I take a swallow of beer before continuing. “Their father is Senator Compton.”
The brothers gaze at me, lost. None of them have any idea who the fuck stick is. I didn’t realize it either until I thought long and hard on it.
I continue. “He’s nothing to Texas. No surprise you haven’t heard of him. He’s making waves in the Midwestern area. The name only clicked with me because I rode up to see Gamble. I’d passed a shit ton of political signs and that motherfucker was painted over most of them.”
“Fuck!” Blow yanks at his hair. He realizes that he’s been in bed with a senator’s daughter. Not only fucking her but feeding her copious amounts of drugs, and this could fall back on him to bite him in the ass.
“Sounds about right.” I flash him a glance, nodding my agreement. “Alice is in town searching for Maddy. According to her, little sister likes to up and run on occasion, and this is nothing new for their family. Alice was sent by their father to bring Maddy home before she ended up in some real trouble. Maddy’s managed to stay under their radar for longer than usual, so the old man’s losing his shit. Understandable, considering it’s his daughter and all.”
Whiskey complains, “This could bring heat on the club—motherfuckin’ bad heat.”
Plague bobs his head, keeping whatever thoughts he has on it to himself.
“She assures me that her father wants to keep all this as quiet as we do. He’s one of the few senators without a public scandal tainting his name, so he flips over this shit apparently.”
“Well, fuck, that’s good news,” Whiskey retorts, massaging his temples.
“Stop being so fucking dramatic, old man.” I roll my eyes in Whiskey’s direction and continue. “He’s also willing to pay for Maddy’s return.”
Powerhouse kicks out a grin. “This could benefit us,” he remarks. Our club enjoys a free payday, and, in this case, it practically fell in our laps.
I grunt. It could, but do I want to take advantage of Alice? I’d rather see her. We already have money coming in regularly.
“Surely, you’re not gonna pass this up?” he goads.
“We can vote on it,” I finally concede. When it comes to money, it involves all of us, whether I wanna like it or not. “Nays?” I ask, and Blow signals with me, unsurprisingly. “Ayes?” I don’t need to ask, but it’s protocol. Powerhouse, Whiskey, and Plague gesture for the payday. “That settles it, then. We offer up Maddy for cash in hand.”
“Fucking bullshit,” Blow hisses.
I cut him a glare. “Club law, motherfucker. Shut up.” Hell, I voted with him, but this is the way of our brotherhood, and it’s worked for us so far.
Whiskey clears his throat. “I’d like to bring something to the table.”
“Yeah?” I nod him on to proceed.
“Wrench has paid his dues as a prospect. I’d like to vote on making him a full member…with your approval, of course, Prez.”
“Figured it’d be coming up. If you’d brought it to the table sooner, I’d have agreed too. Wrench pulls his weight for the club, in my opinion. How do you feel, brothers?”
“Let’s fucking vote.” Blow backs me up, his head in club mode once again.
“All right. Those in favor of Wrench being patched and brought into the fold?”
The table echoes with our ayes, and it’s quickly settled. He not only gains full membership now and his rockers, but a paycheck from the club to boot. We split up our paydays for club expenses, and anything left over is divvied up between the patched members.
“Whiskey, you were his sponsor, so take care of his patches and whatnot. We’ll celebrate once you have ‘em.”
“Angel getting back any time soon?” Powerhouse asks. Angel is our club enforcer; he got his road name from the angel of death. Powerhouse has been filling the role of enforcer in the club while our brother’s been gone. He’s our sergeant at arms, so he’s used to dealing with shit for us, regardless. The club feels the loss of not having Angel around. The dark motherfucker has a finesse about him and his distorted ideas of handling club threats.
I shrug. “The other charter needed him. He’ll be back when he’s finished helping their enforcer. You know how it is, brothers. We can never have too many favors owed to us.”
Blow smirks. “Kinda like you riding up to the other charter to help out ol’ Gamble?”
This asshole thinks I’ve got it bad for Gamble. He doesn’t realize that just because Gamble has a pussy, it doesn’t mean I want to fuck her or have already in the past. “I’ve said it before, we’re cool. I rode up because if it were me taking over a club, I’d want the other charters to step in and have my motherfuckin’ back. I have hers. Would she come if I called in need? That’s to be seen. I’d like to think so, but don’t plan on ever needing her to.”
“Bet,” Plague comments. “Well, on the business side, I’ve had everyone come through. I hit that trailer park on the far end of town, and the tweakers came out of the woodwork like cockroaches. Sold my stash in two days.”
“The cocaine business is booming, brothers.” I flash a wide smile. “We keep having paydays like we’ve had lately, and we’ll need to recruit even more so. Whiskey, work on a new pledge, and if Wrench has any possible prospects in mind, he needs to talk it over with Blow. We’re close to Oath Keepers territory, and if they catch wind of us dealing and expanding, it’ll be war. Their clubs are too big for us to fuck with, without calling in any backup of our own. Keep your dealings on the down-low, and we’ll milk this senator for whatever we can get out of him.”
By the end of church, everyone’s content. I know Blow isn’t anticipating us selling out his latest fuck toy, but at the end of the day, that’s all she is. We’ve each sacrificed for the club in some way, so him offering up a piece of ass shouldn’t be a big deal. “We straight then? Anything else we need to discuss?”
The brothers grunt out various nos.
I take another pull from my beer and rumble out, “Dismissed!”
“When do you see Alice again?” Blow questions once the other brothers have left church, and it’s just us two hanging back.
“Don’t know.” I shrug. Wish I did, though. Sure would make my thoughts about her chill the fuck out.
“You’re telling me you haven’t spoken to her? How do you know this senator thing is a go?”
I get to my feet, and he follows suit. “I dangled the very thing she desires in front of her. I hinted at knowing where her sister was and gave up a few details that don’t mean a damn thing. At first, I wasn’t sure she’d return, but she texted me the next day, telling me again that she’d be back. I knew if I put my number in her phone, she wouldn’t be able to resist. Bitches like her crave control far too badly to let me be a possible lead and slip away.”
“But she hasn’t shown up yet?”
“Alice is smart. I think she’s biding her time to see how eager I am. If I reach out, she knows she’s got me hook, line, sinker. If I bide my time and let her come to me, we’ve got the ace in hand.”
“Damn, Prez, that’s deep.” He grins.
I chuckle. We’ve been friends for far too long for me not to laugh when he gives me shit. “Shut up, fucker. Let’s break out the Jack.”
We head for the bar. I don’t tell him that I’m hoping the whiskey will help drown out my thoughts of Alice. The bitch has been on my mind ever since she walked in my door, and I got a good look at her.
Taking a hefty swig of the potent liquor, I change the subject. “Tell Maddy to take off her clothes and come dance for us.”
His grin grows. “Now that sounds like a good fuckin’ time. I’ll see what I can do.” He walks off, and I can’t help but wonder what ol’ straitlaced Alice would think if she saw how we get down at the club when we want to party. She’d lose her shit if she discovered that most of the time, we end our parties without our clothes on. The Royal Bastards always end up fucking or getting our cocks sucked. It’s one of the perks of being some of the baddest motherfuc
kers around.
I toss back the Jack. Even through the slight tingling burn of it, Alice is still right there on my mind, front and center. I sure do hope I get to fuck her by the time this is all said and done. The little meeting we had was a fucked-up version of foreplay for me, and it’s only made me desire her more than before.
Plague tokes up, watching me flick a beer cap into the barrel we have at the end of the bar. We’re filling it up to have a beer cap flag made. A couple of the brothers around here are good about creating cool, custom shit like that. Plague exhales a puff of smoke before asking, “Any update on Baker, Prez? Forgot to ask when we were in church last week.”
Casting a glance in his direction, I shake my head. “Same ol’ shit, brother. They’re trying to make an example of him. He’s still looking at serving a hundred-eighty days to two years; the DA hasn’t backed off. If he’s lucky, he’ll be locked up in Hughes. At least if he’s stuck in Gatesville, we can keep him protected. If he’s sent to Beeville or Huntsville, it’ll cost us to keep him alive.”
“Christ…I thought Governor Abbott was supposed to be lightening up on possession charges of bud?”
“Mm.” I nod. “Unless you’re MC or gang-affiliated, then they’re running you through the dirt. It’s why we have to be more vigilant than ever when doing our runs or getting searched. They catch us with anything more than a joint, we’re looking at a fight to stay out of lockup.”
“That’s some bullshit. Baker never fucks with anyone. He doesn’t deserve this.” He’s right. Baker is one of the most levelheaded, chill dudes in the club. He got his road name because he’s always baking something up laced with marijuana. He doesn’t like to smoke the shit, but he damn sure likes to snack on it.
“Agreed, brother, but unless you can find a way to get on the DA’s good side, then ain’t fuck all changing for us…or Baker.”
I chug the rest of my beer and toss it into the bin we have reserved for glass. I know what you’re thinking, and just cause we’re bikers doesn’t mean we can’t recycle. We drink a lot, so it only makes sense we make a haul of glass and cans to the recycling center every now and then.
Whiskey grumbles, throwing in, “I just checked up on our brother. He’s holding up. Bitchy as ever, but he’s managing. The money we’ve been throwing at county has kept the jailers off his back.”
“Bet.” Plague nods.
“We need to get him the fuck outta there; it’s draining his cut of the pie, and I hate to see the brother get out to be left on his ass. You feel me?”
Whiskey agrees. “We’re family. We have his back.”
“Truth…this club has all our backs. Doesn’t mean we can’t acknowledge that being locked up is bad for business, and fuck if the other charters don’t have their own shit hitting the fan.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Whiskey declares stubbornly. At times, the older man has been a rock to me. I’ve known him damn near my entire life. He and my ol’ man were close when I was a kid. My pops is in the life—not this club, but another. He and Whiskey met up when the clubs came together on a run back when I was six or so, and they’d remained friends ever since. While my father would never be in the Royal Bastards, I’m glad Whiskey had wanted in when his old club went their separate ways. It’s not often a club just breaks down and separates like his did, but it allowed him to pledge to another set of colors.
“House!” Blow hollers out behind us, garnering our attention. We spin around wearing wry grins. Blow is always up to some shit with Powerhouse. Those two are like twelve-year-old BFFs joined at the hip at times—often getting into some sort of shit together.
I let out a snort at the sight before me. Powerhouse is naked save for material tied at his hip. It looks like they ripped up a sheet or some shit. He’s wearing black, white, and red body paint. The brother looks like a fucking painted up goofball.
“The fuck is this shit?” Whiskey calls as the brothers and prospects hoot and holler loudly at our massive SAA who’s got everything except his cock out on display.
He starts chanting some shit with Blow joining in, and we’re all busting up. They stomp their feet, staying in the moment, both wearing surprised looks at us cutting up over the display. I have to put a stop to this nonsense. I hold my hand up, “You two fuck sticks want to explain what’s happening?” I can barely ask with a straight face, gasping for air from laughing so hard. Obviously, these brothers have been cooped up too long to get them to start up shit like this. It could be worse, I guess. They could be trying to kill each other.
Powerhouse stops, resting his hands on his hips, frowning at the room. His muscles flex, having been warmed up from his little stomp dance he’d just put on for us.
Blow shares, “We were looking at intimidation tactics. Figured we needed to come up with something good for House’s next fight since he was called out. The videos said the symbols were protection and a sign of strength. We wanted to show it off before doing it at the fight.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” Whiskey complains, shaking his head. “Bunch of goddamn kids around here.”
I start yelling in disbelief. “You’re motherfucking bikers! Powerhouse, you’re bigger than every fucker in here, and that’s your intimidation tactic, brother? Christ, you two need to find a fucking hobby that doesn’t include snorting the product and watching videos of this shit.” The guys still chuckle in the background. Quietly, of course, or I’d be calling them out too.
Powerhouse stomps off, acting like a bitch who just got grounded. Hopefully, the sensitive fucker went to shower that shit off himself. Blow rolls his eyes and plops down in a chair. They remind me of chastised kids—the crazy fuckers.
“This is why I don’t do drugs,” Whiskey points out after a minute of silence.
“This is why I do drugs,” Plague counters.
I chuckle. “This club is crazy, plain and simple. Maybe it’s good Angel is away. He’d have decked both those idiots for pulling some shit like that.”
The guys around me laugh. “That’d been entertaining,” one of them coughs out as a chime echoes through the clubhouse.
“Someone’s here,” I growl, getting to my feet. I make my way to the monitor behind the bar to see Ammo and Mouse on either side of a black sedan outside at our gate. The cage’s windows are tinted, and I immediately recognize the luxury brand. It took her ass a motherfuckin’ week to show her face around here again. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
“All good?” Blow’s instantly behind me, suddenly serious with the announcement of company. He fucks off a lot, but he’s a decent VP when it counts. He straightens his shirt and snaps the buttons closed on his cut. “Anything I need to take care of?”
“It’s her…”
“Maddy’s sister?” he asks, craning his neck to see around me.
“Yep,” I retort as my cell lights up. I press accept before it has a chance to ring. “How many are rolling with her?” I bark into the phone before the prospect can utter a word.
Mouse quietly replies, “She’s, uh, got a carload, Prez. Two in the back, one driving, and her.”
Guess they left the other car at home. Wonder why that is. I’ll have to find out once I get her to myself again. “Fine, let them through. Oh, and Mouse?”
“Yeah, Prez?”
“You pat those motherfuckers down, but don’t touch the woman.”
“You’re not afraid she’s carrying too?”
“Did I fuckin’ stutter, kid?”
“I hear you loud and clear. I’ll take care of it.”
“Bet,” I hiss and tuck the phone away, my eyes still glued to the security screen. I shout, “Incoming, four bodies on the way. Pull your heads out of your asses.”
The drinks get slammed down, the bottles cleared away. Everyone’s back on alert. Powerhouse and Blow’s little sideshow is put out of everyone’s minds. I thoroughly enjoy shooting the shit and kicking back with my brothers, but business is business. As long as we have a potential payday fro
m this senator, we need to be on our toes. There’s also the small detail that I’m not one hundred percent sure how to take this confident chick. She’s like a magnet, pulling me to her. That both enthralls and terrifies me.
Chapter 7
Honestly, I don’t need someone
who sees the good in me. I need
someone who sees the bad in me
and still wants me.
- Relationship Rules
“You came back,” the president of the Royal Bastards MC greets me when I step into the bar. I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it through the door as my detail weren’t giving up their sidearms. I’d expect the smells of beer and sweat to hit me as I entered, but rather, it smells faintly of lemon and bleach, the same as the last time I was here. It’s not spotless or anything—far from it—but it’s straightened up for being a place full of men. Ripper looks just like I remembered, only he’d looked a bit disheveled last time. I’m here much earlier in the day, so he’s very much put together.
I cast a glance around the room since it’s brightly lit up this time around. The walls are littered with framed mugshots, along with random four by six snapshots pinned wherever they seem to fit. The ceiling is different yet intriguing. It’s decorated in a mismatch of scuffed up hubcaps. Behind the fourteen-foot long hammered metal bar, the shelves are made out of iron bars and darkly stained wood. It screams rustic male in every aspect. I have to commend them. I’ve seen my father’s friends hire decorators attempting to get a similar look and got nowhere near what the Royal Bastards have so effortlessly pulled off. There’s an impressive Royal Bastards symbol painted on the far wall leading to Ripper’s office that must have taken patience to craft.
There’s no mistaking what this place represents or who fills it.
I flash Ripper a polite smile and tilt my head in acknowledgment. “I try to remain good on my word.”
There’s tension rolling around from every direction. I’m not sure whose is worse—the bikers or my bodyguards. I was hoping it wouldn’t be as strained as my last visit, but apparently, that’s asking for too much. I understand that both groups are weary coming from opposite ends of the spectrum, but this has to work so I can get the information I need. Madison must come first.
B*stard: Royal B*stards MC (Texas) Page 6
