to suck my cock. Blow’s been dipping into that pussy on the regular, so I’ve held back, letting him take her for a ride. Sure, we have other sweetbutts that try to squirm their way into our beds, but none of them stick out like fresh pussy does.
The brothers take their sweet-ass time. No doubt they’re having a few more drinks while they know I’m at the club. I’m over here twiddling my fucking fingers, waiting on their asses. Fuckers. They went out to relax and shoot the shit while I stuck around and took care of business. Sure, being prez means I delegate a lot of shit, but I still take on a portion of tasks as well. I’m no lazy fucker, and I never will be.
I head for the bar, the prospects scurrying out of my way like frightened rats. Each brother has a prospect sponsored, aside from myself. I don’t have time to hold anyone’s hand in this world, so they have to do it. I just vet their choices in the end and either put them up for a vote or give ‘em the boot to get the fuck out of my clubhouse. With the amount of MCs around this area, we need more numbers, whether I like it or not.
Ammo, Powerhouse’s bitch boy, waits like an eager puppy for me to bark out, “Give me a beer.”
I guess this clown knows his way around weapons. Not surprised since Powerhouse is the same way. Each of my brothers seemed to come up with prospects that’re mini versions of themselves so far; it’s been entertaining, to say the least, to witness it. If anything, I should be able to trust these green motherfuckers in the end, and that’s what matters most in an outlaw motorcycle club. God knows if Rancid’s fucked up ass ever showed his face around here to take me out, like he did with Dog in New Orleans, I need to have a club full of brothers watching my back. He’s kept his cool with me in the past, but the way he works, you never know what to expect. He doesn’t live by the same set of code most of us other prez’s do. Considering he’s the big dog, the prez of prez’s, means no one can touch him for it either.
“Yes, Prez.” Ammo moves like his ass is on fire, popping the top and handing it over.
I nod my gratitude and step outside.
Wrench, Whiskey’s prospect, is in the garage with the bay up, clinking around in there. He’s one hell of a mechanic. He’ll get a patch eventually. He knows how to keep his fucking mouth shut and pitch in around here. He’s always working on someone’s bike or vehicle, whether it’s his or not. I’d give him my vote today if it were his time. He’s got another month or so of waiting around.
The other two dipshits are on patrol. Blow brought in a kid barely eighteen…kid’s a sneaky-ass thief. We call him Mouse since he’s so fucking quiet. You never know when the fucker’s sneaking up on ya. He’s the newest and has at least another year of prospecting before he’s put up for a patch.
Plague sponsored a buddy of his—Manic. We call him that ‘cause the fucker will party until he blacks out. Not only that but when he fights, he goes completely nuts, falls into a straight-up rampage. While he may be a liability, we can use a few fuckers around here with their screws loose. It gives us an edge that other clubs won’t want to touch.
Angel, my enforcer who’s currently out on a job, sponsored Lunatic. His name says it all and makes me question Angel’s thinking. Those two would scalp every motherfucker who crosses them if I didn’t put a stop to it. Bad enough they chop up damn near every kill. I don’t know how they stomach the shit. They’ve bonded in ways I could never imagine with another human being. For women’s sake, I hope no one is ever dumb enough to fall for either one of them. Lord knows one day they wouldn’t wake up. Luna is with Angel now, but when they’re home, he sleeps in the shop, away from the rest of the club. Angel doesn’t want him under the clubhouse’s roof until he’s fully patched. Considering he’s his sponsor, we’ve respected his wishes.
Hearing the telltale signs of multiple pipes headed my way, I turn around and head right back