Club Business
496 Words
The Iron Vultures’ clubhouse was alive with noise—laughter, the clink of bottles, the scrape of pool cues—but Ryder felt the weight of silence pressing down on him.
He sat at the head of the long scarred table, leather cut draped over his shoulders, patches flashing under the low light. Around him, his men—his brothers—waited for him to speak.
“Blood Serpents hit a warehouse outside Fairmont last night,” Ryder said, voice even, steady. “Two of our shipments went missing. That’s on us.”
A low rumble of curses swept through the room. Blade slammed a fist against the table. “They’re getting bold, Ghost. Testing us.”
“They’ve been testing us,” Ryder replied. “Difference is, now they’re trying to draw blood.” He leaned forward, eyes sharp. “And I’m not in the business of letting anyone think we’re weak.”
The room buzzed with agreement. Plans were whispered—retaliation, fire, warnings to send. Ryder listened, weighed, calculated. He’d been in this life long enough to know a war could bleed a club dry, but letting the Serpents think they had the upper hand? That would kill them faster.
“Prez.”
The voice came from the doorway—smooth, female. Ryder didn’t have to look to know. Sable.
She leaned against the frame, blonde hair falling over one shoulder, eyes glinting as they swept over the room. “Didn’t think you’d start without me.”
The men chuckled uneasily. Ryder’s jaw tightened. “You don’t belong in church, Sable.”
She smirked. “I belonged here long before she did.”
The dig was sharp, aimed straight at Harper, even though she wasn’t here to hear it. Ryder’s blood ran hot. He stood slowly, chair scraping back against the concrete.
“You got something to say?”
Sable’s smile didn’t waver. “Just reminding you who’s been around, Prez. You know me. You know what I can handle. That schoolteacher of yours? She won’t last a month.”
The room went still. Everyone was watching. Testing him.
Ryder closed the distance in three strides, his voice low but cutting. “Sable. You’re my past. Harper’s my now. Anyone got a problem with that, they can walk.”
Silence. Then Blade cleared his throat, muttered, “Ain’t no problem here, Prez,” and the others nodded quick.
Sable’s jaw tightened, but she laughed like it didn’t sting. “Your funeral,” she said, before sauntering out.
Ryder let out a slow breath. His men looked to him for the next order, but his thoughts drifted back to Harper—her steady eyes, her soft laugh, the way she looked at him like he was more than a president with blood on his hands.
She didn’t belong in this world. Not really. But damned if he was going to let anyone—Sable, the Serpents, or even fate—take her from him.
- Writer
