She nodded. I folded my arms, watching her cover up her tits and ass. My dick stirred, insatiable as ever. Must've been all this stress.
I gave her one more swat on the way out. She giggled, a high whiny sound that made me wanna swing her around, slam her on the bed, and fuck her all over again.
The clubhouse smelled like shit when I got outside, locking the door behind me. Damned prospects were slacking on the fucking job. Too damned distracted with the cartel drama, just like the rest of us. Cans and broken glass crunched underneath my feet, burned joints and bags of chips, needles and used condoms.
Pretty fucking amazing Fang got anything done at all in this dump. But the Prez barely left his office anymore. He was way too busy screaming at our boys in other states and melting down when the latest disaster came through the phone. Otherwise, he was riding our asses like a maniac, demanding results nobody could deliver.
The cartel was kicking our ass in SoCal. The Mexicans were creeping north, slowly and surely. No sooner than I got back from Reno, the place was crawling with rumors about hit men in town, gunning to cut our throats in our sleep and decapitate our whole fucking club by taking out its head.
We'd already surrendered Sacramento, home to the original mother charter. Fang had no choice but to retreat north to Redding with his crew. Regroup, scheme, and hit them back – that had to be the plan – except we hadn't quite gotten to the hitting part.
A big hand slapped my shoulder. “Looks like we're gonna beat Serial and Splitter after all. Let's leave those fucks to get the evil eye.”
I grinned at Rabid and followed him into the big meeting room. The officers were all lined up at the head of the table, and more than a dozen brothers milled around at the other end.
Crack, our VP, looked more pissed off than ever when he was sober, his dark eyes glaring in his bald head. He'd been demoted after wearing the Prez title in Redding for years. Everybody was subordinate to Fang as soon as he came up from Sacramento, including the man who's charter was unlucky enough to host the Grizzlies' biggest bear.
Then there was Blackjack, our Sergeant-at-Arms. His long gray hair sat unevenly on his shoulders, the only other man here except for me and Fang who didn't indulge in anything harder than Jack and old fashioned cigs. He looked like a mean ass wizard and occasionally pulled off black magic like one too. He'd saved my ass more times than I could count when we were outgunned.
Then there was Fang himself. A big, weathered badass with a square head and a drill sergeant's haircut gone gray. The front of his cut had more patches than a four star general.
Rabid and I took the last couple seats and waited for the other brothers to file in. Sure enough, the Prez beamed raw hate at the stragglers, several of our guys plus a few transplants from the defunct Sacramento charter.
Bang! The petrified bear claw he used for a gavel hit the table, putting one more dent in the old cedar wood.
“All right, you lazy fucks, listen up. I don't have the time and motivation to rip your assholes to shreds today for dragging your junkie asses in here ten minutes overdue. I'm feeling generous today. Crack and a couple brothers finally brought us some good news.”
Veep nodded. “Caught the little prick heading for the highway late last night. The sentry patrols we got circulating through town did their job. No mistaking the cartel ink on his brown skin. Can't do more than beg in English neither. We got ourselves a hummingbird from south of the border, and it's up to us to make him sing.”
“And I wanna hear him all the way back here before you snap his fucking neck,” Fang growled. “This could be the break this club needs. The cartel's been shitting down our throats for months because we got rats on our ship who'll sell out their brothers for a few fuckin' pesos.”
Rats. Hearing it sent an icy chill up my spine and everybody else's in the room. Nothing worse than treason in any MC – especially this one.
I'd fallen in with a group of rogues back in Montana a few months ago. The Prez defied a direct order to head south and leave everything past Idaho to the Prairie Pussies. I'd almost fucked my club without knowing it before I turned on their asses for screwing with Shelly and me. The motherfuckers killed our disabled Ma too. She'd been an overbearing bitch to me since I was a kid, but nobody deserved to die like that.
My teeth pinched together, hard enough to break when I thought about it. Ma's death must've gotten back to Fang, same as me turning on the rogues. Only fucking reason he'd spared my ass while locking the rest of the traitors in an old building and burning them alive.
I still heard their screams in my dreams. Always woke my ass up with a smile on my face.
“Brass.” Blackjack said my name, pointing a finger at me.