Page 8 of Gunner

Our club’s emblem was stitched into the fabric of every cut, but as I looked around the room, far fewer Blood Hounds were present than there used to be. Fuck, I hadn’t even been able to retain the name of the club. Crowe had stripped that away in favor of Blood Hounds. Although I knew he intended to put the past behind us and move forward to create a better, more effective club, having our identity removed still rankled.

I’d been a Bloodlet all my life. When others walked away—Grimm and Mason—I’d remained a Bloodlet.

I clenched my fists under the table, bringing my focus back to the matter at hand. Our church, the sacred gathering where we made decisions, had around half its original numbers—including Crowe’s men. I’d waited long enough to see if other members would show up, but some seemed to have defected, which wasn’t completely my fault. While Crowe had good intentions for the club, older members had grumbled at his interference. They might have gone up against him if Crowe wasn’t as powerful as he was. That he now had forged an alliance with the Grimm Reapers had made things worse for those brothers who had lost businesses and family members at the hands of the other club.

For the club to survive the mass exodus, I couldn’t reach for a bottle with the same haste I’d been doing lately. No matter how hard it was sometimes to stay sober.

Viper finished his recount of our last meeting. We hadn’t had a meeting in months. I didn’t recall half of the things he’d mentioned. How he was able to retain all that information in his head was beyond me, but that was the reason he was in charge of our records. He just had a problem getting it down on paper.

I cleared my throat. “We need to talk recruitment.” Tip-toeing around the issue wasn’t going to solve anything. Everyone could see the empty chairs. “Our herd has been thinned lately with allthe changes we’ve made. This might be our lowest numbers in history, and we need to change that fast.”

“But what can we do?” Everyone turned their attention to Tango. The man frowned, leaning forward, and a lock of brown hair fell on his forehead.

“What do you mean, Tango?” Saint, Crowe’s man, crossed his arms. “Surely this can’t be your first recruitment event. We recruit all the time back in Riverton.”

Tango glanced around. “No one else wants to say it? Okay, I will. Why would anyone want to sign up for this club when the Grimm Reapers provide better—everything?”

His words punched me in the gut. They were a direct criticism of the way I’d led the club over the years.

“That’s because all the queers join them,” Mouse said. Ironically, his squeaky voice sounded like a tiny mouse, but he was the biggest of all of us, at nearly seven feet.

I glanced at Crowe, who was standing against the wall to the left, listening in on our meeting but not interfering. Given he and his friends were openly queer, I’d expected him to respond, but he didn’t say anything.

“We’re better off without them, then,” Tango said. He stared directly at Crowe as if he was challenging the other man.

“Maybe or maybe we’re shooting ourselves in the foot by being so stiff about this,” Mouse said. “Is it really important who someone fucks? When was the last time that helped any of us?”

“You looking for a reason to come out, Mouse? No need.” Tango sneered. “We all know where your dick’s been going lately, or are you the one who does the spreading?”

Mouse jumped to his full height, blowing like a bull. “You say that again, and you’ll be wearing your intestines as shoes.”

Tango got to his feet. I crashed my fists into the table, ignoring the pain spreading throughout my hands from the impact. “Enough!” I said. “You two want to kill each other, do it off theclub’s property. Otherwise, sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up unless you have something constructive to contribute.”

Tango and Mouse glared at each other but sat back down. “Sorry, prez,” Mouse said.

Tango grunted what I assumed was an apology, but it was too low to hear.

“About the recruitment,” I said. “We need to make it clear at the bar we are taking on new prospects. We’ll host a public, family-friendly BBQ. For those who don’t have a ride, we might be able to finance them. Duke and I—shit, I mean, I’ll crunch the numbers and see how much we can spare.”

Owning a Harley was the number one rule of the club and became a deterrent for those who would like to join but didn’t have the money to get their own hog. Duke had been the treasurer for the club, but he was one of our latest casualties too.

Fuck, I didn’t need just new members but bikers who could fill all the vacant positions permanently. Crowe and his men wouldn’t be around forever. Maybe Bay, since he shacked up with the ex-mayor, but with their months-old baby, he was focusing more on the business side of the club through the casino we’d opened with the Reapers.

We brainstormed some more ideas to increase our membership, finally deciding on sending invitations to our newly allied MCs to join us in Smoky Vale’s first MC rally. We were organizing a team to work on the plans when Zero, a prospect on patrol, hovered in the doorway.

I stiffened. Prospects weren’t allowed to attend our meetings. They didn’t have that right until they became fully pledged members.

“What is it, Zero?” I asked.

He glanced around at the others in the room and cautiously approached me. “The cop’s here to see you,” he whispered, butthe words grated out in a squeak that carried throughout the room.

I frowned. What was Witter doing here? The last time we’d spoken, I’d told him I would get in touch. His presence at the clubhouse made the other bikers nervous. I saw the mistrust in their eyes. Any day now, one of them would speak out about me “teaming up” with the chief of police.

“Let him wait in the mess hall,” I said.

“Yes, sir.”

Zero hurried from the room. When I returned my attention to the bikers at the table, an undercurrent flooded in the room that hadn’t been there before.

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