“Goddamnit,” Doc bit out, fisting his hands on the table.
Nearly every other hand went up. Dark satisfaction rolled through Maverick’s gut. Maybe that made him a terrible person. He didn’t know, but so be it. Because he’d seen two good friends shot and hospitalized, another murdered, and his own mother bound and gagged and stuffed in the back of a car. And that was all besides the harm done to the club’s reputation and livelihood.
Dare let the weight of their decision hang in the air for a long moment before he spoke again. “We need to be the ones to do this, but I want the Hard Ink team to help strategize, especially since we’re using intel they collected. We good with that?” Nods all around. Dare placed a call and let the ringing sound out on speakerphone.
Nick’s voice mail answered, and Dare left a message. “Nick, I need your help ASAP. Gimme a call.”
“Fuck, I hate waiting,” Jagger said, his fingers moving in a perpetual progression of invisible guitar chords against the table top. Their race captain was brilliant with his hands—musical instructions, engines, it didn’t matter—and was nearly single-handedly responsible for every good thing that happened down at the racetrack. A big fucking deal since that provided the club’s main income stream.
“Well, we have other business to pass the time,” Dare said. “Maverick came up with something else we can do to honor Jeb. Mav?”
Nodding, Mav glanced around at all his brothers. “I move that we posthumously vote Jeb Fowler in as a fully patched member. He gave his life for my mother, for Rodeo’s wife. He more than earned his place among us.”
The group’s discussion was quick and in full agreement, and then Dare put it to a vote. “All in favor?” Dare asked.
Without a word, Maverick rose to his feet. Then Rodeo did. Then Meat and Bear and all the others until every man in the room stood in honor of their fallen brother. A knot lodged in Mav’s throat—pride that these men were his family.
Dare stood, too. “It’s unanimous. Jeb Fowler is a fully patched member of the Raven Riders Motorcycle Club.”
Silence hung thick and laden with emotion for a long moment, because the words highlighted the fucking tragedy of it all, and then Bear’s quiet voice broke the tension. “I’ll get his picture up,” he said, referring to the wall of honor in the clubhouse’s lounge where photographs of every member hung.
“Yeah,” Dare said, sitting again. “That’s good.” Everyone else sat, too, and for a moment, quiet conversations filled the room. Dare banged the gavel, his gaze latching onto his phone like he could will it to ring. “We’ve got two more issues to discuss. First, Phoenix and Caine, a heads-up that county social services has reached out to us with a new protective assignment. I e-mailed you all the information before the meeting. Assess and see what the situation is going to require.”
As the road captain and sergeant-at-arms, respectively, Phoenix and Caine took point on organizing the club’s protective efforts, whether the cases came the Ravens’ way through social services, the sheriffs’ office, or local people who knew what the Ravens were willing to do for those who couldn’t protect themselves.
“What are the basics?” Phoenix asked.
“It’s a child abuse situation,” Dare said, his expression grim. “The mother’s getting heat from several directions to keep it quiet.”
“We’ll handle it,” Caine bit out, his tone like ice.
“Good.” Dare slapped the folder closed in front of him and sighed. “Last thing. We’ve got a major fucking PR problem at the racetrack now following the shootings. Given that we missed five weeks of racing while we were tied up in Baltimore, and then a sixth week this weekend as the police wrap up their investigation, we can’t allow our income stream to be further compromised. Ticket sales are down, and even though the club was cleared of wrongdoing, the press hasn’t helped the situation with their continued coverage of what happened. So we need to stop the hemorrhage and restore the public’s confidence in the safety of our events. To that end, Jagger has an idea he wants to propose.”
Jagger raked his hands through the length of his brown hair, his gaze fixed on a sheet of paper in front of him. “So, this idea comes from the position of you gotta spend money to make money.”
“How much money?” Bear asked, his voice skeptical.
Jagger shoved the paper in the treasurer’s direction. “I’m proposing we do a big family weekend with half-price adult tickets, free tickets for kids under sixteen, and paid uniformed security. A carnival, a dunking booth, a fucking petting zoo. We get all the local businesses in here with their food trucks which motivates them to promote the event, too. With no vendor fees. Maybe we give away some prizes of season passes or photo ops with drivers. We go all out to get people here and make them see there’s nothing to worry about. And, if we wanted to be really ambitious about it—”