Page 44 of Cassie
“Correction,we’reso fucked.” Mason smiled and shook his head. “Come to the office. Let’s get this over with.”
Inside with the door closed, Fury gave Mason a long look before he walked all the way around the desk, ending up at the other end. He sighed and then gestured to the chair while he moved to sit on the arm of the couch along the facing wall. There was a long moment of silence, then Fury asked bluntly, “You want both?” When Mason didn’t respond immediately, Fury kicked his feet out, scuffed and worn boots tipping to the sides. He rolled his neck and rocked them back and forth for a moment. “It’s written on your face, brother. Go ahead and spit it out.”
Mason watched him for a moment longer, then walked to the chair and gripped it with both hands, drawing it from under the heavy, wooden desk. With a practiced move, as if he had never sat anywhere else, he turned the chair and settled into the leather, allowing the cushions a moment to adjust to him. “Depends.” He’d tossed ideas around in his own head for two weeks now, and hadn’t come up with an easy way to open this discussion. “What do you think is happening here?”
“Give me a little credit, Mason.” Fury laughed and lines of strain fell away from his face. “You’ve been an asshole to everyone except me for the past bit, but you aren’t talking to me at all. Not even small shit, even when my kids want to see their uncle. I don’t know what you think I did, but whatever it is, I’m willing to fix it. My Bethy needs her brother, and asshole—” He leveled a finger at Mason with a shake of his head. “—I need my rock. In all the years since you dumped this on me, you’ve been there for me. I could ask you anything without worrying you’d turn around and use the info for your own agenda, because we didn’t have agendas. There was you and there was me, and we walked the same path. Whatever’s best for the RWMC. Now? It’s like there’s a fuckin’ ocean between where I stand and you sit, and I had two guesses.”
Fury folded the rest of his fingers against his palm, lifting the pointer from Mason to the ceiling. “One was we had some shit in the club that I hadn’t caught, and you were disappointed in me, but that didn’t hold water because no matter what you’d move to clear the club. That left number two.” He flipped his middle finger up. “Two is you’ve tired of sitting on the sidelines, and who could blame you? You set things in motion, but so much has happened with my face in the front line. Germany, and fuck me if I’m not proud of what we’ve done there. Four chapters, all fifty-plus members. Italy, which I hadn’t even seen coming. Australia, and there’s more pride to be had. Perth, Sydney, and Melbourne, all hosting RWMC chapters and good relations with existing or previous dominant clubs.” Mason leaned forwards and propped his elbows on the table. He cupped one scarred hand in the other, bent and scuffed knuckles wrapping around to support his chin. “So,” Fury finished, head lifted high. “Which is it?”
“I might have started coloring in that roadmap, but you’re the one who followed it to the edges and filled in all the blanks. What you’ve done with the club is commendable.” Mason had been there during it all, but Fury was right, when he stepped back, his role had put him in the shadowy spaces along the edges of those accomplishments. “But, you got it wrong. It’s not about who gets the accolades, brother. It’s not about whose name is on the charter. Our oath says it all, and you know it. I got you, and you got me, and together we are the club. That’s the way it’s supposed to be for every member. Rebels forever,” and Fury chimed in, his voice low and tight, “Forever Rebels.”
“Both, or what?” Mason watched as Fury’s fingers curled into fists balanced on each thigh. Silver rings glinted from his hands, and those knuckles were as scarred as Mason’s. “What’ll it be, President.”
“That’s something I won’t miss,” Mason said. He felt his lips curving down. “The addition of ‘Past’ to the title. So,” he shook himself, “which would you like to keep? National or international?”
“It’s on the table to keep something?” Fury looked surprised and Mason sighed.
“Jesus, brother. This is actually just a fuckin’ discussion, not a beat out or a cutting party. It don’t have to hurt like a motherfucker unless you want that pain. So, tell me what you want, and let’s see if we can come to an agreement.” Mason blew air against his cupped palms and sat back, lowering his hands to the desktop. He traced the dents and lines carved in the surface. Most he’d been here for, knives drawn in anger or challenge, weapons tossed to the wood so they were visible to all. There were a few new ones, though. Changes to get used to, just like with everything. “So, what will it be?”
“Tell me what you intend, Prez.” The title slipped from Fury’s lips more naturally, and Mason felt it resonate inside him. “Let’s sort it out together.”
“International, at least. National, probably. You want local, then we’ll talk to Hoss, and I suspect he wouldn’t mind handing it over. It’d be your gift to me to keep you somewhere, so I don’t have to dick with these assholes alone.”
Mason took a chance and grinned, relieved when his brother-in-law, confidant, and friend smiled back.
This could have gone bad.
Fury nodded at him and he grinned wider.
It didn’t.
“Now that’s settled, let me tell you why, then we’ll call Blackie and settle this old lady bus trip shit.”
***
Hoss
He watched Mason head into the office with Fury. Looking around the room, he found Myron who lifted his eyebrows. Hoss shrugged.Fuck if I know, Myron. Brute and Gunny were headed in his direction and Hoss stifled a silent groan. Sometimes it sucked being the one in the know, because lying to his brothers didn’t set well with him. “Before you start, I can only tell you Mason told to keep my yap shut.”
That cut off whatever Brute had been about to say, but not Gunny who snorted and propped his sledgehammer-sized fists on his hips. “Fuck you. What’s going on?”
“Yap. Shut.” He shook his head. “It’s not bad, that’s all I will say.” And that was probably eight words more than he should have based on the look on Gunny’s face. “Don’t start on me, brother. You know how it is.”
“Fury didn’t look unhappy.” Brute’s raspy voice scarcely carried over the party noise, his ruined vocal cords forever damaged. “Guess we’ll know when they come back out.”
“With so many of us leaving tomorrow, don’t count on our prez sayin’ anything.” Hoss ducked his head, glad his slip was easily covered by Fury being in that room.Shit. “What time are we rolling out, do you know?”
“After a party like this? I’ve learned my lessons. We’ll aim at kickstands up by ten, but realistically it’ll be eleven or so. You not staying here tonight?” Brute glanced around the room. “Not that I blame you, it’s gonna be nuts to butt on the floor if half these yahoos keep drinkin’ like they are. Not enough unreserved rooms for’ em.”
“I was going to go to Cassie’s. I haven’t told her yet that we’re leaving for a few weeks.” He grimaced. “Time I got off the pot on that one. She won’t be happy.”
“Old ladies are like that. You shouldn’t make her be the last to know. Hey—” Gunny pointed over Hoss’ shoulder. “—Mason and Fury are comin’ out. They both look smug as shit. What the fuck does that mean, do you think?”
“I think me telling you it’s good news was prophetic, that’s what I think.” Hoss grinned and turned to watch the two men stroll into the room. Mason gripped a chair and lifted it, thumping the legs against the floor like a gavel.
“Hey. Shut up now.” Mason shouted and silence fell swiftly, club members and their family or guests going quiet.
Hoss studied Fury’s face for a moment, glad to see an ease there that couldn’t be faked. Whatever had happened between them in that closed room had been good, and was welcomed by these men he trusted and believed in.It’s all good. He then turned his ear back to Mason’s speech.
