At the word “legitimate,” you could have heard a pin drop in the room. I certainly had anticipated an uproar, but the silence that echoed around us took me by surprise. Rambo peered around the table. “This isn’t the first time a charter has requested to be identified as legitimate.”

“Just the first one in the Southeast, right?” Rev said with a smile.

Rambo nodded. “There’s two northern California chapters, one Utah, and one Oklahoma.” He eyed the men around the table again. “It’s certainly not something unprecedented.”

As a sergeant at arms, I wasn’t used to being in on the meeting, so I didn’t know any of the officers well. The only way I could identify them was by the patch on the front of their cut or the rocker on the back.

North Carolina’s president raised a finger to speak. After Rambo had acknowledged him, he asked, “I assume you will still wear your Raiders patch and attend Raiders events?”

“Of course. We’re not asking to disband, and trust me, we sure as hell don’t intend to give up our patches,” Rev replied.

“You intend to be present even at events where there are gun or drug deals?” east Tennessee’s president asked.

Rev leaned forward in his chair. “Look, we would never judge our brothers. What your chapters choose to do is your business. For us, the heat we received is no longer worth the risk. We’ve lost too many good men to keep going at this pace. We love the Raiders brotherhood, and we’ll always defend the patch. We just want to earn our living in a different way.”

Deacon rapped his knuckles on the table. “I’m sure a lot of you think we’re a bunch of pussies for doing this. While our business ventures will change, nothing will change who we are. Just because we’re not dealing guns, we won’t come off as weak to the other clubs out there.”

“And you intend to keep your stake in the gym?” Rambo asked.

“Yes,” Rev replied.

“Will there still be gambling?”

Rev and Deacon exchanged a glance. I knew this was a sore spot between the two of them, as well as many of the other guys. Since guns brought the most heat from the feds, it was only logical to give them up. The gym, on the other hand, was able to fly under the radar. Deacon had argued that we needed to keep the gambling going to pad our bank accounts in case we needed protection money. Rev, however, wanted to be completely squeaky clean. It was an issue that had yet to be decided, but if I were to put money on it, I would wager Deacon would win. You couldn’t go legit overnight. It took time, but most of all, it took money.

“For now we will be keeping the gym,” Rev said.

“Then you won’t be completely legit,” south Georgia’s vice president said. His tone implied that he was glad we were still going to have some dirty dealings. I was sure what we were doing was rattling a lot of the old guard—the ones who had no idea how to make a living if it wasn’t illegal.

“That is true. But where it counts the most, with guns, we will be legit.”

While many of the men were nodding in agreement, a lone voice of dissent spoke up. “I have an issue with the way you disposed of your gun trade.”

All eyes turned toward a scraggly looking man with a wiry salt-and-pepper beard. Although I had never met him, I knew who he was. Easy Eddy Catcherside was the east Louisiana president. Throughout the years, he’d spent more time on the inside of a prison cell than he had on the outside. His club could be considered ragtag at best, with many choosing to patch over to the Diablos when they started sweeping through the Southeast on a forceful membership drive.

After taking a sip of water, Rev calmly questioned, “What is your issue, Eddy?”

“Before riding off into the legitimate sunset, you boys made a pretty sweet deal with the Rodriguez cartel.”

My breath hitched as I cut my eyes over to Rev’s profile. He clenched and unclenched his jaw several times before replying. I knew he was thinking about the reasons behind aligning ourselves with one of the Mexican drug cartels. It had ensured Annabel’s safety from Mendoza, the psychopath who had held her as a sex slave.

Rev stared Eddy down for a few seconds to collect himself. “Yeah, Rodriguez and I made a deal. Considering the parameters, I wouldn’t exactly call it a sweet one. It’s not like we pocketed any money from it.”

“You want to explain why you didn’t offer your gun business to your brothers first?”

“I don’t see how the deals we make are any of your business,” Deacon growled before Rev could respond.

Eddy smirked at Deacon. “I wasn’t addressing you.”

“I’m a patch-wearing member and officer, cocksucker, so anytime you question my chapter’s judgment, I have the right to answer.”

Rev put a hand on Deacon’s shoulder to both calm and quiet him. He then turned his attention to Eddy. “I haven’t tried to hide the reasons behind why I made the deal with Rodriguez. Nor do I think anyone could in good faith try to say that I have.” Rev narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps if you spent less time trying to ingratiate yourself with the Diablos and more time on the business of your Raider brothers, you would know that.”

Eddy’s face turned purple as the veins in his neck bulged. He slammed his hand down on the table, the crack echoing through the room. “Don’t you dare fucking accuse me of being disloyal to the Raiders! I was a patch member before you were even born!”

With a calm, level stare, Rev said, “While that is true, I don’t believe there is a brother around this table who doesn’t know about your friendship with them.”