4. Deacon
“Thank you for assisting me with my loan, Mr. Redmond. Please let me take you out to dinner as thank you.”
I’m grateful for the desk separating me from the snow bunny with silicon breasts and heavily bleached hair. The lust in Ms. Ridge’s eyes and the continuous licking of her lips is a clear indication of what type of dinner she wants to have with me.
“I’ll pass,” I say deadpan as the smile slips from her lips, ushering in a deep frown.
“Why not? I can guarantee you will leave hap?—”
“I’ll be happier for not sacrificing my integrity or virtue, believe me. There is nothing I want from you. This ain’t that type of party. If there is nothing more, I gotta jet.”
I’ve been at this damn credit union for too many hours because my patience with thirsty women is extremely short. With Baxtown Iron having a club meeting, I can’t go home, which isn’t helping my disposition. I have been working with this woman for several months as she got her finances and debt in order, to secure the mortgage loan necessary to purchase a home.
“Well, I never,” she says, grabbing her purse and marching toward the door.
“That’s the problem… you will never. Best of luck finding a house, Ms. Ridge,” I say, smirking, although she didn’t hear me with how quickly she left my office as the security guard let her out the front door.
*zzit, zzit*
Looking down at my vibrating phone, my eyes tighten instantly, and all previous humor leaves my body as I answer the incoming call. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“While I understand the responsibility of your daytime activities, you are also obligated to us. Why aren’t you in attendance, son?”
John D. Baxter, better known as Bulldog, is the founder of Baxtown Iron and is a no-nonsense yet mentoring type of guy. Despite there being an active president in the club, Bulldog takes it upon himself to be a second father and disciplinarian with all the club’s officers. I should have known he would call me when I didn’t show up at my usual time. On meeting days, I’m one of the first people who holds a position to be at the clubhouse. However, time got away from me today, which is also why I rushed the thirsty blonde out of my office.
“I’m still at the office, having just finished with a client. Time got away from me, but I’m closing down now and will be there soon.”
“I’ll inform the others and have them delay for about twenty minutes so you don’t miss anything. See you soon, son.”
With that, the call ended, and I went about finishing my tasks so I could get out of here to head to the clubhouse. One thing about Bulldog is no matter how old you are, he refers to all of us brothers as son whenever he speaks to us individually. He also isn’t one to raise his voice or berate you like a father can do when angry, which is why everyone respects him highly.
“You’re a better man than I am, young blood. I would have let bleached Barbie become a pass-around in the clubhouse had she propositioned me,” the security guard says, standing in the threshold of my office.
“If it ain’t melanin, me and my brothers are allergic. Hell, fucking with her would have my shit bumping up like a nigga with uncontrolled herpes. I’m cool.”
“Nah. Ms. Ridge got knees and a throat that will have you counting sheep in your sleep when she’s finished.”
This nigga.
“Maybe that’s why your mouth looks like a canvas of rejection to Blistex. You got it, though.”
Closing the last program, I shut down my computer, grab my bag, and head to the door as old boy looks like he wants to risk it all by throwing a punch. His eyes are tight, and his chest is heaving, causing a sinister smirk as I shoulder bump him on my exit.
“The difference between me and you right now is that I’m about that life. I dare you to mistake me for the suit and tie nigga I masquerade as.” My voice is low and challenging as I size this nigga up to see how I’m about to really end my workday.
His shoulders drop, and I nod before making my way to the exit as adrenaline runs through my body, charging me like a caffeinated drink.
“Be easy and avoid dark alleys,” I say when the front door is unlocked, and I pass through it without looking back.
Forty minutes later…
“Let’s call this meeting to order. The first item up for discussion is the open secretary position. You niggas don’t pay me to be recording issues, creating agendas, and remembering details of past meetings. We need to find someone to fill the slot expeditiously because I ain’t beat for this shit,” Diesel says, frowning.
“Well, maybe you should consider letting the women only fill that position and not the one in your bed with your dick-slinging ass,” Bulldog says.
Bulldog acts like he’s all of our father so I was slightly expecting him to point out Diesel’s mistakes, whether big or small.
“That’s a possibility,” Diesel says, nodding.
Diesel is the active president of the club and the most promiscuous out of all of us. Our last secretary quit after finding out that the relationship between her and Diesel would never be monogamous.
“I have a suggestion.” Dimples interjects, causing everyone to look in her direction.
Dimples is the club treasurer and the sister most of us find irritating because of how much she tries to keep us in line. Dimples is married to Boston, another club member who believes everyone should settle down like the two of them.
“Ugh. Here she goes,” Trixx says, rolling her eyes.
Having the entire body in attendance for tonight’s meeting will be interesting because the women can be highly vocal, while some of the men are more laid-back. Trixx is one of the vocal women who often bumps heads with Dimples.
“Bi—” Dimples starts before being cut off by Diesel.
“We ain’t doing this shit with you two tonight. Say what the fuck you need to say, Dimples,” Diesel says in a heavy tone, brokering no argument but causing an expected response.
“No disrespect, Pres, but watch your tone with my wife,” Boston says before Dimples or Trixx can respond.
“Nigga, you better learn your place because if your sensitive ass can’t handle my tone, then you ain’t gotta be here. Shit, we can be looking for a fucking treasurer too, my nigga,” Diesel says in a grudging voice as his eyes darken and deep wrinkles spread across his forehead.
“We’re good, Diesel,” Dimples says, patting Boston’s back like a toddler needing reassurance.
“Let’s get back on track before this shit goes left.” Shadow interjects, being the peacemaker that he often is during these meetings.
The shit is a contradiction to the hell he can cause whenever it’s time for the club to handle adversaries. Yet, during these meetings, we let Shadow pretend to be the kumbaya man his imagination convinces him is real.
“All right, so we need a secretary, and why else are we here, madam president?” I say, smirking, instantly shifting the energy in the room as everyone laughs.
“Fuck you, Deacon,” Diesel says as his eyes return to normal, and he looks at the paper in front of him. “Let’s see, oh yeah. Too Sweet and Can’t Get Right have completed the requirements set for them and are now full members. There will be a cabaret to celebrate them, but it will be planned after we obtain a new secretary because I’m not doing the shit myself.”
“Do we have any candidates for membership?” Gunz asks.
*bam*
The slamming of the club entry door causes everyone to look in that direction as Shadow and I pull our guns. My heart skips a beat as heat increases my body temperature upon seeing Ms. Janelle practically being dragged into the room with Tinker Belle, who no one noticed was missing before now.
“Sorry, I’m late, Diesel. I had an emergency. I also brought a candidate for the open secretary position,” Tinker Belle says while trying to push Janelle forward like a sacrificial offering.
Janelle stiffens at the gesture while eyeing Tinker Belle with a cold glimmer in her orbs. It’s clear from her body language and her actions that this isn’t Janelle’s idea, nor is she open to the suggestion.
“Who do we have here?” Bulldog asks, walking toward Janelle, causing a tick in my jaw as I put my gun back in the holster before slowly moving closer.
“This is my best friend, Janelle. She’s recently returned home, and I think she’d be perfect to be our secretary,” Tinker Belle says.
“Hello, sweetheart. I’m the club’s founder, Bulldog. It’s nice to make your acquaintance.”
My blood pressure spikes when Bulldog extends his hand, and Janelle places hers in his palm, increasing my steps.
“N-nice to m-m-meet you, Bulldog,” Janelle says lowly.
“Aw shit. We’re gonna call you Squeak,” Gunz says humorously behind me.
“Most definitely. Aye, Squeak. The position is yours if you want it,” Diesel says, halting my steps as I look at him.
“Secretary is the only position she’ll be fulfilling for you, nigga,” I say deadpan before resuming my steps until I damn near shove Bulldog out of the way, automatically disconnecting the connection between Janelle and his hands. “We meet again, huh?”
Janelle’s eyes meet mine as we silently communicate, while my heart hammers and my dick twitches in excitement. The longer I stare at Janelle, the foggier my mind becomes when stars dance before my eyes.
“So, are you gonna become our new secretary, Squeak?” Gunz asks distantly.
Nodding my head like the question was made to me, I take Janelle’s hand into mine, feeling electricity shoot through my body while urging her with my eyes to accept.
“I-I will,” Janelle whispers.
Damn, right, you will… forever.