The Saints' Devil

XXXIX

Maxwell turned around and faced Ryan, his eyes slightly wild with bewilderment. "Eagle?"

Ryan nodded, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, trying to keep his composure. "Fury executed him like a dog," Ryan said, stirring the room.

"You mean to tell us he killed a forefather?" one man asked, stepping beside Maxwell.

Ryan nodded, his eyes pooling with tears. "Fury's had a master plan all along with his father but, recently, a new member was voted as Pres. Fury and his father plan to kill Frank, kill your granddaughter as well and slaughter the rest of the Saints and take it over. He executed my father and has both Frank and your granddaughter locked up, torturing them until they're satisfied."

"Maxwell," spoke the man beside him. "Fury killed a forefather."

"I heard dammit," Maxwell snapped, running a hand through his grey hair. "There is nothing we can do," he spoke. "Our traditions are sacred, the forefathers do not participate in the new reign, no matter what."

"Goddammit!" Ryan shouted, the tears spilling. "They killed my father, your brother! He spoke of the day he'd get to join you all here and you cannot even honor his death."

"Enough boy!" Maxwell snapped. 

"Frank is President dammit!" Ryan snapped back, the room going quiet again.

"Hey, hey, you mean the Devil actually became the President?" spoke a different man as he slapped Max on the back, chuckling happily. "We called that shit didn't we."

"Shut up!" Ryan shouted. "Don't you fucking get it? This Haven you've created for the Saints will also end! It's not just going to end with the club, once Fury takes the Saints and finds out about this place, you're all next! He's got a fucking army!"

"Shut your fuckin' trap!" Maxwell snapped, grabbing Ryan by the collar. 

"How can you let him get away with killing your best friend?" Ryan asked, his voice breaking. "You know how excited he was to come here. Please, help us."

"Get outta here," Maxwell said, roughly letting him go. 

Ryan's head was down, the tears falling on the floor. Without another word, he turned and left the bar and went back to his bike. He drove back to the clubhouse, defeated and utterly helpless. His one shot of saving his childhood friend and the rest of his brothers was shot to hell. He couldn't even keep his father safe.

*

The members didn't even have to ask what happened once they saw Ryan return. From the look on his face and his swollen, red eyes, they knew they were in this alone.

"Don't we have some ally groups we can reach out to?" Drake asked.

"No, they all withdrew themselves after the Angels were wiped out. Sure we got business partners, but none of them would be willing enough to help with a mission like this," Leo explained, his eyes still trained on the camera footage.

The members left Ryan alone as he sat at the bar, drinking Jameson whiskey straight from the bottle. Cobra, of all of them, was the most bold as he sat beside his brother, not saying a word, just sitting there.

"I told you they were grouchy old men," Ryan slurred quietly, sniffling as he held back the rest of his tears. "They didn't even care that one of their brothers was executed. My father--" Ryan's voice broke as he choked back a sob, his forehead leaning on his hand. Cobra placed an arm around his shoulder, comforting his brother as much as he could.

For hours the members paced around, wondering what the hell else they could do in this situation. They had no way of notifying Frank that the attempt to persuade the forefathers didn't work so no new orders came through; they were truly and utterly stuck.

Cobra, at some point, had managed to get Ryan to stop drinking and he lay unconscious in one of the booths. "How can the forefathers not help? They're part of the club, aren't they?"

"They once were, yes, but traditions forbid them from helping the new reign once they become forefathers. Only one forefather can remain and it's usually the vice president," Leo explained to them.

"How the hell do you know that?" Atom, one of the clubs skilled hit-men, asked.

"We got history books," Leo shrugged. "Well, I don't think I was supposed to read them, but Frank made them available to us."

"We gotta get them back," Drake said, pacing the most. "We gotta do something. What the fuck can we do?"

"Nothing," Leo said. 

"You're such a fucking twat," Cobra snapped, throwing an ash tray at him, the glass bouncing off his shoulder and shattering on the floor.

Leo stood abruptly, the two of them getting in each others' face. "We're severely out numbered, even if we all went. We got no fucking allies, limited ammunition, and no plan b. There's nothing we can fucking do."

"So what?" Cobra snapped, a few of the members pulling the two of them apart. "We do nothing?"

"You got a better idea, putain," Leo snapped, using his native tongue, french, to call him a fuck. 

The room roared with disputes, the members arguing back and fourth with each other.

"Enough!" Drake snapped, the room silencing. "None of this shit is helping at all. So, why don't we all shut the fuck up and think of a plan."

"Spoken like a true leader."

The members suddenly looked at the entrance of the bar, watching as several large, old men came waltzing in, wearing Saints cuts. "The forefathers," Drake mumbled, the members looking at them with amazement.

"The execution of a forefather with no reason, is a crime even the rest of us cannot ignore," Maxwell spoke to them. "Get all your weapons ready. We're going to get your crew back and kill the traitor."

For once, things seemed to turn in the right direction.

Here you go :)

I will most likely update again tonight but now it is a dinner break for me :) enjoy this chapter!

I love you all <3

With care,

D. M. Brightwell