by Kiki Leach
Chapter Six
Roman
Once we were all around the table, Riggs picked up his gavel and slammed it against its base to start the meeting.
"Alright." He bent forward and opened his hands. "First things first as far as getting some of this shit out of the way." He looked over at me and pointed. "Congratulate this stupid fucker on getting hitched out there in Vegas last night post drop-off."
"Vegas?" Patch spoke up and when I turned to look at him, he shook his head, blond hair going every which way around the hair on his face and across his bony shoulders. He was like a goddamn pencil with arms and legs attached at both ends, but women still seemed to lose their shit in those strange looking blue eyes he had. Too bad for them, he was barely thirty and had no concept of ever being tied down to just one of them for the rest of his entire damn life. "Fuck that shit, Brawler." He threw a hand out toward me to dismiss what he'd just learned and dropped back in his chair.
"Jesus Christ," mumbled Tracker. He wrapped a pale hand over his mouth and eyed me with concern and fear, both of which I knew was more for the club and what the hell would happen now as opposed to than anything to do with me getting married. "You had one job to do out there, asshole." He dropped his hand from his mouth and pointed his index finger up toward the ceiling. "Just one." His dark green eyes almost went black in color. "And it didn't include this shit--"
"Hitched?" asked Smack from the other end of the table. He cocked a jet-black eyebrow and darted his brown eyes around to every brother seated on either side of the room. "You actually put a ring on some chick out there in Sin City?"
"It's not as if the shit was actually planned for me, brother," I muttered. "It just kinda happened."
"Who the hell was it with?" Limb hollered out. His plain white face flushed red, matching the shade of his hair, as did the whites of his grass green eyes. "Vegas pussy is never the best kind to bring home with ya unless you're planning on taking it right back to where you first found it out there. Just ask this motherfucker to my left." He tossed his thumb out toward Smack and snickered.
I sighed and brought my arms up from the table to fold over my chest and blurted out, "I didn't find a chick out there to marry. She came along with me from Culver City." I paused and sighed heavily. "It was Colette."
"Colette?" Reefer sat up straight in his chair and made a face. He shook his fingers through his short black hair, then pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Is she that cute brunette I see popping in and outta here from time to time and wearing more clothes than the usual’s often looking to suck us off, with the really nice tits and tanned skin?"
I looked over at him and glowered. "Motherfucker, don't talk about her tits, alright? And it's not tanned skin that she's got, it's her natural color. She's black."
Atom dragged his hand down his face and wagged his head while looking over at Reefer. "Jesus Christ, this fuckin' idiot."
"You can't always tell, old man, alright?" he replied. He rubbed his eyes until the light brown color in his irises nearly faded. I took note that he was still high as a kite from the night before. "Some of them can be in that tanning booth for too many hours at a time and come out looking like--"
"Just stop talking, asshole, alright?" Axel bent his head around Patch and stared down at Reefer from the other end of the table. His blue eyes narrowed as the redness in his face flared up. "You're digging a deeper hole for yourself by spewing all this shit, so just sit the fuck back and shut the fuck up already. Goddamn." Reefer flipped him off before sitting back in his chair and mumbling something under his breath. Axel then turned to me, ignoring the absolute shit out of him, and jerked his chin. "Congratulations, brother." He tightened his jaw and bobbed his head while snaking his fingers through his ear-length brown hair. "I've never known too much about your girl outside of what I used to see with Jeremiah, but she makes a mean potato salad and always looked like she'd make a damn good old lady to me. A definite keeper."
"Thanks."
"Yeah, yeah, damn good old lady, cute as a motherfuckin' button on a suit and probably a whirlwind in the sack, which is why your ass was late today, yeah?" said Tracker. "All this mushy shit is 'nice' for a change, but you know what? I'm still a helluva lot more curious than these other fuckers in here about a few more important things."
I glared. "More important things like what, asshole?"
He looked into my eyes again and rubbed his hand up and down both sides of his jaw. "Like how all this shit even managed to come about in the first place with you two out there." He glanced over at Riggs, whose face appeared both blank and annoyed as hell. "How the hell did this girl known for boning your brother for nine years and wanting him to be the one to finally put that ring on it, who screamed her head off at you last night for the Cherry shit and in front of the rest of us who were here, turn into your wife in less than twenty-four hours of it all? The shit makes no goddamn sense to me whatsoever, brother."
I shrugged and dropped my arms back down on top of the table. "Maybe it doesn't have to make any goddamn sense to you, brother," I said. "Maybe my cock just has that golden touch."
"Nah." He smirked like the devil himself, his beard ticking up along with both corners of his mouth. "Nah, nah, that shit can't be it."
"Whatever the reason, we can discuss it later, alright?" said Riggs. "We've already spent too much time on this shit as it is -- Just be happy that he'll finally be getting sucked off on the regular more than some of the rest of us around here, your ass included." He pointed at Tracker, who sneered. "Now we need to get into the business of the club which is why we're all here in the first place. I talked to Primo this morning as you all know and despite this one here" -- he leaned his head in my direction and sneered -- "parading 'wifey' around on the back of his bike while meeting up with him, everything on both ends looks good thus far."
"What do you mean, 'thus far', Prez?" asked Patch.
"Just what I said," he told him. "There were no fuck ups, no mishandlings. I had to reassure him that Colette was good since his entire purpose for calling was from being paranoid that she would snitch to the cops or a rival club or some shit about the package we handed off to him out there. My guess is that he managed to get into some of his own stuff as soon as he pushed the latest round of six-dollar pussy off his cock this morning and smoked out too much of it, fogging up that already cracked out brain he's got." Reefer and Smack chuckled. "Either way, we won't have to worry about him for a bit, at least not until he's in need of another package to have shipped off to the Mexicans, which I'm pretty damn sure won't be anytime soon. Now we've just gotta deal with what's going on as far as Divide and Conquer is concerned."
A collective groan rumbled throughout the room.
"Jesus Christ." Chute bent forward and rattled his head in aggravation. His brown eyes went as dark as the hair on his head and the tips of his ears went bright red. None of us were in the mood for this shit, especially since the place was becoming nothing more than a money pit for the club.
"You know," said Poker, leaning forward, "I still hate that being the name of our joint." He slid his hand across his bald head and tugged at the piercing in his right ear. "It's never made any sense regarding pussy swinging around on a goddamn pole."
"I've gotta second that one, Prez," said Atom. "We've got half-naked chicks swinging on poles for money, sure. Shit's worthy of jacking off to. But the name itself has never matched what the place has really always been about."
"And I'm thirding it," I chimed in. Tracker turned to me and shoved his brows together. Considering the idea of opening a local strip joint to make extra cash for the club a few months back was partially his from jump, he wasn't all too happy that so many of us had been so dissatisfied with it since day damn one. Pussy we enjoyed; worthless pussy, not all that much. "I get the name in theory and why you and VP wanted to call it that. But unless we are out there on foot, verbally telling random motherfuckers passing by on the street just what lies
behind the doors of the place, we get little to no business from it. At least not the kind we need in helping to keep it open."
The other brothers nodded and mumbled to each other.
"Maybe we could even send the girls out there for us," said Atom. "Have one or two to hand out flyers, make themselves more known. Once a motherfucker gets a peek of the TnA they're carrying, we've got a better chance of business picking up."
"And an even bigger one of being locked up considering what some of those girls used to do prior to working for us," replied Riggs. "We may have the cops in our back pocket for the time being, but we can't afford any public fuck ups like that."
"Then the name, brother," said Axel. "That shit has got to fucking go."
"No," said Riggs, his voice firm. "I understand where you're all coming from as far as that goes, alright? But I'm not changing the name of the joint just to satisfy you pricks; at least not yet. Shit's got personal meaning for both me and Tracker, and even Atom despite him not wanting to cop to it; we're attached."
"So how do we tick up business and start making actual money with it?" asked Chute.
Riggs peered. "We get somebody with extensive experience in the pussy business to help us fix what the hell's been broken with it from the inside out."
"And how the hell do we go about doing that?" I asked him, leaning my head aside and cocking my eyebrow while tapping my fingers along the edge of the table. I was curious about his answer despite remaining cautious of what the hell he would say.
He raised his hand and bent his head forward. "I've already done it."
"What?" Tracker looked him straight in the face and grimaced. "You hired somebody to help us out with a joint that's got all of our names attached to it before talking about it first in church?"
"I had to jump on this shit before he changed his mind and your ass was nowhere to be found before or after this deal was even brought to the table," he told him. Tracker leaned back in his chair and grinded his teeth. "And he won't be working for us so much as he'll be working with us as an investor. Motherfucker's got access and knowledge about all kinds of shit regarding strip joints that we'll need to help us finally get ours where it needs to be money and pussy-wise."
"Okay, so who the hell is this magical guru that you've brought in for us, Prez?" Limb questioned.
Riggs looked each one of us in the eyes and pinched the tip of his nose, then said, "Lorenzo Bourne."
Atom leaned forward and soured his face. It was like somebody had just waved a bag of shit right under his nose and he was ready to watch the motherfucker bleed for it. "You mean that Armani suit wearing, cocksucking prick slash thug based out there in Miami with ties to that stupid MRA bullshit and Ricky Fontaine?"
Smack folded his arms and twisted his face in question. "What the hell is the MRA?"
"Some stupid Men's Rights Activists bullshit 'organization'. He's one of their leading contributors and always speaking out at some of those dumbass events countering women. Nothing but a buncha tiny cock wagging and pussy bashing from all I've ever seen of it."
"Who the hell is Ricky Fontaine?" asked Poker.
Atom turned to him and arched a brow. "An asshole with deep ties to the mob and Public Enemy Number One of our top allies, the Shadow Riders mother charter out there in Crescent Beach. River's Prez now and Blue is his VP."
"Jesus Christ." Poker sat back and shook his head. His eyes expanded just as his pale skin turned the color of sour milk. "This is the kind of motherfucker you want us going into business with, Prez? I know that nobody around here has ever accused us of being squeaky clean, but shit like that ain't what this club has ever been about either, yeah? And as far as I know, we're still good with the Riders, are we not?"
"We're great with them and always have been, which just might change now with this shit," replied Atom.
Poker made a face and dropped his hands. "Then why ruffle any feathers by bringing in a potential enemy to help us out?"
Riggs rattled his head. "We don't know the Riders' current status with Bourne."
"We can pretty much guess that shit, brother," said Atom.
"We can guess all day long, we still don't know it for a goddamn fact," he shot back, pissed he was being challenged. He and Atom stared at each other. There was a long band of silence before he decided to speak again. Atom looked straight ahead. "Look, no matter what the hell the Shadow Riders might have going with Lorenzo, we still need his help out here, alright? This joint has got us scrambling and swimming neck deep in a sea of bills, and we are close to being in debt due to the lack of customers being brought in."
"And whose fault is that?" said Tracker.
Riggs pointed down at the table and leaned back in his chair. "Ours, which is why I'm trying to fix it."
"There's other ways of going about it, I think, Prez," said Patch.
"Not any that I'm looking to take in at the moment."
"Look, brother." Chute folded his hands on top of each other and sighed. "I think we all hear what you're saying and understand just where the hell you're coming from. But doing business with any of Fontaine's associates just doesn't sound like too much of a good idea in this case. I mean, shit, if he couldn't be trusted, how do we know that we'll ever be able to trust this asshole to not only help us out but to not screw us over in the process?"
"We won't," muttered Tracker. He eyed Riggs with disdain and sucked in the air inside the room. "This shit doesn't give me a good feeling. My gut is telling me that Bourne is gonna do nothing but come down here under the guise of trying to help us out right before fucking us over just like Chute suspects he might. He's been looking to take over a club for the last six or seven years now in the hopes of gaining 'muscle' to help take out his competition. Who's to say he won't try and pull that shit here with us?"
"He won't," said Riggs.
"You don't fucking know that."
"And neither do you." They glared at each other until Tracker shook his head and looked away.
"This shit is a mistake," he mumbled.
Axel shrugged while staring between the both of them and said, "How the hell did you two even manage to link up with each other in the first place, Prez?"
"We've known each other for years through mutuals and he's been out here maybe once or twice on visits to other clubs. But if you're talking businesswise, it was through this one's brother." Riggs flicked his thumb in my direction and tilted his head. Every other eye in the room turned to me and glowered.
I stared Riggs in the face and furrowed my brows. "Jeremiah is the one who led you to this asshole's money?" I asked him. He nodded. "How did all this shit come about?"
"Your brother was working his books on the low," he answered.
"Books for what?"
"A few of the casinos and one of the strip joints that he's got out there in Vegas with his family. Your brother would drive out there and stay for a few hours in between his regular job at the infirmary during the week and head back later to the city in the same day."
"Jesus. Thought he was just going up there to binge on his habit." I dropped back in my chair and wagged my head at him, stunned. The shit was taking place right under my nose and I was too busy with my mind on other things, mainly Colette, to even notice or care. "How long had it been of him working with Lorenzo?"
"A few months."
"Shit. Where'd the idea of a link up come from?"
"He rolled in here two weeks ago looking for you regarding something to do with your now wife, and overheard me on the phone in my office talking about the joint. He said for a small fee, he could talk to Lorenzo about helping us out where need be."
"You never thought of reaching out to him for yourself?" asked Smack.
"He wasn't on the list of phone calls I was willing to make on behalf of the club, no."
"Yeah, and for obvious fuckin' reasons," said Atom under his breath.
Riggs shot him a look and wagged his head. "Look, with Jeremiah knowing the ins and outs of his fi
nances and letting me know exactly what was up, I figured it was worth a shot."
"Just a second, brother." Tracker wrinkled his brows and sat up straight. "Did you give Jeremiah some of the club's cash behind our backs just to work with this bastard?" When Riggs didn't respond, he snarled. "Fuckin' Christ. You know, I think I can say without a shadow of a doubt, Prez, that you have officially flipped your shit."
"I ain't flipped nothing yet, but if you wanna keep running your mouth to me as if you're in charge of all this shit, then I can guarantee you, motherfucker, that I'll be flipping something soon enough. You decide whether you want me to grab you by the hair on your head or by the head of your cock to make it official." Dead silence filled the room before Riggs turned back to the rest of us and glared. "Look, hooking up with Bourne just might fuck me up; that's a goddamn reality I don't dispute but it's also a risk I'm willing to take."
Patch lifted his shoulders and glowered. "Why?"
"Because at this rate, we don't have any other choice but to take what he's offering up to us."
"Which is what aside from a few coins and some advice?" asked Poker.
"I'm guessing death," said Atom. We each looked over at him as he sat back and locked his jaw. "Most of us who've been here from day one know just how this motherfucker operates. We've seen shit go down with him and other people right before our own eyes. He's as sly as a snake and just as poisonous. And now hearing that you've linked up with him to help us out with the joint, and through Jeremiah at that...?" He stopped and rattled his head. "I'm getting really bad vibes here, brother, just like Tracker and Chute. And Rome here should be feeling something of the same, maybe even more with it being his brother all up in the mix of this shit."