Thank fuck. He needed to forget Jet Bryson and get back to the business at hand. “So, yeah, van came up, eight girls got out. Seemed like a big deal for the clan. They were all gathered at the main clearing mixin’ and minglin’ like some kinda date night.”
“You said all young.” Trip ripped his baseball cap off his head and raked his fingers through his hair before slapping it back on.
“If any of them were eighteen, I’d be surprised,” Rook told the committee.
“You see the plate?” Trip asked. “See what state it was from?”
“No, not the way it was parked. But knowin’ them, it probably didn’t have one.”
“Even if it only came from Ohio, hard to travel that far without one,” Cage mentioned.
Yeah, Rook learned that about nineteen years ago. A hard lesson about always putting a plate on a car before driving it, even if it’s stolen. Especially if it’s stolen. Rook wondered if his brother said what he said for a reason. A reminder of what happened when Rook was fifteen.
“Don’t matter where the van fuckin’ came from,” Judge said.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Trip murmured.
“Already know pockets of Guardians of Freedom exist elsewhere. Only thing we don’t know is if those clans have bloodlines other than Shirley. They could be other inbred families. Same cult, different families,” Deacon said.
“Could be,” Trip agreed. “No men?”
Rook shook his head. “Just the driver. Bet he’s headin’ back to wherever he came from.”
“His hillbilly haven,” Sig muttered.
“So, women—or girls, more like it—all within breeding age, right?” Trip asked.
“Yep,” Rook answered with a single nod. “Probably all over fourteen and the men who we haven’t taken out yet were all over them, almost like speed dating. Seven men, eight new girls. One’s either gettin’ a bonus or they’re passin’ her on to one of the older teen boys.”
“Christ,” Judge barked. “Fuckin’ sick motherfuckers.” Jury, his American Bulldog, groaned with how hard Judge was rubbing her head. But the dog’s eyes were closed and she didn’t lift her head from Judge’s lap, so she must like it rough.
Yeah, he wanted to give it to Jet rough.
Fuck!
She needed to stay the fuck out of his head. The motherfucking bitch tased him and took his ass down. He should want to shoot her with a bullet not with his cum.
“Yo!” Trip yelled at him. “You with us? Or you back fantasizin’ about underage Shirley pussy?”
Rook shook himself mentally. “So, now what?”
“Need you and Easy to keep the Clan Plan goin’. Even if you don’t grab a Shirley, keep an eye out. Report back with anythin’ out of the ordinary. At least anythin’ out of the ordinary for a Shirley. Need to know if vans start showin’ up with men. Shirleys or not,” Judge said. He yanked at his long beard. “Can’t figure out why they’d bring in women before more men.”
Rook should tell the committee about Jet nosing around. About her finding him and Easy. While he should, that might get everyone’s panties in a bind. And Rook could handle one female on his own.
He and Easy would just need to be more careful from now on. Switch up the times they go up since both nights Jet caught them it was during the PD’s midnight shift. Being low man on the totem pole at the PD, she might always be stuck on midnights. He and Easy could go up early morning while it was still dark enough.
Though, getting up that early would suck donkey dick. Especially if he had to work all day at the garage afterward. If he fucked up a repair, Dutch would crack him upside the head with a wrench.
Even so, no matter what hour he and Easy hit the mountain, with winter coming they were running out of time. They would soon need to stop going up there at all, even to nose around.
“Winter’s comin’,” Rook reminded them.
“What is this, Game of fuckin’ Thrones?” Deacon asked.
“Means cover up there’s becomin’ scarce. Might have to table the Clan Plan ‘til spring.”
“Yeah. Don’t need either of you getting’ caught up there. Don’t need to deal with another sitch like Shade,” Judge said. “In the meantime, need to keep our women and children protected ‘til we got a better handle on what those goat fuckers are plannin’.”
“That’s why I got potential prospects waitin’ downstairs,” Rook reminded the enforcer.
Trip smiled and sat back in his chair. The same spot at the table and the same exact damn chair the former prez, Trip’s father Buck, sat in. Trip slid right into that role like he was born for it. Which he was.
But he wasn’t the only son of an Original in that room. A few of them had Fury blood running through their veins. Trip needed to remember that. He wasn’t the only one who could lead the Fury. It would only take a vote—
“We done talkin’ about those inbred rednecks yet so we can check out the fresh meat?” Sig asked, also sitting back in his chair with an evil grin and rubbing his hands together.
“Appreciate you findin’ them, Rook,” Trip said. “But you bein’ their sponsor makes you responsible for them, you know that, right?”
Rook nodded. “Yeah, know it. But like Dodge, these three had my back while inside.”
“All durin’ the same bid?” Judge asked, surprised. The man was always suspicious of bringing new blood into the club. The enforcer would eventually do background checks on them all. He liked to know who and what they were dealing with.
“No. None of them know each other.”
“Any of them from other MCs?” Trip asked.
“Not that I know of.” None of the three prospective members had colors tatted onto their backs. And he’d seen all three in the shower and shirtless plenty of times. Privacy did not exist while doing time. You got to know your cellblock mates better than your woman sometimes.
“Just convicts,” Ozzy concluded.
“None of them did shit to women or children, right?” Judge asked with one eyebrow cocked.
“No. Just stupid shit... like the rest of us.”
A murmur went around the table. Some of them did worse stupid shit than others.
“If these three stay after we talk to them, will have room for one more in the bunkroom since it holds six. It’ll be awhile before Puss for Brains and Tater Snot move into their own rooms, if they make it at all,” Trip said. “Fuck, was hopin’ someone with Fury blood would roll in. So far, nothin’.”
Sig shot a frown at his half-brother. “Who you think’s out there?”
Trip shrugged, spinning the gavel’s wood handle within his fingers. “Not sure. As much as the Originals fucked and with just as many different women, you’d think there’d be fuckin’ enough Fury blood out there to make a town.”
“If there is, some of those might’ve been made unwillingly,” Judge reminded Trip, giving him a look.
Trip’s lips pressed thin and he nodded. “Yeah. Who’d wanna join an MC where your underaged or fucked-up momma was forced to submit by an asshole biker. If anythin’, they’d hate this club for that reason alone even though the current Fury had nothin’ to do with it.”