It’s silent enough you could hear a cricket chirp as we all await to hear what he has to say. I’m at the farthest end of the long stretch of table, being that I’m the newest here. I’m not a prospect at least. I’m a fully patched member, but as far as this club’s concerned, I’m fresh meat.
He draws a deep breath in and begins, his blond brows furrowed. “As you’re aware, Ruger was sent on another scouting mission. He rode out with the NOMADS yesterday and is instructed to call me the first chance he gets if he comes across any Fists. We’re this close…” He holds his hand up, pinching his fingers an inch apart. “To figuring out these assholes’ location.”
Our Nordic-looking Prez stares hard at Nightmare’s empty seat. He’s missing this since he’s out of town with his family. “We have to get Night some retribution for what the Iron Fists have put his family through. This wait is driving me crazy; I can only imagine what our brother is dealin’ with.”
Several brothers around the table second his statement and hum in agreement.
Torch sits forward. “Prez.”
Viking’s gaze lands on the fierce man to his right. “Go ahead, Torch.” The brother’s built tall and menacingly. He reminds me of the Terminator with the way his sharp glower can easily make a man uncomfortable. He gives you a dark glare, and you automatically know you’re going to meet the reaper by his hand.
“My buddy came through on the explosives we wanted. We’ll be ready for whenever we do discover the Fists’ hiding spots. No more half-assed fire; we’ll blow that bitch sky high.”
“Good and the guns?”
His cousin, Blaze, covered in colorful fire tattoos with ears full of multiple small black gauges pipes up. “The Russians delivered as promised, and we have plenty at the ready. Odin helped me unload them, and they’re secure in the basement bunker.”
That’s some of the craziest shit I’ve ever seen too. Viking had a bunker put in under the club’s basement. Unless you know where to look, you won’t find it. Any weapons that come in are stored under there in case a bomb goes off, or we’re raided by the cops. He’s a smart fucker.
Smokey, our club treasurer, takes a long drag of his cigarette. He speaks while exhaling a hazy cloud of smoke. “Club bank is straight. Bills are paid, brothers have money in their pockets, shit’s ordered, and there’s still plenty for a rainy day should the need arise.”
Viking nods. “I saw the books. Good work, all of you. The runs have been paying off, and we’ve climbed out of owing anyone anything. We need to keep the whores happy and safe. They’ve been handing us a steady flow of cash.”
Blaze smirks. “Whores are content. We’ve been keeping an eye on the johns coming through, and in return, they’ve all remained unharmed on our watch. Girls have been tipping us more lately too, so they must be making good money.”
“Bet. Any of them mention they want out of whoring yet?”
“Nope.” His cousin shakes his head. He has hair the same cornfield color as Viking and Odin, only he styles his in a faux hawk whereas the other two keep theirs long.
“Even better. Remember they always have the option to leave safely. We’re security, not pimps.”
We all nod. He says the same thing about it at every church session I’ve been to. And Blaze doesn’t even work the girls anymore. Once Odin took over as VP, Blaze got tasked as Viking’s ol’ lady’s personal security.
“Mercenary.” Prez’s penetrating stare lands on me next.
“Prez.” I nod in acknowledgement and meet his hard stare across the table. The man never eases up, always serious and concerned with club business.
“Everything straight at The Pit?
“Yep, didn’t know Chevelle was a goddamn sex kitten, though,” I rasp, thinking of her tight body, and a few brothers chuckle around me. Bastards could’ve warned me.
“She’s something all right,” he agrees, his lips turned up just a touch in amusement. “Don’t fuck it up over there. We need you in the middle of it all for recon. I want to know why the Fists are coming into our territory. They think no one’s paying any attention when they couldn’t be more wrong. There are too many bikers in central Texas for no one not to notice unwelcome colors riding in. They’re straight-up shitbags.”
“She has me racing on Saturday. Were you aware of that happening?”
One side of his mouth hikes up a bit more at the new turn of events. It’s sort of a part scowl, part smirk and his gaze turns thoughtful. “Hope you didn’t place any bets.” He said nearly the same thing before I went, and I wrote it off as nothing, now I understand why. Chevelle plays to win.
“No bets, I raced her for her time.”
“Did you even get a chance to speak then?”
Odin snorts beside him. Saint snickers and I blow out a pent-up breath. “I had a minute and fourteen seconds,” I admit and the brothers all chuckle.
“Fuck.” The Prez actually grins and then shakes his head. “You gotta stay on your toes with that one; watch yourself.”
“I plan to.” I nod, and he moves on.
“Okay, you heard Merc. So, if any of you are free Saturday, head out with him and keep an eye on the crowd since he’ll be behind the wheel for a bit.”