Bear slammed the gavel down. The loud crack echoed through the room like a judge's final sentence.
“Strip him,” Bear ordered.
Tiny and three other massive bikers descended on Jax immediately. Jax didn't fight. He sobbed, his knees giving out as the men grabbed him. They seized the collar of his leather cut and violently ripped it off his shoulders, the sound of tearing leather ringing loudly in the chapel. They tossed the cut, bearing the Vice President patch, onto the table in front of Bear.
“Take him to the edge of the county,” Bear told Tiny. “He walks from there. If he ever shows his face in this town again, you don't call me. You just handle it.”
Tiny hauled the weeping, broken man to his feet and dragged him backward through the doors. The club watched in absolute silence as their former brother was removed from their world forever.
When the doors closed, Bear looked down at the patched cut on the table. Twenty years of history, destroyed by greed.
But then he looked up and saw Arthur standing by the wall, still clutching his frayed jacket, staring at the floor. The man who had risked everything, expected nothing, and ultimately saved the club.
Bear pushed back his chair and walked around the heavy oak table. He stopped in front of the trembling older man.
Bear extended his massive, scarred hand.
Arthur looked at it nervously for a moment, then reached out and shook it. Bear’s grip was firm, but gentle.
“You put yourself between a federal trap and a biker club today, Arthur,” Bear said softly, the booming authority gone from his voice. “You saved my freedom. Probably saved my life.”
“I just... I knew it wasn't right,” Arthur rasped, looking down at his worn boots. “I didn't want anyone else gettin' hurt.”
Bear reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy brass key attached to a metal tag. He pressed it into Arthur’s palm and folded the old man's fingers around it.
Arthur looked down, confused. “What’s this?”
“That’s the key to the vacant apartment above the garage,” Bear said. “It’s got a stove, a good bed, and heat. Nobody sleeps behind a dumpster on my property.”
Arthur’s eyes filled with tears, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words.
“And tomorrow morning,” Bear continued, putting a heavy hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “You’re coming downstairs at eight A.M. I need a man who knows engines, and I need a man I can trust. The pay is honest. The work is hard. Do you want it?”
Arthur wiped a tear from his grease-stained cheek with the back of his sleeve. He stood a little taller, his spine straightening into the military posture he hadn't used in twenty years.
“I’d like that very much, boss,” Arthur said, his voice steadying.
Bear smiled for the first time all day. The poison had been cut out of his club, and a genuine, loyal man had been found to help fill the void.
“Good,” Bear said, leading Arthur toward the door to show him his new home. “Let’s get you out of that coat.”