Our clubhouse used to be a roller rink back in the seventies but it got shut down. My father was friends with the owner, so he bought it and renovated it to fit the needs of a clubhouse. Throughout half the length of the rink it was turned into a long bar with ample seating. The bar is made up of thin metal, giving it a very industrial feel. Meanwhile he tore down the sheetrock himself to expose the brown and red brick that covers the joint. The only thing that was added was the dark chestnut wood floors.
Support beams come down from the ceiling straight through parts of the bar, but it still works. Meanwhile we have frosted glass shelves along the span of wall behind the bar where we keep all the glassware, and above that is all our liquor. It makes it a pain when we need to serve drinks, which is all the time, but we make do. Just have to step onto a stool to grab what we need and put it back. It’s probably how all the clubwhores asses stay in such tip-top shape. There’s a small kitchen behind the bar and our Road Captain Butcher prefers to stay back there unless we’re having church. He’s been part of the club for the last twenty years, transferring from multiple charters until Rancid put him here.
On the opposite wall we have cherry red leather padded booths with gold buttons that shape them into diamonds going the distance of the club. That is until they hit the floor to ceiling windows that were refurbished from an old warehouse that went out of business a few years back. Dog actually added those. Before he made that change it was simply a blank wall there, and a dark one at that. Adding the windows gave us so much more light not to mention a place outside to smoke.
“Gamble, c’mon up here.” Ripper calls, waving his hand as he urges me.
I stop looking around the club and walk up to him, taking the seat beside Ripper. “Razz, baby. You mind getting this woman a drink? She looks like she needs one.”
Razz looks me up and down, “If you’re askin’ me to get it for her imma keep it easy and tell you no. Bitch can get her own drink.”
Ripper shoots his hand out across the bar and wraps his hand around her throat, “Sweetie, I wasn’t askin’. I was tellin’ you to get your fuckin’ Prez a drink little girl. You keep talkin’ like that and I’ll be sure to go rough on you later and trust me, you don’t want that. Last chick I lost my shit on couldn’t walk for a week.”
While I appreciate Ripper trying to stand up for me, it’s useless. Everyone here is going to keep giving me shit for not having a dick. It’s only because I’m a woman that there’s such an issue. “Is that a promise?” Razz giggles, making me only want to roll my eyes. Then again, there’s a reason she’s a clubwhore.
Ripper releases her, “You’d better get your Prez that drink.”
“Sure. What do you want?”
“A Corona would be fine. Thanks, Razz.” I grumble, still feeling like I need to be polite. Fuck, why do I even feel that way? No one here is being kind to me besides Mammoth and Ripper, and Ripper is leaving soon. He has his own club to run and only came out here to lend a helping hand.
Razz goes behind the bar, bending over slowly while she grabs a bottle from the fridge. She stands there for a minute or so while he gets a good view of her ass. It’s kind of hard not to with the shredded denim shorts she’s wearing. Hell, it’s still cold as fuck out here. I’m in a sweatshirt and full on denim jeggings. I don’t know how anyone else in the club isn’t layering up. It’s only forty degrees out, even if it’s the end of March right now.
Razz takes the top off, cuts a slice of lime in half and puts it on the nose of the bottle before she hands it over to me. “I hate to do this, baby, but I gotta talk to your Prez without prying ears. How about you go show Mammoth some love? He can warm you up for me.” Ripper adds a wink while he finishes what he’s saying and I swear, she melts like putty in his hands. It must be that southern drawl of his.
When Razz is out of earshot I sip on my beer and wait for whatever it is Ripper wants to talk to me about. “I gotta head back home first thing in the morning.”
“I figured as much. Thank you for coming out here and trying to help.”
“I didn’t try to help, Gamble. Look around, no one is coming up and bitching you out like they were when I got here. I’d say that’s a good thing. They’re still havin’ trouble acceptin’ you as their Prez ‘cause you don’t have a cock.”
“Do I need to put a strap on or something?” I joke, but I’m only half kidding.
“Fuck, that might make some of ‘em change their minds.” Ripper cackles.
“I know this will all be behind us at some point, but I can’t lie. Being a Prez is exhausting. We’ve all had to deal with grieving Dog, and I know they look at me and want to compare me to him.”
“They are comparing you to him. It’s not right, but it’ll always be the way it is. Every great ruler has been compared to his or her predecessor. While Dog was a great man, you have to prove you’re an even better woman. You hear me?
I chuckle for a moment, nodding my head. “Yeah, you’re right about that. I don’t know how I’ve been so lucky to have a friend like you in my corner. Why are you even in my corner? Hell, I can’t even remember one time you’ve been foul to me. Even from the beginning you’ve respected me.”
Ripper nods, taking my beer from my hands and chugs it before he sits it down on the bar and continues to speak, “Yeah, I would’ve never shown you an ounce of the bullshit Rancid has. You probably don’t even know this, but back in the day your dad lent me a helping hand. It was when I was first sworn into the Presidency. I was in a squabble with some low-life pieces of shit and your dad was rollin’ through town with guys from Baltimore. He helped me, spoke about his teenage daughter back home. When Rancid took your dad’s club and you . . . I didn’t agree. I still don’t, not that it matters. What’s done is done, but at the same time, I wasn’t gonna let him keep doin’ to you what he was. It’s why I suggested he cut you loose a bit and let you come back up here to Baltimore.”
My eyes go wide at what Ripper has just confessed. “Wait. You’re the reason I finally was able to get away from him?” It feels as though my heart’s fallen inside my stomach. I knew there was some sort of reason Rancid sent me here, but I thought it was for some bigger picture. A plan that only meant more suffering.
“Yeah. I kept makin’ comments to the old fucker how he needed some new pussy and not a used up one. No offense,” He smirks at the end, crossing his arms.
I don’t know what takes over me, but I hop off my barstool and wrap my arms around my dear friend in the strongest hug I can muster up. I’m not sure if Ripper knows it, but he more than likely saved my fucking life and I’ll never forget that.
Chapter Six
If your path demands you walk through hell, walk as if you own the place
~amazingmentmovement.com
Gamble
Four Weeks Ago . . .
“You move awfully fast.” Ghost’s unmistakable voice says from behind me. I let go of Ripper and turn to face the legend. For a while I had wondered if Ghost was already here, standing off somewhere in the distance, observing like he always does. It’s the biggest thing he’s known for, being quiet and stealthy.
“And you’re still a dick,” I retort, offering a soft smirk at the end.
He smiles lowly, “Some things never change. Good to see you, Ripper.” Ghost extends a hand and Ripper takes it, shaking.
“Same to you. I leave in the morning so I’m hopeful we can get this club back in tip-top shape before I go.”
“We’ll be getting shit sorted by eight tonight. I need Sly to take me back to BWI around then, my flight leaves at ten.”
Did I just mishear him? Did he really say his flight leaves at ten? “Wait. You’re only here for a few hours?” I question.
“Yes, is that a problem?” Ghost confirms.
“I . . . no, I assumed you’d stay for longer than a few hours.” I mumble.
“I have my own messes to be cleaning up back at our charter. You needed me to come here and scare the dayligh
ts outta everyone, so please, allow me to do so.” Ghost flashes a devilish smirk before he turns around and looks over the bar area of the clubhouse. He clears his throat before he starts speaking to everyone here, “I’m sure you’re all wondering why the fuck I’m here. Allow me to clear this shit up for you. I’m here because I heard some of you lowlife pieces of shit are disrespecting your Prez. The woman who Rancid gave the job. I’m gonna call Rancid up in about five minutes. Whoever has a problem with Gamble leading your charter should let me know so I can pass the message along.”
Mammoth snickers from his seat, drinking out of the massive ale cup that looks like it was made in Valhalla. He does seem the viking-esque type, though. “Everyone here best remember that the moment you admit you don’t want to follow your Prez, Rancid will order your death. All of you are replaceable, especially if you can’t respect your leaders.”
Judge, one of the full patch members meets his eyes with Mammoth’s. “We respect our elders. Just never expected Rancid to put a woman in charge of us. With what he’s done to her, how were we even supposed to take him seriously?” It’s evident Judge isn’t speaking to me, but to Ghost and Mammoth.
“Good question, and one I’m sure Dog asked you all as well. But someone got wind of Dog trying to go behind Rancid’s back and look where he is— in a shallow fucking grave. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone in this club is a rat. So, don’t direct your anger at Gamble. She didn’t do any of this shit. Instead you need to be working together to figure out who you can pin all the blame on.” Ripper speaks up, looking across the room.
I peer up through my lashes and see some of the guys in the back stand up from their booths and move forward. “Out of all the charters I never thought we could have a rat. But, Ripper is right. There’s no other reasoning for what happened. Someone in here told Rancid what Dog was doing.” King adds, who comes in from the back with Mugshot and Serpent.
Butcher comes out from the kitchen behind the bar, crosses his arms and looks out into the crowd of men. “I swear if we have a rat, I’m going to tear them limb from limb. That okay with you, Prez?” For the first time since I’ve been back this is the one moment I’ve been called Prez without being the bud of a joke, or some semblance of sarcasm being attached.
I nod, “I’d have it no other way. If there is a rat, they’ll answer to the entire club. We lost one of the good ones.” I speak clearly and confident even though all I want to do is crumble when I speak about Dog’s memory.
“You sure did, and it won’t happen again. Gamble is a good one, too. Do I make myself clear?” Ghost speaks up.
“Whoa, you don’t get to be the only one declaring this shit, brother. If anyone is going to try and hurt Gamble, they’ll be coming through the both of us.” Ripper adds.
Butcher clears his throat, “There’s a rumor going around Rancid said Gamble is the Mercedes Benz of clubwhores for the charter Presidents. That true?”
“As much as I don’t want to admit it, yes. Rancid said that when he made me Prez.”
“Fuckin’ piece of shit. Over Dog’s dead body are we going to let anyone treat our Prez like some piece of trash on the street. Our Prez isn’t a slut. Do you hear me, brothers?” Butcher declares, balling his fists and clenching his jaw.
“If you ask me Rancid is making a mockery of our entire infrastructure.” Ravage, the VP of the club states.
“I’m afraid I can’t even disagree with you.” I reply.
“Is everyone clear on what you’re doing? Gamble is your Prez and your charter is what matters above all else. Think of our code, brothers and sister. Where is the loyalty and respect here? There is none. Rancid is trying to make our code meaningless. I don’t know about you, but I for one won’t let that happen.” Ghost hisses out to the group of men.
“Our code is the most important part of who we are, Royal Bastards!” Ripper hollers and with it comes a cheer from everyone inside the club.
My club.
Chapter Seven
You are either on my side, by mysids, or in my fucking way. Choose wisely
~Unknown
Gamble
2 Weeks Ago . . .
Ghost and Ripper did me a solid by coming out here and talking sense into the club. No one realizes it, but I understood why they had the issues they did with me. After all, how does it make sense the woman who Rancid lugged around with him for years, using as his whore is now in charge of an entire charter? I don’t blame them for any of the feelings they had. Each of them was warranted.
We’re in the second week of April right now and everything is slowly starting to become normal. Nothing will ever return back to what it was, but I’ll take anything we can get right now. For the last two weeks I’ve been easy on the guys, not making them do much of anything because I wanted them to ease into the fact that I’m their Prez now.
However, I couldn’t keep doing that forever and today I’m making a change. “I need all full patch members and officers downstairs. We’re long overdue for church if you ask me.” I declare, making my point known. This will be the do or die moment on whether or not these guys respect me. While Ghost and Ripper helped, I doubt they solved all my problems.
I head down toward the back of the club toward the floor to ceiling windows and make a sharp left down the stairwell. At the bottom of the stairs we have a matte black door that is only for church. No one is allowed down here unless the Prez or VP bring them down. Under no circumstances can clubwhores or prospects come into this room.
I pull the key out of my side pocket and unlock the door, open it and head into the room. Unlike many other clubs we don’t sit around a table. There was one when Dog first came in as Prez after Rancid took out my father’s club, but he never liked sitting around the table. Instead he took it out and makes the officers and full patches sit around on bronze studded leather couches, side by side, positioned almost in a square in the center of the room. His point in removing the table and putting the couches down here was that we’re a family and should sit down like one. There shouldn’t have been a table where we might have opposing sides, but open space to voice all of our opinions and feelings.
I’ve never been down here, so the only things I’ve heard about this place are what Dog had told me. He said he always sat in front of the fireplace, in the middle of that couch with Ravage on his one side and Draken on his other. Draken was killed three months ago and used to be the club treasurer, but Dog never named a new one. This is simply one of the things I’ll be changing today.
Butcher is the first one who I see, with Ravage beside him. Ravage walks up to me and takes his seat, giving me a confused look. “How’d you know where to sit?”
“Dog told me he always sat in the middle of the couch in front of the fireplace. Figured this was the spot.”
Ravage doesn’t reply but gives a nod. As usual Mugshot and Serpent come down together, while Judge and King are behind them. Mammoth comes charging down, obviously not realizing I called for church. My guess is he thinks he’s late. We’re just missing one other, Needles, who I’d put money on is in the same place he usually is.
“Can someone please go get Needles from Cheryl’s room?” Cheryl is one of our resident clubwhores, and boy does she love to fuck Needles. If you ask me, she wholeheartedly believes they’re an item. I can’t wait to watch whenever he gets sick of her and lays down the law, telling her she’s nothing but a piece of ass to him. When I used to work behind the bar with Razz and Peaches, she’d come up and tell us how one day he’d ask her to be his ol’ lady and she’d be popping out little Needles. It only made us roll our eyes. She’s desperate, at best. We all know the type. The second Needles tells her how it is she’s just gonna hop on someone else’s dick.
King volunteers to go retrieve Needles and five minutes later both of the men are walking down the stairs and coming through the door. King shuts the door behind him, locking it so no one can try to come down and interrupt us. It’s been far too long since
our charter has had church and we have much to go over.
“Alright, first order of business— a new treasurer. Did anyone pick up on what Draken was doing or know where we are cash wise?”
King laughs obnoxiously, “You mean besides dead broke?”
Here he is trying to be a smartass, but boy, is the joke gonna be on him. “Thanks for volunteering to be treasurer, King. All in favor of King taking the job no one wants, say aye.”
Ayes break out from around the room while some of the brothers try to hide their smirks. Butcher on the other hand is having a ball at seeing the cocky fucker suffer. “I didn’t volunteer,” King hisses back at me.
“Oh, you didn’t? That’s not what I heard. Anyone who decides to be a smartass with me on a pressing matter is really only saying they can do a better job. Do I make myself clear?” I stare at King who reluctantly nods and make sure my eyes meet with every brother in the room.
“The gangs are still fucking with our businesses on the drug end. They keep scarin’ customers from buyin’ our product, sayin’ it’s contaminated.” Mugshot, one of our full patch members, says.
As much as I hate to admit it, we sell heroin, dope and anything we can make a profit on. The only business we’re not involved in and never will be involved in is sex trafficking. The boys here at our charter wouldn’t ever partake in anything like it. That’s not to say other charters don’t have their nose in that pot. There have been rumors floating around about Alaska, and if you ask me, Rancid doesn’t mark anything off limits. He probably has his own hand in the pot.
Bet On Me: Royal Bastards MC: Baltimore #1 Page 4