“Christ, Trav,” Tyler finally said. “Seriously? You ain’t had enough of that life?”
Shaking his head, Curly lifted a hand. “Hear me out. This is different. I’ve spent the last half-year with a club that’s nothing like the Outlaws. They’re a real fucking family. Brothers who’d do anything for each other. Good damn men. Hard-working, loyal, solid earners. It was what we thought we’d be getting with the Outlaws. Their prez has endorsed my idea to open a charter here.”
“They one-percenters?”
With a chuckle, Curly shrugged. “Well, they’re not Boy Scouts.”
Tyler scoffed. “You spent thirteen years behind bars, cuz. How can you even think—”
“They ain’t about that. No guns, no drugs, no fucking robberies. They’ve got legit businesses like a gym, a diner, working on opening a garage. But, yeah, they also earn from loan sharking, some muscle for hire, few gambling rings.”
Tyler stared him down for a long, tension-filled moment. He wanted it. Curly could feel it. They’d grown up with a strong bond but had shit-all in terms of additional family. Tyler’s old man had ridden with a club a few states over. He’d blow into town once or twice a year, toss some cash at Ty’s mother, and zoom back out with his club.
As an adult, Curly realized what a shit father the man had been, but damn, he and Ty had idolized the guy. He’d been a huge, dominating presence with a boisterous laugh he was quick to share. Both he and his cousin fantasized of growing up to be Tyler’s old man who’d let them drink their first beer at ten and laughed his head off when they’d both spit it out. The stories he’d shared of his club had fueled their young dreams and solidified their love of motorcycles and club life.
“It’s still a risk. You could always get a job. I can offer you something here until you find something more your speed.” The argument was weak at best, and Tyler knew it. He knew Curly, how he thought, what he wanted from his life. Knew he’d never be satisfied with a typical job.
“You know I can’t do that shit, Ty. Spent too many years in a club and then a cell to work in an office or live a nine-to-five life.” The thought of a regular routine, same thing day in day out, made him shudder. There wouldn’t be steel bars, but it was another prison all the same. “Can’t work under anyone either. Too many fucking trust issues.” At least he was aware of his head problems. That had to count for something, right?
“Loan sharking, huh?” Tyler rubbed the back of his neck.
“For one thing. Got a few other ideas.” He had Tyler on the hook. His cousin regretted not patching in with the Outlaws even if he’d have hated the life. At least he would have had some form of brotherhood.
“Where the fuck we gonna get cash to loan out? Will the other club front you?”
“I got that under control.” Though Tyler was one of the two or three people Curly trusted, he had no plans to share his financial status with him. Not yet. If he agreed to help Curly with the club and pledged an oath, eventually, but not now. That kind of money changed things. “I want you for my VP.”
Tyler’s eyes widened, “You’re shitting me.”
“Dead serious. Need someone I trust. And like I said, there ain’t many.”
Finally, Tyler’s uneasy expression gave way to a smile. “Fuck it. I’m in. Shit, cuz. I’m one hundred percent in.” He held out a hand and walked toward Curly, who sucked in a sharp breath.
Until that moment, Curly hadn’t realized just how important it was for him to have his cousin by his side and in his club. It was then he also realized just how much he wanted this to work. How badly he wanted to be a part of the Hell’s Handlers family and bring that to his hometown. “Fuck yes,” he said as he grabbed his cousin’s hand and hauled him in for a quick hug and a slap on the back.
Pressure eased in his chest. It felt like the first time he’d taken a true full breath since he sat in Copper’s office and proposed the idea.
Tyler pounded his shoulder with a booming laugh. The same way his father had. Curly would never forget him even though the man had been killed in a motorcycle accident almost two decades ago.