Page 124 of Jolt's Vengeance

Hands rise around the table, one after another.

I count them silently, my heart in my throat.

It's unanimous—everyone wants us to be full patches.

Damon nods, a hint of pride in his eyes. "It's settled then. Mouser, get the cuts."

Mouser stands, heading for a closet in the corner of the room.

He returns with a box, and I can feel the electricity in the air as he starts handing out the fresh cuts.

When he gets to me, I almost can't believe it.

The leather is heavy in my hands, the stitching perfect.

And there, where the "Prospect" patch used to be, it now says "Full Patch."

I run my fingers over the words, a lump forming in my throat.

Hell, my fucking name is even on the damn thing.

"Congratulations, brothers," Damon says, his voice gruff but warm. "You're full members of the Reapers Rejects MC now. Wear those cuts with pride."

I slip my old cut off and the new cut on, feeling the weight of it settle on my shoulders.

It's more than just leather and patches—it's the sense of belonging, it's the fact I have a family even when my blood is a thousand miles away.

It's everything I've been searching for since I first saw Victor ride off on his bike all those years ago.

Kade, his face a mask of barely contained rage, slams his fist on the table.

The sound echoes through the clubhouse, making me flinch.

"Not tryin' to rain on anyone's parade, but what the fuck does this mean for us?" Kade growls, his eyes locked on Damon. "What are we gonna do about those Kodiak bastards?"

My heart's pounding so hard I'm sure everyone can hear it.

Damon doesn't answer immediately.

Instead, his gaze sweeps across the room, taking in each of his officers.

I watch as his eyes finally land on Booger, and there's a silent exchange between them that speaks volumes.

Booger clears his throat, his gravelly voice filling the room. "Those Kodiak fuckers have gotten cocky. Stupid, even." He leans forward, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "And in their stupidity, they've left themselves wide open."

I can't help but lean in, hanging on every word.

"Why don’t you elaborate, Boog?" Widow asks, voicing the question we're all thinking.

Booger's grin widens, revealing teeth stained from years of too much coffee and whiskey. "They've been leaving their clubhouse unguarded. Practically begging for us to come in and take what's ours."

The room erupts in a chorus of low whistles and muttered curses.

I can feel the excitement building, a dangerous energy that threatens to consume us all.

Damon nods slowly, a cold smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Good work, Booger. Looks like we've got ourselves an opportunity, brothers."

I catch Widow's eye across the room, and I can see the same mix of excitement and apprehension

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