Thunder (Hell's Handlers MC #10) - Lilly Atlas Page 0,7
outside world cringe and shy away. But between these walls and these brothers, acceptance ruled.
Time to relax and have some fucking fun.
Guys,” Monty shouted over the pulse of music as he slid the whiskey to Thunder. “Thunder is here.”
The music died, and the clubhouse fell eerily silent.
“Uh, what the hell, Mont?” he whispered, suddenly afraid to break the quiet. “It ain’t my birthday. What’s with the fucking spectacle?”
“Nah.” Monty winked. “It’s better.”
What the fuck?
Copper emerged from the crowd and walked straight to him. People parted like he was fucking Moses, making a trail for the prez as their attention fell to Thunder.
A hard lump formed in the back of his throat. Oh shit. Had he fucked up?
He gulped down the whiskey in two painful swallows. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he turned to face his president. Whatever happened next, he’d take it like a fucking man. He’d survived a beatdown before and could again. All he hoped was that whatever dipshit move he’d pulled wouldn’t wreck his shot at a patch. He was so damn close to the end.
Lips in a flat line and eyes cold as steel in Antarctica, Copper didn’t stop advancing until he was inches from Thunder.
He squared his shoulders and gave his president his eyes. Seconds ticked by as the formidable man Thunder respected above all stared him down. A bead of sweat trickled down his spine. His stomach cramped. The alcohol had been a mistake. It bubbled and burned like acid eating his insides.
“We had a vote tonight.”
Fuck. Oh fuck. He was out.
Was he out?
He’d been a damn good prospect.
Hadn’t he?
Hell, he’d done ever damn thing they asked of him without so much as a sigh of annoyance. Was it his past? The stripping? Occasional exchange of money for sex? No. This group wasn’t prudish or judgmental.
Hell Jazz, Screw, and their newest member, Gumby, lived in a fucking triad, and nobody batted an eye.
The next thing he knew, his face slammed against Copper’s massive chest. and a meaty palm slapped Thunder’s back so hard, he nearly lost his breath.
What the hell kind of ass-kicking was this?
The guys screamed, stomped their boots, and clapped. Mav’s shrill whistle pierced the air and cut through Thunder’s fog.
What the hell?
Copper released him with a laugh. “Did you even hear what I said, brother?”
Thunder blinked, glancing around at the grins on everyone’s faces.
Wait…
Did he say, brother?
“No, I was freaking the fuck out in my head. Did you call me—?”
Finally, the man’s beard split, revealing a huge amused grin. “Brother? Sure fucking did. You’re in, brother. We voted tonight. Your patch-in is next Saturday followed by an epic fucking party.” Copper whacked him on the back again then walked over to where his wife, Shell, stood with her adorable baby bump and tears in her eyes.
He’d done it. Found himself a place to land with people who fucking loved and understood him. Found himself brothers and sisters in chaos.
Thunder stood there, stunned as his new brothers began to congratulate him. It took a solid twenty minutes, but eventually he found himself alone at the bar with a drink in his hand. Now, he was grateful for the burn of alcohol to keep him from flying away.
“Hey, there, new patch-in,” a flirty feminine voice whispered in his ear. “Why you sitting here drinking all by yourself?”
He glanced over his shoulder to find Bunny giving him the eye.
“Mind if I sit?” she gestured to the empty barstool next to him.
“Not at all.” Thunder shot her his patented, panty-dropping smile. He was well aware of the power of a charming smile. Hell, he’d worked on the thing for years. On stage, before he revealed his body, that smile drew them in and made the ladies hungry for more. He often heard it was his best feature—even more of a draw than his tight ass, rippling abs, and mobile hips.
As expected, Bunny practically swooned as she slid onto the seat. Who knew if the name was real or a handle, but she wore it well. She looked exactly like the stereotypical Playboy Bunnies ol’ Hugh loved. The ones on the magazines his mother and her friends had used as their Bible back in the day.
“Whatcha drinking, babe?” he asked as he flagged Monty.
Bunny tossed her long yellow-blond hair over her shoulder as she flashed him a glossy-lipped smile. “Well, aren’t you the gentleman. Gin and tonic with two limes.”