“How’s the girl?” Torch asks as I take a seat in the clubhouse. Rock music plays quietly in the background, drifting in from the bar.
We’re sprawled out on leather ebony couches positioned in a square around a low, polished wood table. Nearly everyone’s chilling over here, so I figured what the hell. I’m already the newest member of this charter—practically an outsider and I need to break through that label. Chicago was my home, but I can never go back unless I want to find my head cut off by the damn mob.
I’m determined to make Texas a place for me; otherwise, I’ll have to go out on my own. You know what it’s like to be a lone rider? It sucks because you have fuck all to watch your back and shit to make money on. Most lone riders don’t survive unless they’re a paid killer. I don’t have any strife with killing; I just want to have the decision on who I’m killing, so the paid hitman option isn’t for me either.
I grunt in response to Torch’s question.
“Any more Iron Fists show up or sniff around?” Viking’s gaze falls to me.
“None that I’ve come across, Prez. It’s pretty quiet around there when there aren’t any races going on.”
He nods and sips his whiskey.
“Chevelle let you take her out yet?” Odin asks with an amused grin.
I answer with a glower, and he hoots out a loud laugh. “Told you, brother. She’s got that pussy locked up tight.” The resemblance between him and Viking is a bit unnerving. You’d almost think O is the Prez’s son rather than his younger brother. Both of them are tall with blond hair and Nordic tattoos covering them in various spots. Odin has less, but I’m sure it won’t be that way for much longer.
Saint snickers, always looking to stir up a little drama from what I’ve seen so far. “How about we place a few bets if our new brother can even get into her pants.”
“I’ve got fifty bucks on two months,” Chaos calls from the bar. We must be loud for him to hear us over the low music and being in another room. He’s the oldest brother around here and an ex pro football player. I couldn’t believe it when he rolled up to get me in Chicago, and I came face to face with an NFL star clad in an Oath Keepers vest. I’m sure he has one hell of a story to bring him to an MC.
Sinner scoffs, his charcoal eyes staring down Saint. The two of them are near opposites, one with dark features, black hair, and stormy irises; the other one light, with ashy-blond hair and gray irises that appear nearly clear. “No way in hell he’s that patient. I give him three weeks or else I say he gives up. I’d put fifty on it.”
Hearing him and Saint on this is like sandpaper. Those two recently laid claim to the first woman I was interested in when I got here. Jude’s beautiful, young, and somewhat innocent; she’s a man’s wet dream. Chevelle catching my attention is a good thing to distract me from Jude alone, or it could stir up shit with the brothers.
Odin pipes up again. “I don’t know. He’s persistent, more than any of you fuckers. I’ve got fifty on a week.”
“No fucking way,” Viking grumbles. “Chevelle is stubborn as hell. I say five weeks.”
I scoff as Prez’s woman, Princess, comes up to sit on his lap. “Chevelle?” she asks, smitten and territorial staring at the Nordic Viking looking man she has wrapped around her finger.
“She runs The Pit,” I supply.
“Oh.” She nods and beams a perfect bright white smile in my direction. “Yeah, she’s a tough cookie; I’ve got fifty it takes you four weeks.”
I nearly sputter in surprise. I can’t believe she’s betting with these assholes.
“I’ll take three weeks,” Blaze cuts in.
“What the hell? You have no faith in a brother?” I grumble and a few chuckle.
The Prez shakes his head. “Just be glad Ruger isn’t here, or you’d have some competition. You got a bet, Night?” He turns to Nightmare, back from his mini vacation with his ol’ lady and son. He helped pick up the Fists from The Pit, but I haven’t seen him since then.
“Daydream?” He flicks his dark gaze to his woman, seeking her input. Not only is she his ol’ lady, but she’s Princess’ best friend as well.
“We don’t know if she even likes him.” She winks. I’ve heard about how Nightmare had to fight with his Daydream, also known as Bethany, to get her to finally admit she wanted him.
He hums in agreement. “We’ve got fifty on it never happens.” He smirks, and brothers around him grin.
“I’ll prove you all wrong, and when it happens, I get fifty bucks from each of you.”
“Done.” Prez agrees, and Blaze shakes his head at us, catching snippets of our conversation as he carries various cases, helping Chaos restock the bar.
It’s just another day belonging to an MC. People hear all the crazy horror stories about us because we’re a bit rougher around the edges than most, but what they tend to leave out is days like today. We’re normal people who like to razz each other and talk shit. In that same respect, I won’t think twice to help them bury a body. Does that make us better friends to have? I’d like to think so.
“What time frame are you thinking, brother?” Odin asks.
“It can happen any day.” I shrug nonchalantly, and the guys holler in disagreement. Our ribbing is broken up by the club phone ringing. We quiet down once we catch wind of Chaos telling the caller on the other end to calm down, make sure the doors are locked, and that someone would be right over.