Page 60 of Dagger

“We do got a way in…” Atlas began, his words trailing off.

“Spit it out,” I ordered.

“You won’t like it,” he warned. “But it seems to me we’ve got a prospect in our ranks who can easily infiltrate. He told us himself he’s been workin’ an angle. He’s young, smart, ambitious. The lad wants to help, so why the fuck aren’t we allowin’ it?”

Abe rose slowly from his seat and leaned across the desk toward Atlas, his mouth twisting angrily. “You’re not sending myboy in to spy. It’s too fuckin’ dangerous,” his voice rose to a roar, “he’s eighteen years old, goddamnit!”

Atlas held his hands up defensively. “Hear me out, brother.”

“No!” Abe slashed a hand through the air. “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind? Mason’s full of bravado; all young men are at his age, but he’s nowhere near ready for that kinda risky shit. If they cotton on to the fact he’s undercover for us, they’ll kill him. End of.”

“I’m not sayin’ we should send him straight in,” Atlas pointed out. “We’ll take time to train him. Bowie and me can get him in the ring. Breaker can teach him to be a shadow, and Cash can take him through weapons trainin’. Hell, my woman can take him through some Krav moves if need be. If things get dicey, he gets the fuck outta there.”

Abe sat, his elbows hitting the table, and dropped his head in his hands. “Iris will lose her shit. You forget what they did to her, Atlas. Do you think she brushed it off? No, it stayed with her. The notion of Mason infiltratin’ the gang who raped and tortured her will mess with her head. I won’t allow it.”

Atlas tipped his head to the side. “He’s a prospect for this club. His loyalty is to us. Would you send Billy in?”

“Billy’s more experienced,” Abe retorted, looking up. “Course I would.”

“Would you have sent Sparky in?” Atlas challenged. “He wasn’t as experienced as Billy.”

Abe opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out.

Atlas leaned forward. “I know it’s dangerous, but Mason took on the prospect role knowin’ exactly what it entailed. We can’t wrap him in cotton wool. It’s not fair, and more importantly, it’s not what he’d want.” He sat back and folded his arms across his barreled chest. “We’ll ask him what he thinks; give him a choice. If he doesn’t wanna do it, there’ll be no hard feelin’s.”

Abe's shoulders slumped as if all the fight left him in one big whoosh. His eyes, bleak with helplessness, lifted to meet mine. “I don’t like it, Prez.”

My pinkie touched the gavel again; maybe I was hoping it would give me some kind of inspiration on how the hell I was meant to deal with this shit.

Being Prez of an MC wasn’t easy.

The club was full of strong personalities that often opposed each other. It was my job to listen to both, weigh up the pros and cons, and make an informed decision.

Abe was against Mason going undercover—and rightly so—but my buddy was coming from the perspective of a father lookin’ out for his son. I wouldn’t expect anything less from my oldest friend. Abe was all heart; therefore, he was also my conscience. He was the only brother who challenged me and told me the truth, even when it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I trusted him more than I sometimes trusted myself.

Atlas was an SAA through and through. It was his job to protect the club, which he did faultlessly. He was the type to sacrifice one for the many, and in a way, he was most like Bandit. Now, my dad had his faults, but he loved his club and his brothers and always put them first. Every MC needed loyal men, and Bandit took it too far; however, Atlas didn’t.

In this case, they were both right, and they were both wrong.

The instant Mason slid a prospect cut over his shoulders, he became a Speed Demon, and just like the military, Speed Demons would happily die for their brothers in arms. Every one of my boys, at one time or another, had put themselves at risk for my club. They didn’t get or want preferential treatment—hell, I was often harder on them than the others—but they wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

However, Abe was right. Mason hadn’t been in the military, and he certainly didn’t grow up around bikers who hadtoughened him up like my boys had. Still, he’d fended for himself out in the world when he ran away from the children’s home to rescue Seraphina, so he had street smarts.

My eyes caught Abe’s. “I can’t treat Mason differently from the other prospects. It wouldn’t be fair on him, and above all else, he wouldn’t want me to. However, if he’s not ready, sending him wouldn’t be effective. He can train for five days, then we’ll assess his skills and make a decision.”

Abe hung his head, and he nodded.

“He was with the Sinners for a few days last year,” Cash pointed out. “Won’t they recognize him?”

“The boy’s bulked out a lot since then,” Atlas noted. “His hair’s buzzed now, and he’s got ink. We can get him colored contact lenses and dye his hair. Plus, most of the Sinners from back then are dead, and their prez is in the wind.”

“Whose this girl he met?” Bowie asked. “How’s she gettin’ him in?”

Abe released a hard breath. “He heard she was the daughter of one of the top guys in the club and sweet-talked her. She’s the girl he got that damned face tattoo for.”

Cash eyed Abe. “How does that get him in?”

“Like I said, she’s a club princess,” Abe explained. “The girl told Mase her pop said she’s only allowed to see boys from the club. So she asked him to prospect.”

---