Page 11 of Festive

“Take a seat,” I instruct.

He pulls the chair out, turns it backward, places his arms on the top, and sits. “What’s going on?”

“We’re having to change up our distribution paths because of the weather. Rail’s still moving, so are ships right now. The snow is intermittent, but we can’t rely on our trucks out there on the road. Yes, we will still use them, but only for shorter distances for the most part.”

He nods. “Okay. So, what’s our plan?”

“We go rail from Houston to NOLA, then use the shipping docks on the Mississippi to get the Snow White out there like NOLA does.”

“They gonna be okay with that?” Scout asks.

“I have to make the call, but Hurricane should be easy to workwith.”

Scout nods. “And you need my guys to transport the product by rail to NOLA?”

“You’re not just a pretty face,” I mock.

He smirks. “Fucker. Yeah, all good. My guys can take it in shifts, seeing as there won’t be as many out driving because of the weather. Those men can go on rail instead.”

“Perfect. Seems like it is settled, then. And I have a call to make.”

Zero grips my shoulder. “Good luck. Want me in there with you in case you need backup?”

Shaking my head, I stand. “I got this. Better ask him president to president.”

Pride washes off Zero’s face in waves, slow and steady, the kind of pride that comes from years of experience, from seeing the bigger picture, from knowing exactly how to handle a room full of men. He’s been the president for so long, a constant in this club, that I sometimes forget just how much weight he has carried. I know, in those rare moments, when I’m still unsure, I can rely on him. I can turn to him for guidance, for advice on how to handle the tough shit, the decisions that come with the title.

But there’s a point when that’s no longer enough.

That point is now.

I’m standing at the edge of it, the weight of the responsibility pressing down harder than it ever has before. It’s not just about riding anymore, not just about the brotherhood. It’s about leading, making choices that will affect all of us. No more half-steps. No more playing the role from the sidelines. I know this now. The club’s future is in my hands, and I can’t keep looking back.

I have to step up.

I have to take this role on with full force.

With that thought solidifying in my chest, I walk toward the Chapel, the familiar sound of my boots echoing in the silence, and I close the doors behind me. The air feels different in here, heavier somehow, like it’s filled with expectations that are all mine to meet.

I walk up to the head of the table—my table now—and as I sit down, the reality of it hits me harder than I want to admit. It still feels surreal. It’s like I’m playing a part in some movie, only the cameras are never going to stop rolling. I can’t shake the feeling of being the new guy, even though I’ve been wearing this patch for years.

You’d think I’d be used to it by now, used to the weight, the eyes on me, the responsibility. But no matter how many times I’ve walked this path, it never quite feels like it belongs to me. Every time I sit down in this chair, the one Zero has filled for so long, it’s like stepping into new shoes. The old ones still fit, but there’s something about them that doesn’t quite feel right.

I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this, if this feeling will ever fade.

Taking a long, deep breath, I pull my cell from my pocket and swipe it open without thinking, my fingers moving on their own. I hit Hurricane’s name, waiting as it rings. The sound fills the quiet room, and I know, deep down, that this is just the beginning of something much bigger than I’ve ever faced before.

I need to make this work for my club.

For Houston Defiance to continue to flourish.

I have to step up and be the president that the other Defiance presidents expect me to be.

The cell finally answers but to the sounds of heavy breathing and a raspy moan. “You better be havin’ a damn emergency, brother, for makin’ me answer my cell while makin’ my woman come.”

Snorting out a laugh, I shake my head. “Emergency, no.Offer? Yes.”

Hurricane groans, the phone shuffling about. “Sorry, Sha, keep that ice cream cold for me. I gotta see what Six needs, then I’m lickin’ that off every damn inch of you.”

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