| 11 | Like Lucifer & Michael ||

Devlin ran his fingers through his hair, the growing chatter around him getting irritating. He slammed the gavel on the table and stood up leaning forward, arms planted on the wooden surface. His mind was not at the meeting. It was stuck ― elsewhere, and that fact annoyed him.

He understood fucking. It was what humans were made to do, so it made sense. The other shit was just confusing.

He started pacing, barely noticing the room quiet down. She was always so got damn intense, so heavy. Always wanted every fucking thing, especially the shit she couldn’t have.

“Looks like your president has something to say.”

Devlin brought his eyes to his half-brother, Lucas, who stood leaning on the door frame.

“You’re fucking late, Luke.”

The man shrugged, pushing off the door frame. “Yeah, well, I was actually working instead of sitting around a table like bureaucratic pussies bickering about shit that doesn’t fucking matter.”

He was already irritated that they brought the little fucker in, but they didn’t have many people they could trust.

He knew he’d get shit for inviting Lucas to the clubhouse, formerly his mother’s old car factory workshop, as it was for those in the Brotherhood. The savage, grizzly men took the place and its meaning seriously. He trusted his brother about as much as he trusted a two-headed snake. Worse than a lawyer are thieves without a fucking code. The slight-of-hand thief worked for the highest bidder. Nothing more than a man whore ready to bend over for the biggest sack.

Stitch placed a hand over Flesh’s, the sergeant at arms, chest. He really didn’t like Luke, even more so than Devlin. Honestly, it wasn’t that Devlin didn’t like his brother, but it was more he was being pissed at his father for what his actions did to Devlin’s mom. Some say it was the reason why she died, a broken heart. The men sitting around the table were his fucking brothers as far as he was concerned. This thing that called himself a Sinn was a genetic ‘Oh-fuck-should-have-pulled-out-oopsie.’

“What did you find out?” Stitch asked, after Devlin just stared at the man for several minutes, hand gripped around the gavel like he’d use it as a weapon.

“Connor Duprey is indeed behind the grave robbing. He’s too smart to do the shit himself, but my sources found a financial trail that links him to the idiots caught on camera at the mausoleum.”

“He’s fucking lying. Duprey is locked up in prison for another twenty years.” Flesh snarled, pacing at the back of the room.

Lucas smiled. “Wrong, scar face.”

The big biker sneered.

“He was released a few days ago, and get this, on good behavior.” The man laughed.

“Got fucking damn!” Devlin chucked the gavel across the room, and it took out a few books before falling on the wooden floor. This was not good, far from good. His father and several other kinsmen sitting around the table were happy when Duprey got put away. He was never supposed to leave that prison cell. How the hell did he get parole? Devlin started pacing again.

He never wanted this. He never wanted the fucking gavel. He loved his Brotherhood, loved his brothers, but this was fucking bullshit. He paused, hands flat on the table, his eyes staring at the textured surface. He looked up, catching the eyes of familiar faces staring back at him. They all looked to him for direction. Ever since Luscious’ death, they’d been looking. He let his head fall again.

“Looks like El Presidente didn’t like that news.”

“Shut the fuck up, Lucas!” Devlin roared, a sinister delight wrapped his spine now that he had someone to focus his frustrations on.

“Don’t shoot the messenger. You told me to do a job, and I did it. Now it’s up to you and your girl scouts to do the heavy thinking.”

“Get the hell out of here, you disrespectful little mite! You say you want a fucking seat at this table, but you’re here mocking it?” He grabbed the man by the collar. “You’re a fucking whore’s bastard―” Devlin broke off when the other man punched him square in the jaw.

Stitch calmed the table of increasingly angry bikers.

“Don’t you fucking talk about my mother. If your mother wasn’t a cold fish, dad wouldn’t have come running to mine, looking for a warm pussy.”

Devlin dove on the man, tackling him onto the dark wooden table. The room erupted in cheers and shouts as Devlin landed several solid punches into the other man’s jaw. Lucas flipped Devlin onto the floor, taking out several abandoned chairs as the entire room was standing, engrossed in the fight.

Lucas straddled Devlin, landing punches wherever he could. Devlin pushed his brother’s chin up until Luke rolled off him. Both men scrambled to their feet, circling each other like lions in a clearing. Somehow, the table was flipped on its side near a wall, and chairs scattered the room.

“Why should I respect you when none of you respect me?” Lucas said, touching his bloody lip. Devlin cracked his neck. When he was done with the little bastard, he’d have more blood than that.

“I’m a legacy, same as you,” Lucas said. There was something in the quality of his voice that made Devlin pause. He frowned at the man whose eyebrows quirked with some emotion Devlin couldn’t put his hand on.

“Whether you like it or not, we share our father’s blood.”
Devlin let out a long exhale, recalling some of his father’s final words. The man was saying goodbye then, but Devlin was being too bullheaded and stubborn to recognize that.

“Take care of Katerina & Luke. They’re as much yours as this chair, as the legacy of our Brotherhood.”

“This Brotherhood isn’t about genetics dumb shit! It’s about trust and loyalty; most importantly, respect! For each other, for the club!”

“A club I’ll never be a part of.” Lucas dropped his fists. “You said so yourself.”

Silence filled the space between all the bodies, between all the adrenaline and excitement, all the chaos. Devlin exhaled and lowered his fists. “You could.”  

Luke frowned at his brother, the tension replaced with curious whispers.

He exhaled and ran his hand down his face. “Whether I like you or not, you do have rights as a legacy.”

“Fuck that!” Flesh shouted, being calmed again by Stitch.

“Dad claimed you.” He addressed his brethren. “Luscious Sinn claimed him. The man signed his birth certificate, gave him his last name.”

The room started to settle. There was a lot of history in the tension — their father’s affair and what it did to Devlin’s mother. Emilia was a strong woman, calm and collected, maybe too much so, but Luscious’ infidelity and the fact that he flaunted it by claiming the boy was what some said caused her death.

Devlin knew his mother better to know that wasn’t it. No one really knew for sure why she died, but he had a feeling she was sick. Sick and chose to suffer in silence. His mind drifted to the journal he hadn’t touched yet.

“I’m not saying you’re a member. You have to earn that, and you have to be voted in like all of us, but as a legacy, you get a seat. Smurf, give up your chair.” Devlin touched his bleeding lip and took his place back at the head of the table that was being set right by the others.

“So, what the fuck are we going to do about Duprey?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Luke said, finding Devlin’s eyes. “We need more information on his power source. Pulling him out with multiple sentences of life without parole takes some serious juice. After that, it’s tearing that source apart.”

“I want to know more. What are his motives? Why would he wait until this moment to get out? He’s too fucking smart for any of this shit to be arbitrary, and find out what the fuck he stole from my father’s grave.”

Luke nodded. “Arbitrary, good word.”

“I’m not a fucking hillbilly, douchebag.”

The other man smiled at Devlin, and in that moment, he saw his father. People said Devlin looked like Luscious Sinn until they saw Lucas. The same bright blue eyes, dark hair, and heart-shaped face.

“Meanwhile,” Devlin cleared his throat. “We need to prepare for this Hyann Brothers’ job. Recon, transport arrangements, paying off cops, whatever it takes for this shit to go off without a hitch. Stitch, you’re the lead on that one. Bruce, please, for the love of God, can you get a plumber over to the laundromat to fix the leaking pipe on washer seven? Oh, and don’t forget the Kid’s Cure for Cancer ride. If you signed up, show up.” Devlin pounded the gavel, and as the room cleared, his thoughts roamed to Duprey.

His father and Duprey were together a lot. The man was Luscious’ second. When Devlin was a young boy, the man gave him chills. He wasn’t even sure he was human; he was so distant and cold, yet, had the Devil’s tongue. Shot a man point blank without flinching, no regret, no nothing.

What was the man up to, and how the hell was he always five steps ahead? How did Duprey know everything about anything? Well, it was obvious he had connections, deep ones too.

As he sat behind the large solid oak desk that many a Sinn sat behind before him, his father’s words floated through his mind:

“Heavy is the head that wears the Crown. Heavy are the shoulders of the strong. Light is the mind of the man on top. Heavy is the mind of the man at rock’s bottom with a clever plan to win.”

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