“Holy shit,” I breathe out.
“You gotta be kidding,” Blake murmurs.
Priest’s message to Rock seems obvious. I call the shots.
Z’s never coming home.
I push the thought away and concentrate on the scene unfolding in front of me, hating every second of it.
Rock doesn’t hesitate. He accepts the knife from Priest without a word. Then neatly slices Z’s VP patch off his cut.
I close my eyes, feeling the imaginary sting of the knife against my own flesh.
This is so wrong.
I was there when Z was given that VP patch. I was still a prospect, so my vote wasn’t counted. But I remember the day well. After all the struggles and hardships our club had gone through, we’d found our way to a true brotherhood. Z’s my brother and one of my best friends. This is excruciating to watch but I sit still because sharing each other’s pain is what brothers do.
Rock hands the patch to Z and says something to him that I can’t hear. Forcing Rock to be the one to take Z’s patch seems like the ultimate fuck you from Priest.
“What the fuck?” Murphy breathes out.
“Congratulations,” Priest announces, as if this is something to celebrate instead of mourn. He slaps a small patch in Z’s hand. Then, to pour salt in our fresh wounds, he hands Z a “Downstate” bottom rocker.
Z stares at his hands for a few seconds.
Everyone in the room stands and claps. Heart pounding, I rise and join them. I catch Wrath’s eye at the other end of the table, and he shakes his head.
The warm welcome from his new charter seems to shake Z out of his shock. His mouth slips into a fake smile. “Thank you for welcoming me with open arms during such an uncertain time. As everyone knows, our two charters go way back, and I’m honored to lead Downstate through this rough patch until Sway recovers.”
Nice try, Z, but you’re going to be wearing a Downstate rocker.
Sway might have taken the bullet to the head, but it’s my club that’s getting torn apart.