Talk about a goddamned train wreck. Nobody blamed the Prez for trying. We had to find something after Dust's old man decided to wind down the drug trade before passing the gavel to his son, and we did our damnedest to keep ourselves clean.
Naturally, it didn't work, and now the only path open to us was guns. Too bad we were lined in by enemies like the Deadhands, and we'd have to fight our way through them to the coast if we ever wanted a shot at trading with the bigger, more powerful clubs out West. The Prairie Devils and Grizzlies wouldn't give us the time of day unless they respected us – and right now we ended up in fistfights at Sturgis because the other bastards didn't even know our name.
I watched Firefly make a sharp turn in front of me, going down the exit. I held onto my bike and gunned it, feeling the Harley's comforting growl between my legs. The ride gave everything below my waist the most excitement I was likely to see all week – unless the whorehouse had even one fuckable woman worth paying for.
We pulled into the cracked parking lot. Sixty whistled, pulled off his helmet, and squinted at me, stroking his goatee.
“Fuck a duck. Am I the only one who expected this place to look like a carnival on the inside only?”
Crawl and I both snorted. He wasn't wrong.
The outside walls were flaking neon pink paint. The entrance was flanked with four big circus poles painted barber shop red-white-and-blue. Didn't notice they were round at the top like dicks 'til we got off our bikes and started heading for the door.
I pushed my way in first, hand at my hip. The entryway looked like a run down lobby, and I rang the bell, taking a careful look to make sure we hadn't missed any girls or Johns loitering out front.
When we did this housecleaning shit, we put everybody on lockdown. No stragglers.
“Hey, gents. You here as a group, or are you looking for some one-on-one action?”
A thin, wiry man came walking up. Skinny, ugly, and too damned young to be working in a shithole like this.
Didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. I reached for the nine millimeter on my hip and drew. All three of my brothers pulled their guns too, and I heard them click behind me, aiming all our firepower at the gawky-looking asshole who came up to the front desk.
“Hands in front of you where we can see 'em,” I growled, locking my eyes on his wrists.
“Whoa!” The snake looked like he was about to shit. He listened, though, and that was all that mattered. “Can I help you guys? I'm real sorry, I don't recognize your patches...you're not with the Deadhands, are you?”
“No.” Firefly stepped in front of me, lowering his gun and slapping the counter. “Get your boss, Ricky, out here right fucking now. We've got business.”
The man licked his pale lips. “Uh, mind if I ask what it's all about?”
“We're not asking you again!” I snarled. “If you don't get his ass out here in the next thirty seconds, we're gonna be talking to you. Oh, and make sure he comes out with his hands up. Wouldn't want any misunderstandings, you dig?”
We waited. Our guns went up the second Ricky came trotting in. Bastard was tall, pot-bellied, and weaselly as ever. I'd only seen the pimp a couple times, back when he'd come to our clubhouse, fishing for protection.
The club didn't owe him shit. He owed us for pushing * in our territory, and now he'd wound up on our bad side by hosting our fiercest enemies.
“Hold up, pimp.” I pointed my gun at his head, freezing him in his tracks. “Don't even think about reaching under your belt.”
“What? Not even for a condom?” The pimp gave us a crooked smile. “I'm happy to have you boys as customers or –“
“Shut the fuck up. We're not here for pleasure.” Firefly stepped up, pulled out his phone, and thumbed the camera lens on it.
Crawl cleared his throat. “Well, Prez didn't say anything about sampling the goods while we're taking inventory...”
Ricky laughed. My heart throbbed. Goddammit.
My horny, older brother was just as hard up as everybody else for * since our parties dried up and the girls stopped coming to the clubhouse. Only difference was he'd fuck anything that moved, and I'd always had high standards.
“My house is your house, boys. Anything you want. Neighborly discount. Just, come on, put the guns down, guys.” Ricky's voice trembled.
“We'll think about it once we've decided you're not storing shit for the Deads.” Firefly moved his gun down to Ricky's chest and spat at the floor, before he turned to me. “Skin, take this sorry sonofabitch in the back and make sure he doesn't get smart. The rest of us are gonna comb through these rooms and hit his office. We'll save the red meat on paper for you to dig through later.”
“You got it, Sarge.” I walked up and shoved the barrel of my gun into the pimp's skin. “Start walking, asshole. I wanna see your whores and make sure there's nobody else hiding out in those dirty rooms. You'd better be honest, starting right now. If I find anything I shouldn't, I fucking swear to God...”