Jax’s POV
The eleven stood in a straight line in the center of the clubhouse. No music. No laughing. Just boots on wood and the smell of whiskey and leather. The Reapers patch hung behind me on the wall. Skull and chain. Old and faded at the edges. I stood in front of them with a blade in my hand.
“You understand what this means?” I asked.
They nodded, but I wanted words.
“Say it.”
A tall blond kid stepped forward first. “It means we ride or die.”
“Name,” I said.
“Cole Mercer.”
“Role?”
“Scout. Fast rider.”
I nodded once.
Next was a big man with tattoos up his neck. “Hank Doyle. I can drive anything with wheels. I’ll handle transport.”
Beside him, a skinny guy with sharp eyes. “Eli Navarro. I’m good with numbers. Books. Cleaning cash.”
That got Grizz’s attention.
“Micah Reed,
