Rolling her lips onto one another, she turns her head.
“I don’t think we should play around anymore,” she mutters, looking the other way.
I stand straight, confusion and anger rising in my chest. “Who hurt you? You tell me now!” I demand, my words sharp. Even if she’s not with a patched member, and is just a club ho who tends the bar, she’s ours. I won’t let someone else put their hands on what’s ours.
Her face snaps toward me from my tone. “‘Cause your fucking girlfriend made it very clear what would happen to me if I did,” she smarts.
My eyes widen, and my mouth pops open. “The fuck? What girlfriend?”
She scoffs, shaking her head.
“Silly boy, don’t you know. Whether you see it or not, that little whore Dolly is claiming your ass. Bet if I get close enough to you I can smell the piss she’s tracking you with.”
“Hey, brother,” Felix states, walking into the club room we conduct Church in. My eyes never leave Tinker’s, my nostrils flaring.
“Dolly ain’t my bitch, and you know that!” I seethe, pointing at her.
Her bravery fades quickly, and tears fill her eyes.
“Damn, Dolly do that to ya?” Felix questions, resting both hands on the bar.
Tinker turns quickly and grabs two beers, slamming them between us.
“Here,” she mutters. I grab the beer and raise a brow at her.
“You better watch that tone, little one,” I reprimand, having about enough of it.
She swallows hard and looks elsewhere.
“Man, that bitch Dolly is psycho.” Felix laughs. I turn where I stand and lift a brow at him. His hair is down today, and he’s wearing a black wife beater.
“Yeah, tell me about it. The boys in Church waiting?” I question, changing the fuckin’ subject. Church is where the patched men of the Sin City Outlaws meet, discussing drops, money, runs—everything.
“Yeah, they’re in there. Haven’t heard anything from Uncle Frank in a while,” he states, taking a sip of his beer.
“That’s good. Only time he shows up is when shit goes wrong.”
Felix and I head into the club, and the men slowly stop their idle chit-chat.
“Brothers,” I announce lazily, finding my chair at the head of the table. It’s gray marble, with leather cushioning lining the sides. Chrome thumbtacks are pushed into the leather here and there. I love this table; it’s one my father got us before shit went down. Before I questioned his loyalty to the club, and the beginning of my soul rotting into damnation.
Taking my seat, I look around the room and see all eyes on me. The ceiling fan’s blades slowly turn from above the table, the walls filled with memorabilia from members before us.
Grabbing the gavel, I slam it.
“What’s new, boys?” I smile, leaning back in my chair.
This is it, the fucking life.
Every one of these patched men would lie down and die for me, and I would them. I often feel like I don’t have blood here, that my family is nothing but traitors, except for Felix. But this club? If I didn’t have it and the loyalty of my men, I’d be a dead man. My own flaws, my craving for violence, would be my own demise. Too many times have one of these men saved me. A rival walking up behind me without me knowing, or a rogue club trying to take me out to claim Vegas as their own. My men were there, taking me out of the line of fire when I was the one who took the oath of putting myself in it.
“Got that meeting later.” Felix shrugs.
“Remind me.” I close my eyes, trying to remember.
“The Gentry boys are scrapping cars, trucks, boats, all of it. Want us to help move it, giving us forty percent of the profit.”
“Hey, you get the right car, get the guts from it, that could sell pretty high,” Machete adds.
I nod in agreement, rubbing my cheeks. I need to shave.
“How well do we know the Gentry boys, though?” I ask, taking a sip of my beer.
Felix twists his lips and gives a half nod. “We’ve done some light dealings with them with some Mary Jane. They pushed it well, made us some cash. Other than that, I don’t have much to go on.”
“All in favor?” I question, looking around the table.
“Aye,” is announced from everyone.
“Hell, what could going and checking it out hurt?” Mac adds at the back of the table, everyone nodding in agreement.
“Next order of business.”
“Dues are all paid, except Felix.” Bones, our Treasurer, points at Felix. Bones is a tall, beefy fucker. He has tattoos on his left arm of all the bones in his arm, like an x-ray. He’s bald and burly; kind of looks like Stone Cold Steve Austin to me. Bones is good with money, always watching the club’s spending and where shit would be most profitable.
Lifting my beer, I stop right before the bottle touches my lips and grin.