My eyes narrowed, and I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to back down.
“I don’t know who pissed in yourWheatiesthis morning, but calm the fuck down. You’re raging, and there’s no need for that, not when shit’s getting hairy with the DCs.”
The DCs are what we called our rival club. The Dismembered Crows MC was a group of loathsome assholes that weren’t even fit to ride the road. They raped their way through half the women in town. They burned whatever they touched, and they were slinging other bikers through the mud. Not that we were much better. We ran guns, drugs, and whatever else we could get our filthy hands on. It wasn’t the best business to be in, but it kept the club running, and that was all that mattered.
Sabbath had some weird vendetta with the DC’s Prez, Hoax. All I knew was that it had something to do with Shasta, but I wasn’t exactly sure what. I also knew, according to Sabbath, that this was the club his brother Leppard was plotting with before he died. How Leppard was involved with them we may never know, but since Sabbath was now our Prez, we had to take his word as gold.
“I fucking hate time. It never speeds up or turns back.” He looked distraught, almost like he didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.
“Hey, Prez, you okay?” I placed a friendly hand on his arm, and he stiffened, quickly brushing me off.
“I’m fucking fine.”
“What happened with Shasta last night?”
He spun around, getting up in my face, eyes dancing with unbridled rage and hostility. “I put that bitch in her place. That’s what fucking happened. What’s it to ya?”
The thought of him even laying a hand on Shasta made my blood boil, but I choked that need to protect her down, remembering my place inside this club.
Before I could comment, our club officers, Clash, Sandman, Wasp, Priest, Ranger, Warrant, and Skid all came clamoring inside the room, bickering over this and that as they went.
“I’m telling you, Sandy, that bitch is not worth all the trouble you’ve been having. Kick that bitch to the fucking curb and be done with her,” Clash exclaimed, watching as the big mammoth biker took his seat at the table, our Enforcer’s mammoth size almost taking up two chairs.
“I told you not to call me Sandy, asshole.”
Clash shrugged. “Sandman is such a long name, though. It exhausts me just thinking about all the letters in it.”
“And what about Slaughtermen? That road name has more letters in it than mine.” Sandman, our club enforcer, gave Clash a pointed look.
Clash’s eyes crossed, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he suddenly started spouting out words like a robot. “Malfunction. Brain overload. Too. Many. Letters. Disengage. Remove. Letters. Now. Malfunctionnnnnnn.” He started to bounce his shoulders like he was shorting out, then made a poof sound with his mouth before pretending to die.
“You’re such a moron sometimes,” Sandman growled.
Clash opened one eye and grinned. “I’m just playing around, Sandy. Don’t get your boxers in a twist. Now, about that girl of yours, why are you still hanging out with that twatwaffle?”
Sandman shook his head. “Because I love her, dude. If you knew what that word meant, let alone knew how to spell it, you’d get why.”
Clash laughed. “I know how to spell it, asshole. Love… C.H.U.M.P. that spells love.”
Sandman threw up a middle finger, right as Sabbath’s mammoth hands came crashing down on the table.
“Shut the fuck up, Clash, and listen the hell up.”
Immediately, all the men in the room straightened, turning our focus on our fuming Prez.
If there was room, I bet Sabbath would be pacing right now. He looked stressed, more stressed than I had ever seen him.
“Ranger, where are we at with our club funds?”
Ranger, our club’s treasurer, opened up his notebook and took a look at our finances, grimacing. “Not good. We need to do another run, and fast.”
“Fuck! Why the hell am I just now hearing this? What happened to the back up money we had stored away?”
Ranger shrugged. “It went into goods—goods we need to fence soon.”
“Clash, can you get with your contact and see if they’re ready for a shipment?”
Clash grinned; the dude soaked up attention like a sponge. “Fuck yeah, I can, Prez. Consider it done, like two shakes of a dick’s head after taking a nice long piss.”