Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Zeke’s gaze slid around the thick wood table with the DAMC logo carved in the middle. The table where his father, his uncles, and his great-granddad once sat.
But not his grandfather. Fuck no. Mitch Jamison didn’t follow in his father’s footsteps. He had decided he’d rather wear a pig skin instead of a cut.
And between Mitch’s two sons, one went the same route by becoming a pig and the other, Zeke’s father, followed what was in his heart and veins by becoming the president of the Dirty Angels.
Now Zeke sat in his old man’s former seat at the head of the table with the gavel only inches from his fingertips.
It was good to be back. Now it was time to get to work and do his mother proud.
He grabbed the gavel and slammed it on the table. “Let’s come to order.”
The officers quickly shut their traps and focused their attention on their president.
Chill, the VP, sat to his right. The sergeant at arms, Rage, to his left. Next to Rage sat Cruz, the treasurer. To Zane’s right was Chaos, the club secretary, with Wheels, their road captain, sitting next to him.
The club’s executive committee was made up of five voting members to avoid tied votes. The road captain didn’t get a vote unless another officer was missing.
The other end of the table didn’t have a seat. It remained open so any member or prospect called in front of the executive committee could stand there and face them.
Everyone at that table had generations of DAMC blood flowing through their veins, except for Cruz Delgado, the son of a former Shadow named Hunter, but he’d grown up with the rest of them in the gated DAMC community. Everyone at that table had known the MC life well before joining the club.
He glanced over at his VP and Zane started with, “First order of business should be J.J.”
That was right. Crash’s son recently turned eighteen and could now be a prospect.
“Crash gonna sponsor him, or is someone else doin’ it?” Zeke asked, not giving a shit who answered.
Wheels spoke up. “Crash.”
Zeke nodded. That meant the OG would be responsible for straightening out his son if he fucked up as a prospect.
“We need to call them before us?” Zeke asked next.
“Fuck no,” Rage grumbled next to him. “We all know who the fuck he is. No reason to waste any more goddamn time. Were just waitin’ on you to get out.”
Making J.J. a prospect wasn’t important business. They could’ve handled that shit without him. “First order of business then is J.J. finally gettin’ his bottom rocker. All you fuckers good with that?”
He glanced around the table and one by one they all said “aye.”
He slammed the gavel again. “So fuckin’ be it. What about his prospect name? Ain’t lettin’ him fuckin’ pick.”
“’Course not,” Cruz agreed. “Been thinking about it. Came up with Jagoff since he keeps hinting he wants the name Joker.”
Joker. Zeke shook his head. The kid could chose whatever the fuck he wanted for a road name once—hell, if— he survived his year probation.
They all had to do that time in order to earn their full set of rockers and it sucked. But then, that was the fucking point. If becoming a member of an MC was easy, their club membership would be exploding like a pressurized can of raw biscuits.
Chaos snorted. “Jagoff’s fuckin’ perfect ‘cause he’s gonna hate it.”
Zeke gave zero fucks if he liked it or not. “Next order of business.” He glanced over at Cruz. “How’s our accounts lookin’?” Because his ass was broke and he was about to dip into one of them.
“Could be better. Got the same amount of club businesses filling our coffers but a fuckuva lot more members than the OGs. Same scratch going in, more bleeding out. Need to do something about that.”
“Probably should have a bigger emergency fund, too,” Zane suggested next to him.
“Agreed,” Zeke said. “Anyone got thoughts on how to fuckin’ do that? Openin’ up the table to suggestions.”
“Whatever it’s gonna be gotta make us a lotta scratch,” Cruz added.
No shit.
“Had eight months inside, Prez, with nothin’ else to do but think about this kinda shit.”
Wheels loved to bust balls. Luckily, Zeke’s were empty after last night. And this morning.
And this afternoon.
Despite what any of his brothers thought, he had considered it, but none of his brothers were going to like what he’d come up with. It might mean going back to the old ways. Not the ways of the last generation, but all the way back to the originals. When the Dirty Angels were truly fucking dirty.
The OGs might have a problem with that, but thank fuck they were no longer in charge. The members now making the decisions were currently sitting at the table.
“Anyone?” Goddamn, for a group that normally had diarrhea of the mouth, everyone was suddenly too fucking quiet. Did no one have one fucking valid thought in their melon? For fuck’s sake. “No-fuckin’-body?” Zeke sighed. “Got an idea.”
All eyes landed on him. Where they should’ve been in the first damn place.
“It’s about gettin’ more mileage outta the pawn shop.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Zane’s head spin toward him. He was prepared for his younger brother to lose his “chill” with this idea.
He’d get over it.
Zeke powered on. “Got enough members now that we could put together a team to add to the inventory.” He smiled. “Without it costin’ us anything.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Cruz asked.
Before Zeke could explain, Wheels spoke up. “My take? He means usin’ the pawn shop to fence stolen goods. Team sticky fingers.”
Their road captain nailed it. He was not only smart, but perceptive.
Zeke braced for his brother’s outrage. In three, two…
“Fuck no!”
Just as Zeke expected.
“I fuckin’ manage the pawn shop and my vote on that shit is no. Haven’t spent one goddamn day behind bars—unlike you—and don’t plan on it. Plus, Bri ain’t gonna wanna be involved with that shit, either. You forget who her father is?”
“Which one?” Bri and Beck had two fathers. Cross, a retired pig, and Nash, one of the DAMC’s OGs. A crazy fucking match that never should’ve happened.
But it did. And somehow it worked.
“Gonna hafta second Chill’s take on it,” Chaos said. “Don’t want my sister involved in that shit, either. She already got a record. She don’t need to add to it. Plus, Cross might disown her.”
“No loss,” Zeke muttered in regards to their pig father.
A muscle ticked in Chaos’s jaw. “Would be to her.”
“She ain’t gonna get busted ‘cause it ain’t gonna happen,” Zane assured Beck. “This would need to come to a vote and doubt my dickhead brother’s gonna get enough votes to go along with this bullshit.”
“Could take the vote to the membership.” There were a shitload more members than officers.
“But to do that we’d all need to vote on that damn vote,” Zane reminded him.
Zeke glanced over at Rage, who’d been too damn quiet. If anyone would have his back on this, it would be him. “What d’you think?”
The sergeant at arms sucked on his teeth and tipped his head to the side as he regarded Zeke. “Sounds fuckin’ stupid to me, Prez.”
Damn.
“Gonna guess your plan involves hittin’ up some homes in upper crust neighborhoods or jackin’ some tractor trailers and stealin’ the cargo. Gettin’ busted for that shit might decimate the club. Fencin’ it at our own pawn shop would be even more stupid. Would make us a damn target for the feds.”
Zeke scratched the back of his neck. “Then someone better come up with some other fuckin’ ideas. If we wanna support our club, our families, and our lifestyle, we need more goddamn scratch.”
“Agreed,” could be heard from everyone but Zane.
“Nobody disagrees with that, but remember Dad fought for this damn club to go legit and to keep everyone outta prison. He did shit to protect the members and their families for good reason. We got good, solid businesses right now bringin’ in scratch without any heat at our backs.
The fuck if we wanna destroy everything he fought for. ”
“Ain’t his club anymore.”
“Bullshit, brother. Still wears the colors, still got ‘em inked onto his back. He just ain’t prez anymore.”
“Exactly,” Zeke grumbled.
Zane wasn’t done making his opinion known yet. “Don’t mean he don’t got a stake in this club. And why would you wanna invite the pigs to mess with us? Right now, we got peace.”
“Gotta agree with that, Prez,” Cruz said. “Shit like that will only bring unwanted attention. Not only from the pigs, but other clubs, especially if our numbers drop ‘cause everyone’s away at Club Fed.”
“And like Chill said, you’re gonna need a membership vote to open a new club business. The OGs would shoot down any illegal ones.”
Wheels might be right, but some of the OGs might remember when they weren’t legit. When the club straddled that legal line. Back then, some members weren’t happy that the club cleaned up its reputation.
The founders, one being his great-grandfather, would’ve hated it. They picked the name Dirty Angels for a damn good reason.
“Then every fuckin’ one of you better come with at least one suggestion before the next time we’re sittin’ here.” He jabbed his finger into the table top. “That ain’t a suggestion, that’s an order.”
He caught a few groans and muttered curses.
“Respect my authoritah!” Wheels quoted in his best impression of South Park’s Eric Cartman and slammed his hand on the table. He then sat back and laughed his fucking ass off.
“A legit business,” Zane added.
“Long as it makes good scratch,” Zeke said.
“No point in stretchin’ our brotherhood thin if a business don’t make shit.
” They needed to move on. He had a bottle of whiskey waiting for him.
“Okay, give me the lowdown on the upcomin’ Walker Foundation fundraiser.
” Since his club was involved, he needed to know what was going on.
“You goin’, Prez?” Chaos asked.
“Yeah.” He glanced over at Cruz. “Got the prospects helpin’ out, right?” They fucking better be.
“Yeah. My sister appreciates the help. ‘Specially since it’s free labor.”
“Make J.J. help out, too.”
One side of Cruz’s mouth hooked up. “You mean Jagoff?”
Chuckles rounded the long table.
Zeke glanced over at Rage. “Blood Fury comin’ down?”
“Why the fuck you lookin’ at me? Last I checked, my patch says I’m the goddamn sergeant at arms, not your personal bitch.”
“Dunno, man, sure look like a bitch,” came from Wheels.
“Fuck you,” Rage growled.
“Gonna pass on that. Prefer to be fucked by someone with big tits. Gotta say, yours are pretty fuckin’ big, but not big enough for me to motorboat.”
Zeke didn’t bother to fight his smirk and glanced at his brother for the answer.
Zane shrugged. “Said they’re gonna try.”
“Dark Knights?”
“Yep. They got their prospects helpin’ out, too.”
Zeke nodded. “Good.”
“Blue Avengers are gonna—”
Zeke cut Chaos off. “Don’t give a fuck ‘bout your pop’s club, Chaos. They’re only fuckin’ wannabes. They ain’t true bikers.”
“Don’t forget it’s your uncle’s club, too. And your grandfather’s.”
Beck was baiting him now. “Like I said, don’t give a fuck.” Especially when it came to his uncle Axhole, a retired porker.
Chaos flattened his lips to crush his grin.
“Girls are gonna be there, too,” Zane announced.
Zeke’s chin jerked back into his neck. “For what? A fuck and suck booth?”
His younger brother rolled his eyes. “Not the sweet butts. The Angels of Fury.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered. Zeke pulled in a breath to tamp down his irritation. “Was hopin’ they’d get bored of that shit and abandon that stupid idea.”
“Nope,” Rage confirmed. “And they’re recruitin’ more of our women, too.”
“Vi didn’t say shit about that.”
“‘Maybe ‘cause she ain’t their prez. Lexi is,” Zane said.
Zeke muttered, “Fuckin’ crazy bitch.”
“Fuck,” Wheels said on a groan. “Don’t let her pop hear you call her that.”
Chaos’s eyebrows shot up. “Ain’t Jag he’s gotta fuckin’ worry about. Lexi could kick his ass up one side and down the other.”
“Fuck that. She wouldn’t need to put a hand on him. I swear Lexi shoots almost as good as that new sniper Vi hired,” Cruz exclaimed.
“Lexi ain’t shootin’ me.”
“Test her,” Wheels encouraged him with a shit-eating grin.
“You fuckin’ test her.”
“Ain’t the one callin’ her a bitch.”
Zeke whacked Ash’s chest with the back of his hand. “Rage here’s supposed to take a bullet for me.”
“The fuck if I’m takin’ a bullet for the stupid shit that comes outta your mouth. Would be riddled with ‘em.”
“Okay,” Zeke said on a sigh. “Anything else need to be brought up before we get the fuck outta here?”
“How ‘bout the fact that our prez keeps gettin’ pinched?” Zane asked.
“We can table that.”
“’Til next time?”
“’Til never.” Zeke slammed the gavel on the thick table. “We’re adjourned. Need to go find some wet pussy.”
Zane shoved his chair back and stood. “Might wanna stop at the new groomers in town, then. If you’re lookin’ for wet pussy, heard they bathe cats there.”
“Guaranteed, a comedy club ain’t a business we’ll be openin’ anytime soon,” Zeke grumbled, also rising to his feet.
“Fuck! That was gonna be one of the ideas I brought to the table.” Wheels was chuckling as he walked out the door of the meeting room and disappeared.