Bet. His name shows up once more with the response, and I shove the phone back in my cut. I had our cuts special made, so we have inside pockets in all of them at our breast. It’s an excellent spot to keep a bulletproof plate—or drugs—depending on where you’re at. Most of us hold our license and cash in it, so we don’t have to worry about bitches trying to be sneaky and jack us while we’re getting fucked up.
I’m curious to meet this bitch and see what she’s all about. Not often does a chick have the guts to go poking around strip clubs and talking to some rowdy looking bikers. It makes me believe she’s got some balls on her, and that piques my curiosity. The brothers haven’t exactly been forthcoming, so I need to check her out for myself.
I haven’t had some good pussy since I was up north, stopping in on Gamble, so I’m sure that’s fucking with my head as well. Gamble was patched as prez while visiting New Orleans, and once I caught word of her club giving her shit, I hit the road. That bitch went through a lot to have to deal with some mouthy motherfuckers pissed off that she has a pussy and the patch. I helped get them in line with her buddy Ghost while hitting some club whore gash and popped smoke back to Texas once I knew she’d be straight.
Maddy’s been the only bitch around much since then, and I’ve only allowed her to suck my cock. Blow’s been dipping into that pussy on the regular, so I’ve held back, letting him take her for a ride. Sure, we have other sweetbutts that try to squirm their way into our beds, but none of them stick out like fresh pussy does.
The brothers take their sweet-ass time. No doubt they’re having a few more drinks while they know I’m at the club. I’m over here twiddling my fucking fingers, waiting on their asses. Fuckers. They went out to relax and shoot the shit while I stuck around and took care of business. Sure, being prez means I delegate a lot of shit, but I still take on a portion of tasks as well. I’m no lazy fucker, and I never will be.
I head for the bar, the prospects scurrying out of my way like frightened rats. Each brother has a prospect sponsored, aside from myself. I don’t have time to hold anyone’s hand in this world, so they have to do it. I just vet their choices in the end and either put them up for a vote or give ‘em the boot to get the fuck out of my clubhouse. With the amount of MCs around this area, we need more numbers, whether I like it or not.
Ammo, Powerhouse’s bitch boy, waits like an eager puppy for me to bark out, “Give me a beer.”
I guess this clown knows his way around weapons. Not surprised since Powerhouse is the same way. Each of my brothers seemed to come up with prospects that’re mini versions of themselves so far; it’s been entertaining, to say the least, to witness it. If anything, I should be able to trust these green motherfuckers in the end, and that’s what matters most in an outlaw motorcycle club. God knows if Rancid’s fucked up ass ever showed his face around here to take me out, like he did with Dog in New Orleans, I need to have a club full of brothers watching my back. He’s kept his cool with me in the past, but the way he works, you never know what to expect. He doesn’t live by the same set of code most of us other prez’s do. Considering he’s the big dog, the prez of prez’s, means no one can touch him for it either.
“Yes, Prez.” Ammo moves like his ass is on fire, popping the top and handing it over.
I nod my gratitude and step outside.
Wrench, Whiskey’s prospect, is in the garage with the bay up, clinking around in there. He’s one hell of a mechanic. He’ll get a patch eventually. He knows how to keep his fucking mouth shut and pitch in around here. He’s always working on someone’s bike or vehicle, whether it’s his or not. I’d give him my vote today if it were his time. He’s got another month or so of waiting around.
The other two dipshits are on patrol. Blow brought in a kid barely eighteen…kid’s a sneaky-ass thief. We call him Mouse since he’s so fucking quiet. You never know when the fucker’s sneaking up on ya. He’s the newest and has at least another year of prospecting before he’s put up for a patch.
Plague sponsored a buddy of his—Manic. We call him that ‘cause the fucker will party until he blacks out. Not only that but when he fights, he goes completely nuts, falls into a straight-up rampage. While he may be a liability, we can use a few fuckers around here with their screws loose. It gives us an edge that other clubs won’t want to touch.
Angel, my enforcer who’s currently out on a job, sponsored Lunatic. His name says it all and makes me question Angel’s thinking. Those two would scalp every motherfucker who crosses them if I didn’t put a stop to it. Bad enough they chop up damn near every kill. I don’t know how they stomach the shit. They’ve bonded in ways I could never imagine with another human being. For women’s sake, I hope no one is ever dumb enough to fall for either one of them. Lord knows one day they wouldn’t wake up. Luna is with Angel now, but when they’re home, he sleeps in the shop, away from the rest of the club. Angel doesn’t want him under the clubhouse’s roof until he’s fully patched. Considering he’s his sponsor, we’ve respected his wishes.
Hearing the telltale signs of multiple pipes headed my way, I turn around and head right back inside. I go straight to my office. I already have the upper hand bringing her to the RBMC clubhouse, but I’ll get some much-wanted privacy in my office. I want to feel her out myself, find out exactly what she’s up to, and if her words are genuine. That’s easier to pick up on without multiple distractions happening around the club.
I’m also curious if her security guy is ballsy enough to step foot in here with her. I’m in a mood today, one where I wouldn’t mind knocking some teeth out. Maybe he’ll provoke me enough I’ll get a chance to. That’d be fun and no doubt scare the shit out of this nosey bitch.
The club door slams a beat later, and my eyes go straight for the security cam I have mounted on the wall in my office. The yard out front is littered with bikes and two swanky black sedans. Apparently, she didn’t ride with one of the brothers unless the dipshit she was with had followed her here. If that were the case, though, I know my brothers would’ve lost him, so Alice must’ve ridden here with him. That knowledge pisses me off. I told my brothers to bring her. What if she’d tried to get away once they were on their bikes? And who the hell does the other cage belong too? While she was doing God knows what with the brothers, dickmunch must’ve called for backup. What a chicken shit little weasel. I mean, it was in his best interest, but still, the pussy must not have any nuts between his legs.
Whiskey is first to duck into the spacious office, followed by Blow. I’m about to lay into them and ask where the fuck Plague slithered off to when the woman in question crosses the threshold to my office. She’s flanked by three non-impressive bodyguards with Plague taking up the rear. At least he had enough sense not to walk in front of them. I swear, sometimes it’s like I’m dealing with a group of fucking toddlers. You don’t let your possible enemy behind you. That’s Common Sense 101. At this rate, I may end up knocking some sense into my brothers instead of the dipshits she’s brought with her.
“’Bout time you pussies showed up,” I grumble instead to my guys, casting my glower to the fine piece of meat standing in front of my desk. I lay eyes on her, and she’s hot enough to make my groin tighten with desire. Rarely do bitches have that power over me right away, and this one has me taking notice. That fire engine red dress she’s got on is like waving a flag at a bull. I want to show her just how badly I can rip her in two.