Jazz warmed up a little at the sight of the muffins. Raven grabbed the first one, and then there was a mad rush as Gunnar, Jazz, and Tex all tried to get the biggest, best-looking muffins in the box. I smiled. Seeing people get excited about my pastries never got old.
I grabbed the second box, keeping it safe from the hungry horde, and then glanced at Blade. “You ready?”
He nodded. “Priest should already be in my office already. Come on, Gunnar.”
Gunnar mumbled his acknowledgment around a mouthful of pastry. He slapped Raven on the ass affectionately—Raven jumped and swatted at his shoulder with a wide grin—and then followed Blade toward his office.
I carried the second box of muffins into the office and set it on Blade’s desk. Priest stood up when we entered and greeted me with a firm handshake and a warm smile. “Dante. Good to see you.”
“Sir,” I said.
“How’s Mal?”
“Good as ever,” I said. “He sends his best.”
“Send him my regards as well,” Priest said.
Out of all the Hell’s Ankhor members, I was most familiar with Priest. He, Ankh, and Dad had been friends for years, ever since Hell’s Ankhor took control of their territory. I hadn’t seen much of Priest since Ankh’s death—which was expected, considering all the trouble they’d had with the Vipers, let alone the grief Priest was dealing with. But growing up, Priest and Ankh had been a familiar presence in the Liberty clubhouse, and I still carried a deep respect and warmth for them.
Blade took his seat behind his desk, and I sat in one of the two chairs across from him, with Priest in the other seat. Gunnar leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
Priest took one of the muffins from the box. “Thanks for these. You brought my favorite.”
“Yessir,” I said. “It’s the least I could do.”
Blade nodded and took a sip of his coffee. “What are the updates with your members who caused all this trouble?”
Straight to business, then. I liked that about Blade—no bullshit with him. He always cut to the chase. It made it easy to respect him, because you knew he wasn’t manipulating you, or fucking around. He was a natural leader. If anyone could fill the big shoes Ankh left behind, it was Blade.
“Well, first of all, they’re no longer Liberty Crew members. They were excommunicated from the club and banished from our territory, as well as Hell’s Ankhor territory.”
Blade nodded approvingly.
“We haven’t heard from them since then,” I said. “No trouble so far—but we’re not letting our guard down.”
“Good,” Blade said. “And I assume you know the monetary compensation isn’t going to cut it for reparations.”
I nodded. “Of course. Liberty’s ready to work with Hell’s Ankhor in whatever way necessary to keep a good relationship between us.”
Priest nodded at me, visibly pleased with the conversation. Like a proud dad watching his kids.
“I’ve got two tasks in mind,” Blade said.
“Let’s hear it,” I said.
I’d have a chance to speak my case—argue against the reparations—if I really felt it was necessary, but that’d be my last resort. I trusted that Blade would be fair. Because with what the Liberty members had done, he had every right to kick us out of Hell’s Ankhor territory altogether, and I couldn’t let that happen.
“I was impressed with how easily you handled bringing those two under control at once at the Liberty clubhouse,” Blade said. “Gunnar and Jazz have been putting together a new training regimen for the enforcers. We want to expand the program and have every patched-in member participate so everyone has at least basic self-defense skills, in light of everything that’s happened. I’d like you to help out a few times a week, with the training as well as the sparring.”
“I’ve got some grappling skills,” Gunnar said. “And Jazz has what he picked up in the joint. But we want to offer a variety of techniques.”
“Tanner’s still with the club, correct?” Priest asked.
I nodded. Tanner—my best friend, a.k.a. Tru—was well-versed in Muay Thai, and I’d picked up quite a bit from him, as well as some grappling from my dad. We’d trained together since we were kids, and where Tru had stuck with Muay Thai, I’d expanded into different styles: boxing, jiu-jitsu, even a little judo. “Yep. He’s got his hands full as sergeant-at-arms right now, but I’d be happy to help.”
“Good,” Blade said. “We think it’d be a good way to tighten relationships between the two clubs, as well.”
“With everything that’s happened over the past few months,” Priest cut in, “we want to bring our two clubs a little closer. We want to be able to count on Liberty Crew for surveillance on our borders when we need it, and for your crew to feel comfortable calling on Hell’s Ankhor for backup when necessary. It’s something we should have done a lot sooner.”
I nodded. The ease of this reparative task surprised me—I would’ve been happy to help Hell’s Ankhor train their members without having to repay a debt. And I couldn’t deny that I’d feel a little more secure knowing I could call on Blade if we had any real trouble with Baxter, Ryder, and Trip. With their excommunication, our ranks were a mere dozen patched-in members. If shit really hit the fan, we might need to call in backup.
“Happy to agree to those terms,” I said. “Can’t say I disagree with your reasoning, either. Hell’s Ankhor has always been a friend to the Crew, and I think we’re past due on tightening that bond.”
Blade nodded and wrote something on his notepad. Priest raised his eyebrows expectantly. No one said a word.
“And the second task?” I prompted, a little awkwardly.
Blade sighed heavily and scrubbed his hand over his forehead. “Uh. Baking lessons.”
I blinked. Surely I misheard. “Excuse me?”
Gunnar snorted a laugh behind me.
“Yeah. Baking lessons.” Blade leaned back in his chair with a resigned sign. “Everyone won’t shut up about the cake you made when The Kid got patched in. And you saw how they descended on the muffins.” As if to punctuate, Blade took one from the box and began to peel the liner off. “No one here can bake. Barely anyone can cook.”
“Logan can cook,” Gunnar noted. “And Jonah.”
“And that’s about it,” Blade said. “But none of them can really bake—half of them can’t even make cake from a box.”
“I saw Raven bake the saddest carrot cake the world has ever seen,” Gunnar said morosely. “It melted into a pudding as soon as it came out of the oven.”
“A lot of our members are interested,” Blade said. “Can’t say I understand it, but it came up in church, and that’s what we decided on. So. Training and baking. Those are the terms of the reparations.”
I stifled my incredulous laugh—never in my entire tenure as vice president of the Liberty Crew had I encountered reparations like this. Just another quirk of Hell’s Ankhor, I supposed. I extended my hand to shake. “Consider it an agreement.”
Blade shook my hand with a broad grin on his face. “Excellent. Glad to have you on board.”