Page 38 of Switch

I shut the door behind me. “We’ve got a problem.”

Mason sighs, setting his phone down and leaning back in his chair. “How bad?”

I rub a hand down my face, exhaling sharply. “Butch and the old heads are out there rallying the guys. I just caught him saying,our time is now.”

Mason’s jaw tightens, his fingers tapping against the arm of his chair. “He’s pushing back harder than I thought.”

“He’s not just pushing back,” I say, planting my hands on his desk. “He’s got guys listening. Nodding. They’re not just letting him vent, Mason. Theyagreewith him.”

Mason exhales through his nose, his expression darkening. “That son of a bitch.”

I nod. “Yeah. And if we don’t get ahead of this, we’re going to have a split in the club real damn fast.”

Mason leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “We need to shut this shit down before it goes any further.”

“Agreed,” I say. “But we need to be smart about it. If we push too hard, we’ll force them into making a move before we’re ready.”

Mason is quiet for a moment, his gaze sharp and calculating. Then, he nods.

“Call a church meeting,” he says, his voice firm. “Tonight. Every brother in the club needs to be here. No exceptions.”

I push off the desk, already reaching for my phone.

Time to find out where everyone really stands.

An hour later, the meeting room is packed, the air thick with tension. Every brother in the club is here, some looking boredlike they’d rather be anywhere else, others looking like they’re ready to throw down at a moment’s notice.

Mason stands at the head of the table, arms crossed, his gaze sweeping over the room. He’s not a man who needs to raise his voice to command attention—he just stands there, waiting, letting the silence settle until it becomes uncomfortable.

Then he speaks.

“You all know why we’re here,” he says, his voice even but firm. “And I’m not about to waste time dancing around the issue.”

The room is dead quiet.

“This club was started back in the seventies,” Mason continues. “Back then, it was about one thing—riding bikes and getting laid. That was it. No politics, no business, no real direction. Just a bunch of guys who loved to ride and live free.”

He pauses, letting the words sink in before he continues.

“But clubs don’t stay the same. Not if they want to last. We grew and expanded. We bought this compound, built the clubhouse, and yeah, we started running guns. That got us money. Power. Respect. But it also put a target on our backs.”

Murmurs ripple through the room, but Mason doesn’t acknowledge them. He presses on.

“Then we opened Perdition,” he says. “We gave normies a taste of our world. We built businesses, started looking toward a future that wasn’t just about running illegal shit and hoping we didn’t get busted.” His voice sharpens, his gaze locking onto the older members. “The club has never stayed the same. We’ve evolved, changed, adapted. And now? Now, times are changing again.”

I glance around the room, watching the reactions. Some guys nod along. Others shift uncomfortably; arms crossed tight, jaws set.

“I get that some of you aren’t happy about the shift,” Mason says. “I get that you liked things the way they were. But here’s the thing—this isn’t just about whatyouwant. It’s about what’s best for theclub. And if you don’t like it? Fine.”

His voice drops lower, more dangerous.

“But don’t stand around bitching about it. Be man enough to speak up and give me a better solution.”

The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken words.

Then Butch leans forward, eyes dark with barely restrained frustration. “Yeah? And what if we don’twantto change?”

Mason meets his stare head-on. “Then maybe it’s time to ask yourself if you still belong in this club.”

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