20. Teller

20

TELLER

T he fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting a sickly glow on the stacks of paperwork littering my desk. I run a hand through my unkempt hair and sigh, the weight of responsibility pressing down on my shoulders like a physical force.

This wasn’t supposed to be my burden to bear. Tank was the president, the fearless leader of the Black Wolves. He built the Black Wolves into a brotherhood that supported not just the members of the club, but the town. He made sure that people felt safe from threats, had people they could count on to protect them and shield them from any dangers. When he first started this club there wasn’t any law enforcement in the town, but our group took on the task to make sure people were following the law and serve our community. He was brilliant, and strong. But with a single bullet, fate thrust me into a role I never wanted or asked for. Now his ghost haunts me from every corner of this cramped office, taunting me with all the ways I’ll never measure up.

I rub my eyes, bloodshot from too many late nights pouring over ledgers and reports, trying to make sense of the mess Tank left behind. The club is floundering, our territory shrinking as rival gangs encroach from all sides. We’re losing respect on the streets, bleeding members, drowning in debt. And somehow, I’m supposed to fix it all.

A harsh laugh escapes my throat. Who am I kidding? I’m no leader. I’m just a quiet bookworm who prefers the company of ink and paper to guns and gore. Tank had the swagger, the bravado, the sheer force of will to keep the wolves in line. I’m a poor substitute, and everyone knows it.

I glance at the clock, the hands dragging towards midnight. Another thankless day in this thankless job. For a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine walking away from it all. Hopping on my bike and leaving the city in my dust, chasing the open road to somewhere new. Somewhere I’m not haunted by the past.

But I can’t abandon my brothers. This club is my family, for better or worse. My blood. Without the Black Wolves, I have nothing. I am nothing.

The door creaks open and Jamie steps inside, her face etched with worry. She clutches a stack of papers to her chest like a shield.

“Hey Teller, got a minute?” Her voice is soft, tentative. As if she can sense the storm clouds brewing in my mind.

I gesture to the chair across from me, trying to smooth the scowl from my face. “For you, always. What’s up?”

I’ve known Jamie since we were children…long before she became known as Tank’s old lady. I’ve watched her grow and flourish here, watch her fall in love with Tank when they started out as an arranged marriage, and I’ve also seen her shatter with Tank’s death. She’s the glue of this place and when I was selected to take over as President she promised to be here for me no matter what I needed.

Jamie sinks into the seat, her shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. She slides the papers across the desk, resignation in their eyes. “The monthly numbers. They’re not good.”

I scan the report, my stomach sinking with every line. Membership is down since Tank’s death, way down. Our ranks are thin, patched members jumping ship left and right to other clubs or just getting out altogether. The streets whisper that the Black Wolves have lost their bite. That we’re toothless old dogs, begging for scraps. But we never were a club to want to take over territories from others. Our mission was to safeguard our community.

The financials paint an even bleaker picture. “The shop owners in our territory, they’re withholding taxes?” I look up at Jamie sharply. “Since when?”

She shrugs helplessly. “Since word got out that we don’t have the manpower for patrols anymore. They figure why pay for protection we can’t provide?”

I curse under my breath, slamming my fist against the desk. The disrespect stings like lemon juice in a cut. These are the same people who begged for our help when the Reapers had them under their thumb. The same people who lined up to kiss Tank’s rings and called him their savior. Now they spit on his grave and dare to stiff us?

But I can’t exactly blame them. Would I pay hard-earned cash for an empty promise? We’re spread too thin, our ranks too depleted to keep the streets safe like before. The other gangs smell blood in the water, circling us like starving sharks. It’s only a matter of time before they make their move. We need to do something, but what?

I pinch the bridge of my nose, a dull throb building behind my eyes. This is the part of leading I hate, the impossible decisions. Do I strong-arm the shop keeps, demand they pay up or face the consequences? Risks burning bridges we can’t afford to lose. Let it slide, we look weak. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

“What do you think?” I ask Jamie finally, my voice heavy with exhaustion. “You were Tank’s old lady. He trusted your instincts. So do I.”

Jamie looks surprised, her eyes widening a fraction. She chews her lower lip, choosing her words carefully. “Honestly? I think we need to regroup. Fortify our defenses, rebuild our ranks. Quality over quantity.”

I nod slowly, turning the idea over in my mind. It makes sense. No point in having numbers if they scatter at the first sign of trouble. What we need are loyal, dedicated members. True believers in the cause.

“And the taxes?” I press gently. “We can’t let that stand.”

Jamie meets my gaze steadily. “Send a few of the old guards to have a friendly chat with the shop owners. Remind them that our protection comes with a price tag, now more than ever and consider bringing me back on to help you with the finances.”

“I appreciate the offer,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “But you’ve got enough on your plate right now. You need to focus on taking care of yourself and the little one.” I nod towards her swollen belly, a bittersweet reminder of the life growing within.

Jamie’s lips curve into a wistful smile, her hand instinctively cradling the swell of her stomach. “This baby is the only thing keeping me sane some days,” she confesses softly. “But I need more than that. I need to feel useful like I’m still a part of something bigger than myself.”

I lean back in my chair, studying her determined expression. The fire in her eyes is achingly familiar, a mirror of the same fierce loyalty that burned in Tank’s gaze.

“I used to help him with the books, you know,” she continues, her voice wistful. “He’d sit right where you are, poring over the numbers while I sorted through the receipts. It made me feel like I was contributing like I was a true partner in every sense of the word.”

I can picture it vividly - Tank hunched over the desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as Jamie flitted around him, a soothing presence amidst the chaos. The image sends a pang of longing through my chest, a reminder of the void his absence has left in all our lives.

“I don’t want to overstep,” I say carefully, weighing my words. “But if you’re sure you’re up for it, I could use an extra set of eyes on these reports. Maybe we can find a way to keep the businesses in line and boost morale among the guys at the same time.”

Jamie’s face lights up, her smile radiant and genuine. “I’d like that,” she says softly. “I want to help in any way I can. For the club, for our family. For Tank’s memory.”

I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “For Tank,” I echo, my voice rough with emotion. “He’d be proud of you, Jamie. Of the strength you’ve shown, the way you’ve held us all together.”

She ducks her head, blinking back tears. “He’d be proud of you too, Teller. You’ve stepped up in ways no one could have imagined. You’re the leader we need, even if you don’t see it yet.”

Her words wash over me, a balm to the raw, aching parts of my soul. For a moment, the weight on my shoulders feels a little lighter, the path ahead a bit less daunting.

“How are you holding up, Jamie? Really?” The words slip out before I can stop them, the need to protect and support her overriding my usual reserve.

She meets my gaze, her smile gentle but tinged with sadness. “I’m taking it day by day,” she replies, one hand resting on the swell of her belly. “Some moments are harder than others, but I’m finding joy where I can. In the little things, you know?”

I nod, understanding all too well the bittersweet dance of grief and gratitude. “I’m glad to hear that. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, you know we’re here for you, right?”

“I do, and I appreciate it more than you know.” Jamie’s voice is warm, filled with the quiet resilience that’s carried her through these trying times. “I heard that you may have gotten yourself a live-in nanny?”

There goes Kip…running that mouth.

“Kip and Clay found her. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

I picture Ayla’s vibrant green eyes, the way her dark hair cascades down her back.

“What do you think of her?”

I rub the back of my neck, suddenly self-conscious. How to describe Ayla? “She’s great with the baby. Caring, patient. Not afraid to speak her mind either.” I chuckle, remembering our first meeting.

“Hmm.” There’s a knowing glint in Jamie’s eye that makes me shift in my seat. “Sounds like she’s made quite the impression on you.”

I shrug, trying to play it casual. But I can’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips. “She’s...different.”

Jamie leans forward, her voice soft. “Teller, the way your whole face lights up when you talk about her... I haven’t seen you like this in a long time. You like her.”

“I don’t know her.” Jamie is always so quick to jump the gun.

“You don’t have to know someone to have a crush on them.”

“Yeah, but...” I trail off, hesitant to voice the gnawing uncertainty. “I’m not the only one who’s taken a shine to her. My brothers, they...” I rub my jaw, frustration rising. How can I pursue Ayla when I know they’re interested too?

Jamie’s hand finds mine, her touch gentle yet firm. “Hey. Don’t let that hold you back. You’re a catch, Teller. Any woman would be lucky to have you.” Her eyes are earnest, unwavering. “If there’s something between you and Ayla, you owe it to yourself to see where it leads.”

I nod slowly, letting her words sink in. She’s right. I can’t let my fears control me. If Ayla and I have a connection, I need to find out what it could be. What we could be.

Jamie pushes herself up from the chair, one hand supporting her belly. “Well, I should get going. Let you get back to...” She gestures at the paperwork strewn across my desk with a wry smile.

I stand too, walking her to the door. “Thanks, Jamie. For everything.” I hope she can hear the sincerity in my voice, how much her support and friendship mean to me.

She pauses in the doorway, turning back with a mischievous grin. “You know, I’d love to meet this Ayla sometime. From what you’ve said, I think she’d fit right in with our little circle.”

I freeze, unease trickling down my spine. Ayla, meet the Black Wolves? She has no idea about my involvement with the club, the dark underbelly of our world. Exposing her to that, to the risks and dangers... I’m not sure I’m ready for that step. Not sure she’s ready.

Jamie must see the conflict on my face. She squeezes my shoulder. “Just think about it. No pressure.” With a final warm smile, she slips out the door, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

The door clicks shut behind Jamie, and I’m enveloped by the heavy silence of the office. My gaze drifts, unfocused, as my mind wanders back to that stolen moment with Ayla. The soft press of her lips against mine, the way her body melted into my embrace. It felt so right, so perfect. Like coming home after a lifetime of being lost.

I close my eyes, savoring the memory. The sweet taste of her, the intoxicating scent of her hair. I can almost feel the silky strands sliding through my fingers, the warmth of her skin beneath my touch. A shiver runs through me, desire and longing tangling in the pit of my stomach.

But as quickly as the warmth blossoms, it’s chased by a cold wave of doubt. What am I doing, letting myself get caught up like this? I’m the president of the Black Wolves, with a mountain of responsibilities on my shoulders. I don’t have time for distractions, for complications.

And Ayla... she deserves better than being dragged into my mess of a life. She’s so pure, so innocent. I can’t taint that, can’t risk ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

But god, I want her. Want her with an intensity that scares me, an ache that goes soul-deep. I’ve never felt this way before, never craved someone’s presence like I crave hers. It’s like she’s the missing piece I never knew I needed, the light to balance out my shadows.

I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. I’m torn, caught between conflicting desires. The urge to protect her, to keep her far away from the ugliness of my world. And the desperate need to hold her close, to claim her as mine in every way possible.