Just as he was deciding to risk his president’s wrath and grab a quickie on their way out, his stupid brother ruined it by grabbing a handful of her ass and giving it a squeeze. The way Jay had hold of her, Zach could see his fingers were slipped in between her legs.
The server flinched and stood bolt upright. With a sharp twist, she rid herself of Jay’s hand and then, as he grinned stupidly up at her like he was proud of himself, she picked up the glass of Sprite she’d just set before him and dumped it in his lap.
Jay yelled and jumped up, knocking his chair back. The other Bulls at the table leaned out of the splash zone but otherwise let Jay have his consequences to himself.
The server stepped out of his reach and said, in a voice designed to undercut its own words, “Oh, I’m sosorry. I’ll ask my boss to come over and help you out.” With that, she headed back to the counter, calling out, “Hey Jose, we got a grabby asshole and a cleanup at table 2.”
Zach saw Eight nod at Dex, and Dex stood up, grabbed Jay’s kutte in both hands, and yanked him close. “You fucking scrub. You know better than to act like that, especially out in the world. Are you fuckingstupid?”
The thing about this whole scene: yes, some of the Bulls could indeed be grabby assholes with chicks. The club girls knew that going in. They could say no any time they wanted, no matter how far into things with a patch they were, but they knew the kind of guy who wore the Bull was probably not the kind of guy who’d go for sweet and flowery. Zach himself preferred flirting over grabbing, but the odds were pretty good that a girl trying to hook up with a Bull was going to get something rough and wild.
The whole point of having club girls was to have girls at the ready who could handle them—whowantedto handle them. No need for seduction or romance; just a hot-enough chick, ready and willing. In the clubhouse, things got rough and wild.
Even in certain places out ‘in the world.’ Bars that catered to outlaws and outcasts, for instance. Girls who went looking to hook up at a biker bar were probably going to be just fine with a little bit of friendly pawing. But the girls who worked at those biker bars were off limits, just like out in the world.
One thing a Bull—or, for that matter, any one-percenter worth his patch—never did was act like an outlaw or an asshole around the normies. Especially not when they were hauling fucking black market Russian warmakers in the truck just outside.
Zach’s little brother had all their father’s hotheadedness without any of his wisdom or experience. He’d worn a patch for about three years now, and he was still getting into more trouble than any other member. Club lore told of the days when Gunner Wesson was the club troublemaker, even more than Eight, and Gun was still a crazy uncle, but the wife-and-kids thing had settled him down, too. Apparently, Jacob Jessup, youngest son of the legendary Rad Jessup, was still auditioning for the position of club fuckup.
Zach loved Jay the way an older brother should love his younger brother. They were only a couple years apart and, though temperamentally very different, they’d always been close. Zach watched over Jay, took care of him, tried to keep him out of trouble or, failing that, help him out of scrapes. He’d even laid his own patch on the line to protect Jay’s, and he’d do it again.
He’d killed for his brother, and he’d do that again, too.
They also fought like crazy, bloodying each other up and breaking quite a bit more furniture, decorative items, and actual parts of the house over the years than their mother would have liked. But a beating Zach laid on Jay was one thing. It was as much his job to keep Jay in line as it was to protect him.
Right now, there was a decent chance Dex meant to put some real hurt on Jay. Their SAA, away from his eight-months-pregnant old lady, was wound even tighter than usual on this run and looked like he wanted to do some impromptu dental work in Jay’s mouth.
And Jay looked like he knew what was coming. His expression was a cross between fury, embarrassment, and fear.
So Zach stood up and dropped a hand on Jay’s shoulder. “I got this, Dex.”
Dex gave Zach an angry look, then turned to check in with Eight. Eight was quiet for a second, examining the whole scene. Eventually, he nodded. “Go ahead, Zach. Get him outta here. And Jay, you and me’ll talk after the handoff.”
Jay swallowed. “I was just messing—”
Zach hit him upside the head before the rest of that lame-ass excuse came out.
“Fuck!” Jay complained, but at least he didn’t say anything else.
“Get him out of here,” Eight said.
“Yeah, sounds like a good idea,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in. All the Bulls turned to look. A large Latino man in soiled kitchen whites, inked arms crossed over a round belly, stood a few feet off. Jose, no doubt.
This was interesting. Jose looked like a man who could handle the average piece-of-shit customer, but Jay wasn’t the average piece of shit. He was a Bulls piece of shit, and Jose wasn’t entirely sure he could handle five Bulls if they all stood with Jay.
He didn’t look entirelyunsure, either. The man had balls.
“Sorry for the trouble,” Eight said and defused the situation. “He was way outta line, and we’ll handle it.”
Jose nodded brusquely. “Understood. You take care of your mess, and I’ll take care of mine.”
As Jose waved a skinny kid, also in soiled kitchen whites, forward with a mop and bucket, Zach hooked his hand over the back of his brother’s neck and led him out of the diner.
When they were back out in the blazing, bright New Mexico summer, Jay snarled, “Let me fuckinggo,” and tried to wriggle out of Zach’s grasp. Zach bore down and forced his brother around to the side of the building, past the windows, into a spot shaded a bit by the eave above.
“That was so fucking stupid, Jay,” Zach said, letting go with a little push. “Sometimes I think you’retryingto get your patch ripped off.”
“I was just messingaround. You were all over her, too!”