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Torrent

I never thought I’d sit at a table again, let alone one with President stitched across my cut. But here I am in Newport, Rhode Island, as President of Royal Bastards MC. And every damn chair around me is filled with a brother I hand-picked. Men I trust with my life.

I grip the worn wood of the table, letting the moment sink in. There’s pride swelling in my chest, but underneath it, there’s a fire. A hunger. Because this wasn’t what I planned when I burned my bridges back in California.

I didn’t leave Shattered Souls MC looking for power. I left because I was haunted. Waking up every night to ghosts I couldn’t kill and memories that bled. I thought going nomad would clear my head, giving me a shot at peace. I didn’t expect it to lead me here.

The East Coast was a coin toss. I’d never been, never cared to.

But when you’re running from your past, distance feels like safety.

And then I ran into Jameson, the son of the founder of Royal Bastard MC, at a club wedding in Jersey.

We weren’t tight, but we’d shared enough beers and battle scars over the years that I trusted him more than most. He’s the one in charge now.

His father, a respected man whom we all knew, was killed.

Jameson took over the position like he was born for it.

And maybe he was. He has just as much respect as his father, and that’s not something that is easily given in this world.

He looked at me, saw the change in my eyes, and didn’t ask questions. He just listened. I told him everything. No lies. No bullshit. Just the truth about why I left.

When I finished, he leaned back, smirked, and said, “I’m looking to plant a new chapter in Rhode Island. Royal Bastards MC. What do you say, feel like wearing a new patch? With a President rocker?”

I won’t lie, it punched me right in the gut in the best damn way.

President. My own table. My rules.

Hell, yeah, I was tempted. But I needed a night to think, because if I was going to do this, I was going to own it. No half-measures.

That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling of some shit motel outside Providence, thinking about every fight, every war, every decision I made for my brothers back in Cali. I wasn’t just a soldier. I was a tactician. A voice of reason. A trigger man. A damn leader.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt something again. I felt like me.

The next day, Jameson and I sat down over coffee and plans. I told him I wanted to build it from the ground up. I wanted to choose every brother myself. He nodded and didn’t blink.

“Good. Then you’re already thinking like a president.”

And now, here I am. Weeks later. The table is full. The cuts are clean. And the Royal Bastards MC: Newport is official.

But with every rise comes the storm. We didn’t even get a chance to breathe before the Bloody Scorpions came sniffing around. Blocking our ports. Jacking our shipments. Testing our resolve.

They’re not just looking to challenge us; they’re looking to destroy us before we even plant our feet.

I push back in my chair and let my eyes scan the room. My brothers. My family. My war dogs.

They want to come at us?

Let them.

Because I’ve got a new chapter, a new cut, and nothing to lose.

Let the bastards come.