Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 93698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
He glanced over at his VP and Zane started with, “First order of business should be J.J.”
That was right. Crash’s son recently turned eighteen and could now be a prospect.
“Crash gonna sponsor him, or is someone else doin’ it?” Zeke asked, not giving a shit who answered.
Wheels spoke up. “Crash.”
Zeke nodded. That meant the OG would be responsible for straightening out his son if he fucked up as a prospect.
“We need to call them before us?” Zeke asked next.
“Fuck no,” Rage grumbled next to him. “We all know who the fuck he is. No reason to waste any more goddamn time. Were just waitin’ on you to get out.”
Making J.J. a prospect wasn’t important business. They could’ve handled that shit without him. “First order of business then is J.J. finally gettin’ his bottom rocker. All you fuckers good with that?”
He glanced around the table and one by one they all said “aye.”
He slammed the gavel again. “So fuckin’ be it. What about his prospect name? Ain’t lettin’ him fuckin’ pick.”
“’Course not,” Cruz agreed. “Been thinking about it. Came up with Jagoff since he keeps hinting he wants the name Joker.”
Joker. Zeke shook his head. The kid could chose whatever the fuck he wanted for a road name once—hell, if— he survived his year probation.
They all had to do that time in order to earn their full set of rockers and it sucked. But then, that was the fucking point. If becoming a member of an MC was easy, their club membership would be exploding like a pressurized can of raw biscuits.
Chaos snorted. “Jagoff’s fuckin’ perfect ‘cause he’s gonna hate it.”
Zeke gave zero fucks if he liked it or not. “Next order of business.” He glanced over at Cruz. “How’s our accounts lookin’?” Because his ass was broke and he was about to dip into one of them.
“Could be better. Got the same amount of club businesses filling our coffers but a fuckuva lot more members than the OGs. Same scratch going in, more bleeding out. Need to do something about that.”
“Probably should have a bigger emergency fund, too,” Zane suggested next to him.
“Agreed,” Zeke said. “Anyone got thoughts on how to fuckin’ do that? Openin’ up the table to suggestions.”
“Whatever it’s gonna be gotta make us a lotta scratch,” Cruz added.
No shit.
“Had eight months inside, Prez, with nothin’ else to do but think about this kinda shit.”
Wheels loved to bust balls. Luckily, Zeke’s were empty after last night. And this morning.
And this afternoon.
Despite what any of his brothers thought, he had considered it, but none of his brothers were going to like what he’d come up with. It might mean going back to the old ways. Not the ways of the last generation, but all the way back to the originals. When the Dirty Angels were truly fucking dirty.
The OGs might have a problem with that, but thank fuck they were no longer in charge. The members now making the decisions were currently sitting at the table.
“Anyone?” Goddamn, for a group that normally had diarrhea of the mouth, everyone was suddenly too fucking quiet. Did no one have one fucking valid thought in their melon? For fuck’s sake. “No-fuckin’-body?” Zeke sighed. “Got an idea.”
All eyes landed on him. Where they should’ve been in the first damn place.
“It’s about gettin’ more mileage outta the pawn shop.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Zane’s head spin toward him. He was prepared for his younger brother to lose his “chill” with this idea.
He’d get over it.
Zeke powered on. “Got enough members now that we could put together a team to add to the inventory.” He smiled. “Without it costin’ us anything.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Cruz asked.
Before Zeke could explain, Wheels spoke up. “My take? He means usin’ the pawn shop to fence stolen goods. Team sticky fingers.”
Their road captain nailed it. He was not only smart, but perceptive.
Zeke braced for his brother’s outrage. In three, two…
“Fuck no!”
Just as Zeke expected.
“I fuckin’ manage the pawn shop and my vote on that shit is no. Haven’t spent one goddamn day behind bars—unlike you—and don’t plan on it. Plus, Bri ain’t gonna wanna be involved with that shit, either. You forget who her father is?”
“Which one?” Bri and Beck had two fathers. Cross, a retired pig, and Nash, one of the DAMC’s OGs. A crazy fucking match that never should’ve happened.
But it did. And somehow it worked.
“Gonna hafta second Chill’s take on it,” Chaos said. “Don’t want my sister involved in that shit, either. She already got a record. She don’t need to add to it. Plus, Cross might disown her.”
“No loss,” Zeke muttered in regards to their pig father.
A muscle ticked in Chaos’s jaw. “Would be to her.”
“She ain’t gonna get busted ‘cause it ain’t gonna happen,” Zane assured Beck. “This would need to come to a vote and doubt my dickhead brother’s gonna get enough votes to go along with this bullshit.”