be a part of this club, and for a while there, that option was held back from me.

I won’t make that decision for my kid.

If he wants a patch, he can have one.

If he doesn’t, I won’t force it on him.

Part of my childhood was chosen for me—a part I can’t get back.

But I suppose it made me into the man I am today.

Without my older sister, Prinie, taking me away from the club, I don’t think I would have the appreciation for Houston Defiance I do now.

I mean, back then, we never would have thought I would be the president this soon. I’ve had to grow up fast, learn quickly, but I have brothers at my back guiding and helping me through this transition. The last five years since the attack on Zero have been a steep learning curve, but we’ve gotten through.

As a club.

Together.

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