Page 34 of Switch

“Morning, baby,” I murmur when her eyes flutter open.

She smiles sleepily, her fingers brushing against my side. “Morning.”

I lean in, kissing her softly. “I gotta head to the club, baby. I’ve got church.”

Her eyes widen, and she props herself up on one elbow, blinking at me. “You go to church?”

I laugh, a deep belly laugh that makes her cheeks flush. “No, baby. Not that kind of church. It’s what we call our club meetings. And I can’t miss one, especially since I’m an officer.”

“Oh,” she says, her cheeks growing redder as she realizes her mistake.

I grin, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear before kissing her deeply, savoring the way she leans into me. “I’ll be home in a couple of hours. You can hang out here and spend some time with Oreo.”

She hesitates, her eyes flicking toward the door like she’s unsure.

“No pressure,” I say, leaning back slightly to meet her gaze. “I can take you home if you want, but I like the idea of having you here to come home to.”

Her lips curve into a small smile, and she nods. “I’ll stay. Oreo and I will keep each other company.”

“That’s my girl,” I say, kissing her once more before climbing out of bed to get ready.

At Perdition, the meeting room is packed when I arrive. The officers sit at the table, while the rest of the members gather around, some standing, others leaning against the walls. The air is thick with tension, a mix of anticipation and unease.

Mason sits at the head of the table, his expression as sharp as ever. Dagger’s to his left, his usual calm demeanor unreadable, while Piston leans back in his chair, his knuckles cracking like clockwork.

“Let’s get started,” Mason says, his gravelly voice cutting through the chatter. The room quiets and all eyes are on him.

He launches into a discussion about the direction of the club, outlining the plans for more legitimate businesses and expanding our security and protection services.

“You’ve seen the numbers,” Mason says, his gaze sweeping across the room. “We can’t keep relying on the old ways. The risks are getting higher, and the payoff’s not what it used to be. It’s time to adapt, or we’re going to fall apart.”

There’s a low rumble of agreement from some of the members, but it’s drowned out by grumbles from the older guys.

“This ain’t what we signed up for,” one of them says, his voice rough and loud. “We’re not a bunch of bodyguards. We’re Reapers.”

“Reapers who need to survive,” Mason shoots back, his tone sharp. “The world’s changing, and if we don’t change with it, we’re done.”

“Bullshit,” another voice pipes up. “We’ve been running guns and doing what we do for decades. It works.”

“Does it?” Dagger asks quietly, his voice cutting through the noise. “How many guys have we lost in the last five years? How many times have we been one step away from losing it all?”

The room falls quiet for a moment, the weight of his words settling over everyone.

“I get it,” Mason says, his tone softening just a little. “Change is hard. But this isn’t about taking away who we are—it’s about making sure we’ve still got a future. For us, for our families. You want to hold on to the old ways? Fine. But don’t forget what it’s cost us.”

The tension in the room spikes like a lit fuse when Butch, one of the old-timers, leans forward and growls, “This is fucking stupid. I, for one, am not going to be part of a pussy-whipped club who let their old ladies call the shots.”

A low murmur ripples through the room, and I can feel the shift in the air. Piston straightens in his chair, his jaw ticking, while Dagger’s eyes narrow, sharp as knives. Mason doesn’t react right away, but the way his hands grip the edge of the table tells me he’s holding himself in check.

I glance at Rev, who shakes his head subtly, clearly unimpressed. Blade lets out a soft snort, muttering something under his breath that I can’t quite catch, but it’s probably nothing complimentary.

Mason finally leans forward, his gaze locking on Butch like a predator sizing up its prey. “You done?” he asks, his tone calm but deadly.

Butch shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Just calling it like I see it. The club has been running just fine for decades. Now we’re talking about turning into a bunch of security guards and family men? Might as well hand out aprons while we’re at it.”

“Careful,” Piston says, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re walking a fine line.”

Butch sneers. “What, are you going to tell me I’m wrong? You don’t think this whole thing’s a load of shit?”

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