Page 9 of Twister’s Salvation (Saint’s Outlaws MC: Madison, WI #1)

Twister

The main room of the clubhouse buzzed with the low rumble of voices. Boots scuffed concrete floors, and the occasional clink of a beer bottle. We’d dragged in the biggest goddamn table I had bought a month ago. It was custom-built from reclaimed wood by some old-timer up north, and the guys sat around it in mismatched chairs we’d scrounged up. A Saint’s Outlaws flag hung behind me. Just the way we liked it.

I stood at the head of the table and gave the room a once-over.

“Alright, let’s bring it in. Church is in session.”

The conversation dimmed like someone turned down the volume knob. Swift leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Wheels had a beer in one hand and a rag slung over his shoulder. Hodge leaned forward with his forearms on the table, and his usual scowl was carved deep. Podge had his damn notebook open like always, pen ready to scratch notes we probably didn’t need, but he took anyway. Gramps sat next to him, sipping black coffee like the eighty-year-old soul he claimed to be, even though he was barely fifty.

“First up,”

I said and slapped my hand on the table.

“We need a name for the rage room.”

Groans and chuckles rippled around the table.

“Here we go,”

Swift muttered.

“I’m serious,”

I shot back with a grin.

“We’re not gonna open the doors to some half-assed named place. It’s gonna be our main cash flow, so let’s make it count.”

Wheels grinned.

“What about Smash Shack?”

“Sounds like a burger joint,”

Hodge grunted.

“Or a brothel,”

Nugget laughed.

“Rage Relief,”

Podge offered.

“Sounds like a pain med commercial,”

Swift fired back.

Laughter broke out.

“Breakers,”

Magnum suggested and twirled a toothpick in his mouth.

“Too generic,”

Gramps said with a shrug.

“Demolition Den?”

Cord tossed out from the side, then raised his hands.

“I know, I know. I’m not patched, but come on.”

“Let the kid talk,”

Gramps said.

“Good idea or bad, everyone’s got a mouth.”

“Wreckless Abandon,”

Hodge said slowly.

“You know, play on ‘reckless’ with a ‘w’.”

“Kind of hard to know unless they see it spelled out, don’t you think?” I asked.

Rev tapped his fingers against the table.

“Saints’ Smash? Keep it in the family.”

“Smash City,”

Swift said with a smirk.

“Straightforward and kinda badass.”

“Rage Against Boredom,”

Wheels said, clearly proud.

“You’re cut off,”

Podge told him.

I laughed.

“Alright, alright. Enough throwin’ spaghetti at the wall. Let’s vote.”

Hands raised around the table as I called out the final contenders: Saints’ Smash and Smash City. It was dead even.

I leaned forward and braced my hands on the table.

“Looks like it’s down to me.”

The room waited. I gave it a beat, then nodded.

“Saints’ Smash. Feels right.”

Swift nodded approvingly.

“Clean. On brand. I like it.”

“Alright,”

I said.

“Next. Buildout. We going full DIY, or we hiring some muscle?”

“Do it ourselves,”

Hodge said immediately.

“Keep outsiders out.”

“That’ll take months,”

Podge pointed out.

“And we’ve got enough on our plate with the clubhouse still under construction.”

Gramps cleared his throat.

“We’ve got the cash. You boys want this done in under six months, you better think about hiring out the big shit. Demolition. Framework. Electrical. Then we go in and make it ours.”

“We can be there the whole time,”

I added.

“Supervise. Make sure no one pokes their nose too far in.”

Swift nodded.

“That makes sense. We don’t need a bunch of drywall dust clogging up our engines while trying to drywall at midnight.”

“Vote,” I said.

Hands rose, and they were more than enough to carry it.

“Alright. Demo and structure go to outside help. Finish work and design, that’s on us.”

Podge scribbled in his notebook and mumbled to himself.

“Anything else on the table?”

Silence.

I leaned against the table edge and scanned the room.

“How do we feel about Madison so far?”

Wheels lifted his bottle.

“City’s nice, beer’s cheap, women are hot. What’s not to love?”

“People watch us,”

Hodge said.

“Noticed that last night and this morning. Eyes on us, and not just curious ones.”

“That’s good,”

Swift said.

“Means they’re already worried.”

Magnum snorted.

“Or it means we’re about to have company.”

“Let ‘em come,”

Rev murmured.

“Steel sharpens steel.”

I looked around the room. The boys were grinning. Calm. Ready. Comfortable in the chaos.

“Clubhouse is almost done,”

Podge noted.

“Drywall’s up on the main floor. Painting starts tomorrow. Upstairs, we’re halfway through flooring. Bedrooms will be done before the week’s out.”

“Three more weeks and this place is home,”

Swift added.

“It’s already home,”

I said.

“Just needed the walls to catch up.”

Chairs scraped back as guys stood, conversations sparking up again. Church was done.

Swift stayed seated, with his arms still folded. He looked up at me, and his eyes were steady.

“You did it, brother.”

“Didn’t do shit alone,”

I said, and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“But yeah... feels good, doesn’t it?”

He grinned.

“Feels like family.”

I nodded and let the hum of brotherhood sink into my bones.

“It’s only the beginning.”