Page 56 of Death's Deal

We have three hours to decide this. That in itself is nothing short of a miracle. We know pulling this off is going to hurt, but it has to be done.

Busta, Cap, and myself stand with our seconds as we explain the situation to the club members in attendance. Telling them their livelihoods and their families are about to be condemned for our failure to find a solution causes a ruckus. A few fistfights break out, but all in all, with very little bloodshed, the votes are being cast.

Coming on the last hour before we’d have to reply to Johnson, more than half of the men have voted. Their slip of paper tells the story between the lines. There is either a scribbled condemnation of my sister, or the downfall of us all. No matter the choice, we are losing.

“Bunch of rabid fucking dogs. They’d normally gnaw off their limbs to save their brothers,” Cap grinds out the words, eyeing the remaining members milling around like old women at a bridge game and balling his fists.

I agree.

Looking at his watch, worrying the edge of his lip, Busta taps the glass face. “We need to finish this. Who’s turn is it to be the bad guy?”

With a quick and snappy reply, Cap answers, “Shit. Not mine. I’ve had enough of that. I’m fucking tired of answering the same questions and giving the same answer. We need to meet Johnson. Soon.”

Glancing at Toni sitting on a camp chair in the corner, talking on the phone to Tristan—or who I assume it is—I’m rolling my eyes at the thought of doing this bullshit for much longer.

Clearing my throat, I let my voice boom across the expansive space. “You’ve had all the time we were allotted to speak about this. You have ten more minutes then we’ll move forward with the general census, with or without your vote. If you want your voice heard, it’s now.”

Those milling about rumble, bitch, and step forward to grab up a ticket to place their vote. The older members eye me with disdain and knowing glances that say, “Mayhem wouldn’t have let this happen.” That if I weren’t Pres, my sister wouldn’t have been in this position.

They may be right.

Tossing their vote in the barrel on the table before me, the last of the members stalks out with barely a glance our way. As far as many are concerned, their collective presidents and their seconds had fucked this up.

As those last few toss in their votes, Cap is the first to pipe up. “Let’s do this,” he states, stepping to the barrel.

Pouring all of the sheets out, we separate the votes. Peeling out the first scrunched sheet of paper, my heart nearly beats out of its cage with worry and fear.

I unwrap it.

Fuck this

Yes

Shit. The first member to confirm it. We really are deciding our fate or hers.

Placing it on the Yes pile Cap and Busta have started; I open the next and those after that until we have none left.

“I guess...” Cap starts, ending on a heavy sigh.

“Yeah. I guess,” Busta replies, looking my way.

Glancing at them both, then eyeing Toni, she rises from the chair to meet me.

I don’t voice what we know is true, instead I dial Johnson. As he answers, “Yeah,” in a tight tone, I reply as curtly and as downtrodden as I feel, “Meet us at Humble.”

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