Scarred.
Tattooed.
And respected by everyone in the room.
“First order of—”
The door slammed open.
Jacob stood there.
His face was pale.
Marcus frowned.
“Brother, you all right?”
Jacob walked forward.
“I need help.”
The room went silent.
Jacob was not the kind of man who asked for help.
Marcus folded his arms.
“What happened?”
Jacob told them everything.
The restaurant.
Raymond Cartwright.
The insults.
Liz’s choice.
The canceled contracts.
The foreclosure.
And finally, the meal she had cooked for him after her world had already begun collapsing.
When Jacob finished, nobody spoke.
Then Ray “Knuckles” Johnson broke the silence.
“How much?”
Jacob took out his phone.
“Twelve thousand eight hundred for the bank. More for the hospital bills. Lost business. Probably thirty thousand altogether.”
Marcus stared at the floor.
“A sixteen-year-old girl?”
Jacob nodded.
“She had every reason to throw me out.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No.”
Jacob’s voice cracked.
“She stood up for me. Then she cooked me dinner like I was family.”
Marcus remained silent.
Then he slowly walked toward the center of the room.
“Show of hands,” he said.
“Who thinks we ride to Memphis?”
Every hand rose.
All fifty-three.
“Call the other chapters,” Marcus ordered.
Phones immediately appeared.
“Tennessee.”
“Arkansas.”
“Louisiana.”
“Alabama.”
“Missouri.”
Jacob watched as the room exploded into activity.
Then Marcus said something that made everyone stop.
“Twenty-three years ago, a man saved my life.”
The room became quiet again.
Marcus touched the scar along his neck.
“I was attacked in Memphis. Left half-conscious in an alley.”
Jacob listened.
“A man found me.”
“Who?”
“I never learned his full name.”
Marcus stared at Jacob.
“But I remember the name on his work shirt.”
Jacob’s expression changed.
“What name?”
Marcus answered.
“Thompson.”
The warehouse fell silent.