“Ghost, we had a club meeting last night,” he said, his face unreadable behind his perfectly groomed beard. “We think it’s time you retired your patch.”
The world stopped spinning. Fifty years of brotherhood, ended with a sentence.
“The road’s changing, old man,” he continued. “The club needs to change too. You’re slowing us down, and frankly, you’re becoming a liability.”
Each word hammered into me like the pistons of an engine I could no longer control. I looked at the faces around me – some sympathetic, others impatient, a few I’d personally brought into the club looking away in shame.
“I earned these colors,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Earned them when you were still in diapers.”
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