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)
Her dark red painted lips curled up at the ends. “But not at the same time.”
Fuck that, Zeke wasn’t sharing any woman with his blood brother. “Ain’t whippin’ out our dicks and slappin’ them on the bar.”
Zane grinned. “Since when do you fuckin’ care who sees your dick? In fact, who hasn’t seen it? So, lyin’ about your size ain’t gonna fly.”
It was too early in the day to deal with this shit. “Why you here ‘stead of the pawn shop?”
“Bri’s got it under control,” Zane answered.
“Wasn’t my question. You’re the fuckin’ manager.”
“And so is she. She knows how to handle the business, brother, and does it well. She sent me out to get lunch from Bangin’ Burgers.”
“Does this look like a fuckin’ burger joint?”
“No, but figured I’d stop in and find your lazy ass since I got an idea I wanna run past you. You had me thinkin’ ‘bout businesses that ain’t illegal and would be damn good money makers for the club.”
He might not admit it out loud, but his baby brother had a few moments where he was smart as fuck. “Ears are open.”
Zane glanced down the bar to where the red-headed club girl was now doing something on her phone. “So’s someone else’s. Wanna take this elsewhere?”
“Fuck no. Wanna enjoy my fuckin’ beer while it’s cold. Cherry, get fuckin’ lost, will ya?”
“Want me to wait in your room, Trouble?”
“Don’t care where the fuck you wait. Just not here. Got business to discuss.”
“And club business ain’t women’s business,” she quoted in a deeper voice as she came out from behind the bar after nabbing two shot glasses and a half-kicked bottle of Jack.
Zeke turned on his stool to watch the exaggerated swing of her hips in the short shorts she had poured herself into. Their sweet butts tended to wear the most revealing shit they could fit into—even shit they couldn’t fit into. He swore some shopped at kids’ clothing stores. They figured the more tits and ass they showed off, the more likely they’d get attention from the biker they wanted to dig their claws into.
Sometimes it worked; most times it didn’t.
Zeke sighed and turned back to his brother. “Think she’ll end up in your room or mine?”
“Hopefully yours. She ends up in mine, she’s gonna be passed out drunk ‘cause I got a list of fuckin’ shit to do today and not one of those things is Cherry.”
“That list includin’ pickin’ up lunch like a little bitch and then headin’ back to fuckin’ work?”
“Wanna talk ‘bout who should be at fuckin’ work?”
“Bein’ president of this highly esteemed organization is fuckin’ work.”
Zane’s head jerked back. “Where the fuck you learn those big words, brother? Did you and your last cellie bond by cuddlin’ and readin’ in bed together every night to expand that limited vocab of yours?”
“That ass wipe was lucky I didn’t slice his fuckin’ throat.” It had been close too many damn times.
“Know how to pick better roommates?” Zane leaned closer and said, “Don’t go to fuckin’ prison.”
“Gonna keep that pearl of fuckin’ wisdom in mind.” Zeke tapped his temple. “Now, whatcha got?”
“Why no one brought this idea up before, I’ll never fuckin’ know. Especially Dad since he was the best prez this club ever had.”
Of course his brother had to get in another fucking dig. “Will you just fuckin’ tell me?”
“A dispensary.”
Zeke did a double take. “You mean sellin’ weed?”
“Officially, it’d be medical marijuana since it’s now legal here.”
“Dumb as fuck that those fuckers limited it. All pot should be legal.” The powers that be didn’t have a problem with drunk fuckers or prescription pill poppers, but weed was where they drew the fucking line?
What a fucking joke.
How many people died due to alcohol or overdoses versus how many died due to being too damn stoned?
“Agreed, but for now, it ain’t. Despite bein’ limited, the fuckin’ industry’s still a cash cow. The biggest hurdle’s gonna be the strict regulations.”
“Of fuckin’ course they’re strict. Doubt they’d want a bunch of fuckin’ degenerates like us to open one.”
“Speak for yourself,” Zane muttered.
“Ain’t just speakin’ for myself. Your ass might be squeaky fuckin’ clean but the rest of us? Not so much.”
“Shouldn’t be much different than the club ownin’ the gun shop or the bar.”
“Yeah, but those were opened a long fuckin’ time ago. Long before us, brother.” Zeke took another swig of his beer before it turned to lukewarm piss.
“They could still pull our licenses if the state got a wild hair up their asses. We don’t wanna lose those, Zeke. Both bring in some solid scratch. This is one reason why the club needs to keep our shit legit. Ain’t a good look that the head of our club—that’s you, if you’ve forgotten—thinks prison cells got a revolvin’ fuckin’ door.”
Zeke guzzled the rest of his beer, slammed the pint glass on the bar top, and let out a loud belch. “Ain’t ever goin’ back.”