Page 69 of Monk

Kansas’ eyebrows raised slightly. “Fifteen?”

“Yeah,” Whisper said. “But it’s quality. No heat.”

Kansas nodded slowly, his gaze flicking to Blackjack.

“You trust him?” Kansas asked.

Whisper didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Like I said before, Benedict’s a straight shooter. No games. No bullshit. Just business.”

Kansas considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Whisper, Blackjack, Monk—you three will make the run next week. Get the details locked down and report back.”

I nodded, taking another sip of coffee as Kansas shifted in his seat, his expression darkening slightly. “Now,” he said, his voice dropping. “We need to talk about Satan’s Angels.”

The room went still. Satan’s Angels were a problem we had been avoiding since they attacked us before when Reaper’s ol’ lady Remi was staying with us. Now, that was a shit show. A rival club out of Alabama that had recently taken up with the Death Dogs, and now word was, Satan’s Angels were making noise about expanding their territory into Oklahoma. They had already hit a few smaller clubs in the surrounding states, burning clubhouses, killing brothers, sending a message that they weren’t fucking around. And now, apparently, they were getting closer.

“They hit another club last week,” Kansas said. “Burned it to the ground. Killed three brothers. Left a message spray-painted on the wall: ‘Oklahoma is ours.’”

Whisper’s jaw tightened. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Kansas said. “Shit.”

Blackjack leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “What’s the play?” he asked.

Kansas’ expression was grim. “We fortify. We prepare. And we make it clear that if they come for us, they’re going to regret it.”

Widow pushed off the wall, his arms uncrossing. “We going to war, Prez?” he asked.

Kansas met his gaze. “If they force our hand, yeah. But I’m not looking for a fight. I’m looking to protect what’s ours.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of his words settling over us like a heavy blanket. Then Kansas’ expression shifted, the darkness lifting slightly. “On a lighter note,” he said, his tone almost casual. “Kali wants to throw a club barbeque this weekend.”

I blinked.

A barbeque? After talking about a potential war with Satan’s Angels, Kansas was talking about a fucking barbeque?

Whisper snorted. “Of course she does.”

Kansas shrugged. “She thinks it’ll be good for morale. Get the brothers together, let the kids run around, remind everyone what we’re fighting for.”

Blackjack grinned. “I’m in. Kali throws a hell of a party.”

Kansas nodded. “Good. Spread the word. Saturday afternoon. Bring your families.”

I didn’t say anything. I just sat there, staring into my coffee, my mind already drifting back to Lina. To Tatum. To the family I didn’t know how to claim. Before Kansas ended the meeting, Blackjack cleared his throat. “One more thing,” he said, his gaze flicking to me. “We’ve got a few officer positions that need filling.”

Kansas nodded. “Yeah. We’ve been putting it off long enough.”

“Specifically,” Blackjack continued, “we need a new sergeant at arms. Since Monk got promoted to VP, the position’s been vacant.”

Whisper leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “Trigger’s been here the longest,” Whisper said. “He might be ready for it.”

I set my coffee mug down on the table with a sharp clink. “No,” I said, my voice flat.

Whisper blinked. “No?”

“No,” I repeated, my gaze meeting his. “Trigger’s not ready.”

Whisper frowned. “He’s been with the club for years, Monk. He’s loyal. He’s?—”