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My office is quiet now. It was just ten minutes ago when I had six members turn in their colors while they told me what a clusterfuck this club has become. I can’t say I blame them. I can’t pinpoint exactly when I started to realize just how toxic my VP has become and just how absent I have been, but here we are now and I’m six members down.
Hank, the guy who questioned me outside when Spree came back shot, was the first in the door. He said, “This club ain’t never been for me. I thought seeing something new start from the ground would be exciting, but it’s like workin’ in a fuckin’ bank. Surrounded by spoils and unable to touch any of it.”
“You get paid handsomely on every deal,” I say. “But I don’t want you here if you think that acting like a professional is so fucking hard. Turn in your colors.”
He did, and then five other guys followed him. None of the others were quite as vocal, but they all expressed similar sentiments. They want action and excitement. This club is just business.
Thing is, I’ve been in clubs that had drama all the time. Fighting, fucking, shooting, stealing—my father died in one of those clubs and I didn’t want that. I wanted to run something that we could hold up and be proud of, something others might follow. But now I see that might not be possible.
Frankly, I’m half tempted to light a match, get on my bike, and let it all go. Get my kid and drive east, start something new. Something legit. However, I know I’ve got many more guys who feel as I do, I know it ... that’s why I need to stay and see this through.
I rub my forehead. This headache just won’t go away.
Really, I should be glad that Tanzie is home with her father now. Safe. Right? I mean, fuck, I only nearly stopped Spree from doing more to her than he already had. With him still around, still so volatile, the only thing to do was to send her away.
Besides, I sure as hell don’t need another distraction and that’s exactly what she was, a distraction.
Tell that to the guy who nearly threw up watching her leave with Dexter. I felt physically ill letting her go with him, sending her away. How is it possible that I could have feelings like that for a woman who was literally bound and gagged on my bed just days ago?
It was just sex, I tell myself. Just sex. Didn’t matter. Don’t need the distraction.
So why does this feel so shitty?
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