Page 67 of Lost Lyrebird

I’m just about to slip into my car when he hollers in jest, “This could be you one day.”

The temptation to flip him off comes over me.I give in and hear his deep laugh.I shut my door and let the words I feel spill over my lips.“I’m not so sure about that.”

CHAPTER 19

Religion is what we make it.If you believe in something enough to dedicate most of your life to it, that’s faith.

People around the world enter their churches, sit in their chapels, and saturate themselves in their beliefs.For us, this room serves the same purpose.The scent of leather and aged wood fills the air.The low hum of the overhead fan has a calming effect.It’s a sacred place to many of us, more than walls filled with memories and a meeting room.It’s a space that reminds us of who we are and what we stand for.

Outsiders would call it blasphemy—what we believe in.Hell, even some of the brothers’ old ladies don’t get it.Not that we give a damn.Judgment rolls off us the second we trade our prospect patches for the real deal.Like a shedding of skin.

Every time we step inside, we do it again.Leave our drama at the door, and baptize ourselves in the code of the club as we cross the threshold.What we do in here?We do for each other.For the club.For the code.

We don’t need approval, and we sure as hell don’t need anyone else to understand.In this room, every man has a vote.Every voice holds weight.It’s where we hash out problems and hold each other accountable.It’s where we make decisions that shape the future of the club and everyone tied to it.It’s where we come to when we need a reminder of why we do what we do.

This is our house of God.The only God most of us believe in.Our temple.

Hung high on the wall, our colors loom—the insignia dreamed up by Cap and drawn by Griz.The very same design we wear on our backs and have tattooed on our skin.

From where I sit at the table, the sign hangs directly behind my chair.Having arrived early to church and alone, I turn around and become engrossed in the meaning of the details.The wicked arrows spanned out in every direction, symbolizing the chaos of the world we live in.The skull with eyes that see right through you—through the bullshit bred into each one of us.Blood pools from the mouth—a promise that we’re willing to spill blood to protect what we hold dear.Curled devil horns with a halo above signify we’re not without a conscience to guide us, but we often straddle the line of right and wrong.The jagged wings echo the danger we’re guaranteed to meet on the road when we ride.The eye of chaos reminds us to have one eye open for threats against the club, ourselves, and those we love.The banner is broken into two parts: REVEL IN CHAOS—enjoy the chaos, take advantage of the opportunities it presents.REGRET NOTHING—let nothing done in the name of the club darken our soul to the point of no return.And lastly, the claws wrapped around those words to remind us to cling to our code, our brotherhood, our beliefs.

Cap had it hung here so it was the first thing every brother saw upon entering Church, and it’s become a ritual for me and some of the other brothers to touch it with respect before sitting at the table.

As I wait for the others, I think about how the elements represent our strongest patch holders.Cap, with his all-seeing eyes.Mav, the halo and horns.Taz, the arrows of chaos.Edge, the wings torn by risk.Bodie, the top banner, because he’s always reveling in what this life has on offer.Griz and the old timers—clinging to the code as their years dwindle by because it’s their legacy.And me?I’d be the base of the wings, where they should bind and keep the club whole, be a solid foundation, except like me, they’re riddled with holes, clearly flawed.

Which leaves the blood dripping from the mouth and Dozer.His hands might have blood on them, but that blood was spilled in the name of the US Navy and for the good of our country, so it somehow doesn’t fit because he’s also not alone in that aspect.Many of us who served have blood on our hands.So yeah, those two puzzle pieces don’t fit.

Having them not fit throws everything off.It makes me question if I’ve put the right person with the right symbol.But each time I come to the same conclusion.

When I can’t fit it neatly into the box inside my mind, I feel ill at ease, like I’m missing something.Maybe that time will come when Dozer takes up the Pres patch and his father steps down.But that also makes me feel like an asshole.Like I’m wishing that kind of fate and a whole hell of a lot of bloodshed on him.

Footsteps echo across the hardwood as Dozer steps into the doorway.His eyes flick to the symbol behind me, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the weight of unspoken respect.His boots thud with each step as he makes his way towards it.He touches his lips with two fingers before planting them lightly on the sign, and then takes his seat.The quiet before the others arrive amplifies the reverence.

Five minutes later, the table is full.Rank dictates where everyone sits.We get typical business out of the way first before discussing important matters.I don’t speak for the sake of speaking, like Taz, just when I have something to add of importance.Instead, I use this time to study my brothers.You can tell a lot about a person if you shut up and watch.Body language and silence are just as telling.Like, who cares about this issue, who’s distracted, who’s got money trouble, family drama.Who’s lying.Who’s genuine and invested.

I log it all mentally as I watch and listen.

It’s not until Cap mentions the Greenbacks that I turn down the dial in my brain that analyzes everything.

“I still can’t believe the Greenbacks have gotten so deep with them.Pappy’s gotta know it’ll end only one way.”This from Dozer.He’s talking about Pappy’s business dealings with the Escarra Cartel in Mexico.

Cap nods.“No doubt he does.Probably why he’s patching over smaller clubs and spreading his hold over the neighboring states along the coast.Chess pieces.I expect he’s put many in place for this very reason.For now, things with the cartel are highly profitable, stable, and serving his purpose, but yeah, you can bet his end game isn’t far from his mind.”

I jump in to help some newer members get up to speed.“You said before you think it was a temporary fix, his dealings with them, when he had that big fallout with the IRA?”

Cap meets my eyes momentarily and nods in acknowledgment, an unspoken look passing between us, then relays the rest.“Yeah.But even I didn’t anticipate the IRA holdin’ out this long.For a while now, I’ve been thinkin’ the deal that went south wasn’t the only reason for the rift.”

Dozer knocks his knuckles on the table.“One bad deal doesn’t warrant this kind of freeze-out.Not when there’s big money up for grabs.”

Brothers around the table nod.

Mav adds his two cents.“The Nevada chapters he’s got are flush, and now he’s spreadin’ his web over Arizona.In no time, he’ll be comin’ this way, and lookin’ to push the Thirteen Devils out.”I’m not opposed, but I’m the minority on this, so I keep my opinion close to my chest.“Not a good time when we got Edge on the inside.They fuck up the truce for us, and Edge will be the one facing the fallout on our side.”

This has grumbles and discontent stirring around the room.

“So what do we do?”This from Dozer.His fist is clenched so tightly that his knuckles are turning bone white.

Cap turns to his son.“Unofficially and between us sittin’ at this table, Pappy’s already approached me about putting a chapter here.”At the grumbles heard around the table, he holds up his hand.“I held him off, for now.We need time.We need this truce to keep Edge safe on the inside.Letting the Greenbacks set down roots here will jeopardize that.I told him I’m not opposed to a chapter here down the road and with clear lines laid out, but now’s not the time.”