CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
*Vincent “Vee” - Road Captain*
Knowing I have to work tonight makes this meeting seem inconsequential in comparison. Two club assignments in one calendar day, and that scarcely scratches the surface of what is to come; the job folder is packed. Two more are on the agenda for tomorrow and likely two every day thereafter.
I take another drag from my joint, making a mental note to ask Bay if I can go ahead and knock out my required second one tomorrow — get both out of the way early in the week, so I can stop smoking my anxiety away.
During those foggy thoughts, everyone around me is up in arms about ‘buying’ Lace. Buying her. An uncontrollable chuff of laughter forces through my high, causing me to cackle out a plume of smoke.
Buying Lace.
Funny shit.
Damn. I. Am. Stoned.
The room goes silent, and all eyes turn to me. I hold my hands up, joint pinched between my finger and thumb.
“Great. Since you seem to be enjoying this, Vee, go ahead and place your vote,” Kal states, bouncing lightly in the office chair, his boots propped on the corner of the uneven desk.
Looks like someone moved it halfway off the rug recently. Honestly, that is the kind of weird shit you only ever notice when either baked or tripping. Vote. Right. I have no fucking idea what I am supposed to be voting on, even if there’s an inkling of the reason niggling at the back of my mind.
“Say yes, Cap’n.” Chaz snickers beside me, knowing damn well my mind veered and got lost somewhere between seeing Lace take off her clothes and sitting down on this couch. Or somewhere between stogie hit number one and hit number… something. “What were we talking about again?”
“The motion to make Lace our newest club prospect,” Chaz elaborates in as many confusing words as possible. “Oh, and voting Zane in as an official patched member.”
“Right. Got it.” Legs spread and head resting against the back of the couch, I stare at the dull tin ceiling for a moment, trying to see if the weed is in a philosophical mood today or if it wants to play. Problem is, all I can seem to think about is my coming assignment, which definitely means I need another drag. “On the bright side, if somehow this works and Lace starts servicing all HFL members, maybe that means I can use her tonight.”
A snort from nearby has my jumpy attention darting sideways past Chaz to Brodi. “You said that aloud, Captain.”
“Probably because sono proprio sballato in questo memento, and you’re trying to get me to make executive decisions.”
Melting deeper into the couch, I drag my free hand over my face and take another hit, eyes focusing on the red crackle of the tip during the inhale. The sulfuric, tangy scent warms my throat and nuances its earthy flavor. Once all the smoke is expelled, I blink a couple times and try being serious for the two seconds it should take me to play my part in here. “Father Zane has my blessing. As for Lace, she seems the only one who can handle all of us despite our differences. I understand the safety net in the exclusivity, too. Plus, casa sanza fimmina ‘mpuvirisci. So, sì, yes.”
Guess the weed is leaning philosophical.
It takes a few minutes, but I eventually realize everyone is wordless. The room buzzes silent. When my head lifts and eyes focus, I am met with several unimpressed glares. Zane, as always, is especially flustered by my random Italian since he still thinks everyone but him can somehow translate. I groan and roll my eyes at him, circling my hand. “You know? How poor is a home without a woman?”
That seems to soften most of their brows.
Except for one. Kio huffs, cleaning under his nails with a throwing knife as he guards the door. “Depends on the woman.” Most of us were trained up by a firm hand from our fathers. His upbringing was the opposite — a mother more vicious than some of our papàs combined.
For that reason and more, this club life is not meant for a love other than that which we have for our brothers. Falling would be dangerous for us just as much as it would be for those we fall for.
No one in here is tied down. None of us are permitted to be. We each made that vow during our patching ceremonies. Having Lace as the woman to manage our “home” seems idyllic. In turn, she has eight protectors should things become dangerous. Power in numbers. For the weekend at least, then that safety net is cast by our employer.
Chaz, as always, breaks the glumness. He raises a finger in the air. “Yes vote right here; both counts,” he states with a toothy grin.
Brodi, eyes alert, inquires, “We get Lace when we want? Not just after an assignment or on the whim of when Coty promises to not have an epic tantrum?”
“That’s the idea,” Kal states, lips twitching slightly.
Aha. Seems there is more to this than what can be seen on the surface.
Brodi votes simply. “Yes and yes.”
Again a laugh bursts out of me. “Coyote is going to lose his shit.”
“This was his idea,” Kal reminds.