Page 43 of Rogue’s Reckoning

"Anything else?" I demand.

The old man shakes his head. "That's all I know, I swear."

I believe him, but that doesn't mean I'm done. These men might not have killed Storm, but they're still Hawks. And right now, I need an outlet for the rage boiling inside me.

"Sniper," I say, my voice cold, "let's show these gentlemen what happens to anyone associated with the people who hurt our brothers."

It doesn’t take long for us to kill them. It’s swift and merciless. They'll serve as a message to anyone else who might think about crossing the Saints.

As we get ready to leave, I pull out a bottle of whiskey and a rag.

"What are you doing?" Sniper asks, his brows knitted.

I give him a grim smile as I stuff the rag into the bottle. "Sending a message," I reply, lighting the makeshift Molotov cocktail and hurling it into the room.

We walk away as flames engulf the clubhouse behind us. The smell of the dead men’s burnt skin will soon fill the air. What happened here was brutal, and if Willow knew, she’d be horrified. The man she loved is gone. That man died the day I lost her.

As we ride back to our clubhouse, I can't shake the feeling that we're missing something. The Hawks might be involved in Storm's death, but my gut tells me there's more to this story.

It’s beenfive days since Storm’s murder and we’re none the wiser to finding out who killed him. Not only that, there’s internal disagreement within the ranks. When Storm died, there had to be a new president elected. It was obvious to everyone who it was going to be. Ghost. He was Storm’s vice president and the only man we’d want leading us. But Ghost’s brother, Smoke, isn’t happy. He wants to become president and he’s making it known that he’s not happy.

Just minutes ago, Smoke stormed out of the chapel. Every brother heard what happened. I’m not sure if the bond between the brothers can be repaired after this. Ghost told Smoke if he doesn’t like the fact that he’s president, Smoke should leave, andthat’s what he’s doing. Right now, Smoke’s packing up his stuff and getting ready to leave.

I knock on the chapel door and wait for Ghost to call out. “Yeah,” he says and I enter the room. He looks exhausted, his eyes bloodshot and his face pale.

The man’s just lost his dad and now his brother’s leaving too. I’d be the same way.

“That went…” I pause, staring at him. There’s a half empty bottle of bourbon sitting on the table. “About as good as any of us could have expected. At least there was no bloodshed.”

Ghost takes a long swig from the bottle. "Yeah, no blood. Just family ties severed instead. Fuck."

I take a seat. "You did what you had to do, man. That was tough for you but right for the club."

"I know, I know," he mutters, rubbing his temples. "But he's my brother, for Christ's sake. Dad would be rolling in his grave if he could see us now."

I lean forward. "Look, Prez,” I say low, calling him president for the first time. I always knew this day would come. Ghost was always going to take over from his dad. It was his destiny. “The club needs stability, especially with having a new president. But the brothers need to know what’s going down.”

Ghost nods grimly, taking another long swig from the bottle. "Alright. Call a meeting. I’ll let them know what’s going on. I have no doubt some of them will want to go with him."

He’s right, there’s going to be a few who will. But Smoke will find his path, and I know whatever happens, he’ll be okay.

He stands up, swaying slightly. I can see the toll this is taking on him—losing his father, becoming president, and now his brother walking out. It's a heavy burden.

Ghost orders, "It's time we lay it all out. That includes the new path the club will travel."

I nod and head out to gather the brothers. Within minutes, we're all assembled around the table, a tense silence filling the room. Ghost takes his place at the head of the table, his face a mask of determination.

"Brothers," he begins, his voice steady despite the alcohol I know is coursing through his system. "As you all know, we've had a turbulent few days. My father, our president, was murdered. And now, my brother has chosen to leave the club."

Murmurs ripple through the room. Ghost holds up a hand for silence.

"I know there are questions. Concerns. I'm here to address them all. First and foremost, finding my father's killer is our top priority. Rogue and Sniper's recon mission to the Hawks' clubhouse turned up little, but we're not ruling them out yet."

He pauses, his gaze sweeping across the room. "As for the presidency, you all put your faith in me and it’s an honor. I want to assure you, I am committed to this club, to all of you. My brother's departure doesn't change that. If anything, it strengthens my resolve."

I watch the faces of my brothers, gauging their reactions. Everyone’s supportive, nodding along with Ghost's words.

Ghost continues, outlining his plans for the club moving forward. Moving the club to more legitimate dealings. Ghost has been thinking about this a lot. The Saints will open new bars, a mechanic shop, and buy some property to lease out. It's a solid plan, one that would make both his dad, Storm, and his grandfather, Steel, proud.

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