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)
“We?” He already heard it from Vi, but he wanted to confirm.
The smoke rolled out of his younger brother’s open mouth as he answered, “Me and our old man. But warnin’ you now, brother, this is the last fuckin’ time. Next time there’ll be a vote to strip you of your rank. It was damn close this time.”
Fuck.
“You need to straighten your ass out and stop bein’ a selfish asshole.”
He kept telling himself the same, but unfortunately, kept failing.
“Need to call a damn meetin’ so I can get caught up.”
“Thought Rage was keepin’ you up to date.”
Zeke and Zane grew up with the club’s current sergeant at arms. Rage, AKA Ashton Dougherty, had been the only one visiting him on a regular basis to give him reports on any shit going on with the club while Zeke had been inconveniently “away.”
Zeke’s old man was tight with Rage’s father, Hawk, the club’s former VP.
In Zak’s and Hawk’s case, OG meant older generation, not an “original,” since they were both third generation Dirty Angels, not the first. Of fucking course, the true originals were all long gone and some of them displayed in the gas tanks on the shelf above the private club bar.
Speaking of the bar, he needed some hair of the dog.
“Call a meetin’,” Zeke ordered his VP.
“Already done. Unlike you, I take care of fuckin’ business.”
Zeke squinted up at his blood brother.
Zane held out the keys he had picked up from where they landed in the grass. “Gonna need those.”
“Yeah.”
“Bet your bed’s much more comfortable than that damn picnic table.”
“Ain’t much different from those piece-of-shit racks inside.”
One side of Zane’s mouth pulled up. “Wouldn’t fuckin’ know.”
“Better wipe that brown shit off your nose,” Zeke muttered.
“Got a good thing here, brother, but you keep fuckin’ it up.”
Zeke pulled a breath in through his flared nostrils but kept his thoughts to himself.
“Can’t even get a goddamn thank you for helpin’ hold down the fort.”
“Gonna buy you a beer.”
Zane shook his head. “Beer’s free.”
“Thank fuck for that since I don’t got any scratch.”
“Anyway, it’s too early for fuckin’ beer. Got shit to do. And after bein’ gone eight fuckin’ months, so do you.” Zane twisted on his heel and strode away.
Halfway to the parking lot, his brother paused and glanced back over his shoulder. “Forgot to tell you, officer meetin’ is tomorrow night at eight. It’d be smart to stay sober for it so the rest of the rankin’ members don’t regret lettin’ you keep that patch.”
Zeke gave him a two finger salute.
“Oh, don’t forget…the jubilee is this Saturday. Everyone’s expected to show up and support the cause. It would be pretty fuckin’ bad if our own damn president is a damn no show.”
“What fuckin’ jubilee?”
Zane’s dark eyebrows shot up. “No one told you?”
“Wouldn’t fuckin’ ask if they did.”
“Taylor and Dakota are trying out a new fundraiser for the foundation. It’ll be like a carnival with food, rides, games, even a beer garden.”
Taylor Walker and Dakota Delgado both headed the Walker Foundation, named after Taylor’s father, a disabled vet and former Shadow. The non-profit was started by their mothers, Ellie Walker and Frankie Delgado, to financially assist amputees in getting prostheses.
It was one cause the club always rallied around, so yeah, his brother was right. Zeke needed to be there. But since it involved beer, food, and probably some other good shit, he didn’t mind going, anyway.
Other clubs always showed up for support, too, like their close allies, the Dark Knights and the Blood Fury. Even the Blue Avengers, a local MC made up of pigs, showed up.
“Where’s it gonna be?”
“At the Washington County Fairgrounds.”
“Why the fuck out there?”
Zane stared at him for a few seconds too long. “Shimmer fuck your brains out? Or d’you just get dumber every time you go inside?” He shook his head and lifted a palm. “Sure it’s door number two ‘cause you never fuckin’ learn.” With that, his brother continued toward the back lot.
“What-fuckin’-ever,” Zeke muttered under his breath as he stared at his brother’s retreating back. Just as Zane was about to disappear behind the thick wall of shrubs separating the parking lot and the courtyard, he called out, “Hey, Chill, need a phone. Pigs fuckin’ stole mine.”
“Figure it out for your fuckin’ self, Trouble.”
He glanced down at the keys in his hand. He now had his sled and access to his room. First order of business should be getting his phone replaced.
Fuck that, they had prospects for a reason. To be the patched members’ bitches.
They could go buy him one while he crawled into his own bed and slept off the rest of his hangover.
Zeke groaned and rolled over, burying himself deeper under the covers.
“Zeke.”
Was he having another weird dream? He always had a shitload of them whenever he was locked up. That was, when he actually slept.