Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Gemini
“What a fucking shitshow,” I mumble as the four of us stare at the huge barn that’s seen better days that is the Montana chapter’s clubhouse. It’s gonna take a ton of hard work, elbow grease, and cold-hard cash to get it livable.
Because we’re Texas born and bred and while we occasionally get shitty weather that shuts the whole state down for a few days, seeing the piles of snow drifted about has me realizing that we’re ill-prepared to freeze our asses off.
Big Daddy had sent two of his other presidents, Rio and Riptide, up to deal with the corruption and there’s now literally one former member left, Midas.
He’s the one who realized that the former president was dipping his hand in the coffers, which is part of the reason why the clubhouse is in such shitty condition.
Granted, it’s good that he’s the one who’s still standing since he was the club treasurer, but he also makes and manufactures the moonshine that is sold at the bowling alley.
Not in the open, of course, but out of the back room, and the money it generates is fucking phenomenal.
There are ranch hands who are keeping the current livestock alive, and Rio let me know that he’d be bringing his old lady up in the spring so she could look over some of the younger bulls.
She’s on the rodeo circuit, and their ranch raises bulls for bronc riders, so even with a discount because they’re part of the Kings, that’s going to help us make bank as well.
“We need someone who’s got construction experience,” Mercury says as his gaze bounces across the outside, noting each busted window that’s been boarded up. “We’re gonna freeze our gonads off, Gem.”
“Not me,” Orion jeers.
Turning, I see he’s wearing something I’ve only ever noticed professional skiers wearing. “Is that… a snowsuit?” I ask, chuckling.
“Snowsuits are for kids, fucker,” he retorts. “This is an insulated ski suit.”
“Looks like a snowsuit to me too,” Mercury muses, earning himself a glare. “But if it makes you feel more secure in your masculinity to call it a ski suit, you do you, O.”
“Well, let’s see what the inside looks like,” I grunt out. I’m not holding out any hope that it’s any better than the outside, but a man can hope, right?
I mean, it’s bad enough that we had to trailer our bikes and drive our trucks up here, with several of those POD things set to arrive with all of the stuff from our respective houses but knowing that we’re going to have to part ways with a significant chunk of money just to be able to live sucks.
With the aunts on their permanent road trip, we sold all of our houses, so we’ve got a solid starting point, and I know that Midas has the books for us to go over as well, it just hurts my miser heart to part with a penny to fix shit that should’ve been the former members’ priority.
Still, it’s our home now, for better or worse, and we’ll get it taken care of as quickly as possible. First, we’re going to meet Riptide and Rio to see what they know, then we’ll sit down and make a plan.
Thank fuck that Mercury has a memory like a steel trap. He has contacts from what he did in the military and he’s not afraid to call on them if needed. When we breach the doorway, a whistle escapes my lips. This is a motherfucking disaster.
“Gemini,” Rio calls out my name as he steps forward and extends his hand. After shaking it, he turns back and his eyes focus on the walls. “A swift wind will take this place out. I’m not sure it’s habitable for y’all.”
“You don’t say,” Orion pipes in, his eyes taking in the insulation that’s hanging loose from the broken sheetrock. “What the hell were they doing in here? Their version of reconstruction?”
“Big Daddy did that. He tore half the walls apart looking for the hidden safe that the old president claimed held money,” Riptide informs us.
“And was there? A hidden safe full of cash, that is, because if so, that’d help us out tremendously,” I ask, pleading with the universe that he’ll say yes and something will finally go our way.
“Not a damn cent was found,” Rio states.
“Apparently, he liked the horses a bit too much and started funneling the club profits into his own pockets to cover his losses. The only reason that Big Daddy caught on was the payments for the chapter dues that are sent to the national chapter were suspiciously light considering everything they were doing. I mean, how fucking hard is it to do the right thing, for fuck’s sake?
Big Daddy said it was a clusterfuck when he and a few of his men got here to get answers.
It’s also why there’s only one man left standing.
He had proof showing where he had written the checks for the president to send, and the bank even showed the checks had been cashed.
It just wasn’t the California chapter that was cashing them, it was the fucking president. ”
“He stole from the national chapter?” Mercury questions. “Talk about a death sentence.”
“So the place was demolished for nothing?” I ask, my tone bewildered. “That’s fucked up. Why would he say that if it wasn’t true?”
“To get one last jab at us,” Riptide remarks.
“That was an asshole move,” Mercury muses. “But it sounds like that was standard for him.”
“Didn’t used to be until he started snorting his own version of candy,” Rio tells us.
“He apparently started distributing on the side when his luck with the ponies fell off in an effort to regain what he’d lost, but then he started using what he was supposed to be selling.
In all honesty, if Big Daddy hadn’t taken care of things, I’m pretty sure the Mexican cartel would have. ”
“Bad habit for someone to have,” Pisces surmises.
“It was his downfall. It ruined him in more ways than one and was the reason he no longer breathes,” Riptide sneers.
We all turn as one and look at Orion. He likes to hit the tracks from time to time so this is our silent warning for him to steer clear.
He holds his hands up in a defensive pose and states, “The worst habit I have is pussy. The tracks were used when I was on the prowl, not because I was looking to place a bet.”
“Keep it that way. As a matter of fact, find a different avenue for getting your dick wet,” I suggest.
“Okay, before y’all start tearing into each other, we need to talk numbers and figure out how to get this club back up and running,” Rio proposes.
“First on the agenda is getting a look at the club’s books. I’m assuming they’re in the negative,” I say.
“You’d assume right, but we have a proposition for you,” Riptide states.
“I’m all ears,” I tell him, needing to know how they think we can dig ourselves out of a hole that’s not of our making.
“We wanna give you a loan of sorts until the club is making a profit,” Rio offers.
“With what stipulations?” I inquire, not wanting to agree to a damn thing that’ll take me a lifetime to meet.
“We’ll low ball it, we know how hard it is to get up and running when you’ve been left with a pile of shit to muddle through,” Riptide adds.
“Midas is on his way, once he arrives, we’ll talk numbers,” Rio suggests. “Until then, we’ll broach a few other topics… like construction.”
“We need a demolition crew and then we need to rebuild from the ground up,” Mercury exclaims.
“There’s good bones and the foundation is solid,” Rio reports. “The framework is still strong, we just need to restructure it and get new insulation, sheetrock, and the electric lines need to be rerun. It’s a fire hazard from what I observed.”
“Is that all?” Orion snarks, his eyes wide as he spins around, shaking his head in dismay. He looks at me and states, “We need to find out where the aunts got their RV and get one of those for the four of us while we get this sorted out, don’t you think?”
Rio chuckles while shaking his head. “This snow you’re seeing now? It’s the tip of the iceberg. I’d suggest that y’all consider holing up in the former president’s at least. It’s in decent shape since he spent the bulk of his time here, and there’s plenty of room for all of y’all.”
“Is it club-owned?” I ask. “And what about the other former members?”
“Most of them lived here as well, but Big Daddy went ahead and bought those houses up, and he’s currently renting them out to try and recoup what Rocco stole from the club. He said once that debt is repaid, he’ll turn it over to y’all for another business opportunity,” Rio replies.
“So, on one hand, we’re fucked as far as this hellhole goes,” Mercury says, “but on the other, there’s a lot of promise that even I can see once we get the ball rolling.
” He looks at me and states, “We’ve always liked a challenge, brother, and we don’t know how to back down, so I’d say we’re cooking with gas. ”
Shaking my head at Mercury’s fucked-up idioms, which he does on purpose, I finally say, “Yeah, we’re up for this, although we definitely need warmer clothing.”
Riptide chuckles then states, “Yeah, us Texas boys have what, maybe a week’s worth of wintry weather a year, right? But from what I understand, there’s pretty much always snow somewhere in Montana.”