CHAPTER 24
Sharp
Sitting back in my office chair, enjoying the peace and quiet with my first coffee of the day, I smile once again as I recall the video of Shar on the pole. You can clearly hear the ‘thunk’ as she hits the stage, and unless she has hidden it with make-up, I can’t believe she didn’t get a black eye from that. When one of the brothers showed it to me, I immediately sent everyone in the MC a text to delete any and all copies, and if they had sent it outside the club, they had better make sure they have been deleted as well.
I’m confident that Shar would take it on the chin, but I also think she would pack her bags and run for the hills as well. It would be just the type of thing that would embarrass her enough to move on to pastures new.
Waiting for everyone to get their breakfast and then attend church, I mentally run over all the things we have to cover today. It’s been a busy week for everyone and I have to chuckle when I think back on how many of my tasks I have delegated out. No one has complained directly to my face, but I’ve heard plenty of mumblings and grumblings about how much they’ve had to do for me.
Finishing my coffee, I decide to get some breakfast myself. Having Lira onboard has made mealtimes become a regular ‘must do’ for all of us. Something else I’ve noticed is that there are fewer arguments or angry words around the clubhouse lately. I think everyone sitting around and sharing their days good and bad points seems to have reinforced everybody's commitment to each other.
Walking into the rec room, I see Gunner sitting with Zara and Shar. They are smiling at something Zara is telling them when Gunner suddenly bursts out laughing and has everyone looking his way. Another big change there. He is nothing like the brother he was just a couple of years ago. On more than one occasion in the past, I thought I’d be cutting him loose from the MC, but now, I wouldn’t dream of it.
Filling a plate with bacon, sausages, hash browns, scrambled eggs, and toast, I take a seat at the table where Crack and Trip are eating. Trip is talking a mile a minute between mouthfuls and as I get up to speed on the conversation, I hear ‘Shar, Autumn, tattoo.’
“Shar has a tattoo?”
I ask Trip.
“No, not yet, but I think she should have.”
Giving me the story of their visit to the tattoo shop and the way the new receptionist, Autumn, came up with an idea for a tattoo on Shar. I see Trip is very keen on the idea. This surprises me to some degree because Trip doesn’t like tattoos. He was damn near dragged to the shop for his club tattoo, so being so keen for someone else to have one done seems more than a little hypocritical, I feel.
When he describes the tattoo that was suggested for Shar, I have to admit that the thought of seeing her with such a tat is more than a turn-on for me. We may have kissed like friends, but that doesn’t mean I have to see her as such.
Wolfing down my food, I catch Shar looking our way, and by the look she is giving Trip, she knows full well what he is talking about. Winking at her first, I shout to her, “Hey, Shar! What’s this about you and Trip having matching tats, eh?”
Catching on straight away, she responds, “Oh, he’s told you, has he? Yeah. Before I leave, I think we should have them done. It’s going to be damn painful though, because of how big they are going to be, as well as where they are on the muscle. We’ll be having them done at the same time so that neither of us can back out.”
The whole rec room has gone silent to listen and I can see the color drain from Trip’s face. He obviously still doesn’t like tattoos.
“Tell you what Shar. If you both get the MC name or logo included, I’ll make sure the club picks up the tab. You can go as big and bold as you like then. How’s that?”
I give her a thumbs up and that must send Trip over the edge.
“Oh no. No way. You said you weren’t having a tattoo under no circumstances, so I’m holding you to it,”
Trip shouts at Shar.
“Hey, a girl has a right to change her mind. It’s a woman's prerogative, after all. I think we’d be like a couple of bookends when it’s done. What do you say, Trip? Is it a deal?”
Shar pretends to spit on her hand and then holds it out to Trip.
Trip jumps up, almost upending the table in his haste. “No way. No fuckin’ way. You said no and no means no. Not happening. Not until hell freezes over, missy.”
Trip stomps out of the room, still muttering.
The room is silent for all of two seconds and then erupts in laughter.
“You can all just fuck off, too,”
comes drifting back from the hallway leading to my office.
Finishing my food, grinning, I slip my plate to Crack and he rolls his eyes. Calling everyone to church, I begin to make my way to the office. There is a mad rush by everyone to get their plates rinsed, and in the dishwasher so they can get a chair at church. It always makes me chuckle as everyone goes to their own spot anyway, and wouldn’t dream of stealing another's space. That’s when Snore shouts out for everyone to leave their dishes and he’ll sort them. That’s a good man, right there, I think to myself.
Once everybody is present, seated, quiet and finished smirking at Trip, I call church to order.
“I’m not messing with finances today. We’re currently laying out more than we’re taking, but that should change quickly enough. First order of business. In case none of you have noticed, since Lira has taken over our dietary requirements, we are all attending far more meals than we ever have. That presents Lira with many new challenges, not least of which is people turning up at the last minute and expecting to be fed a full meal. From now on, breakfast is available six am to ten am, lunch is twelve to two-thirty and supper is six pm to seven-thirty pm. Between these hours you can expect a sandwich. If you have a damn good reason for running late, call through and it may be possible to get something left in the oven. MAYBE, not guaranteed. Any questions? No? Excellent.”
I don’t give anyone time to ask a question because I agree with Lira’s idea on mealtimes. She’s doing a first-rate job and I’ll support her with whatever she needs.
“Next. Zara has made the first executive decision on behalf of us, the shareholders, for the salon business. Before we’ve even reached opening day, she has let the new manager go.”
The room echoes to cheers, whoops, table slaps and foot stomping.
“The way Zara tells it, the woman quit. The way Shar tells it, she tried to wear bigger boots than she was destined for and Zara took no prisoners. Shocked the fuck out of the woman and then escorted her right out the door, no messing. One phone call later and she had a replacement organized from within the staff and went on to fill a stylist vacancy, too.”
Gunner looks as proud as can be, basking in his daughter's glory.
Crack speaks up. “Gunner, you have created one hell of a club princess there. Don’t know HOW you did it, mind you.”
“On the subject of strong women, the tattoo shop has a new receptionist. She goes by the name of Autumn and has already boosted the shop's trade. She has an uncanny ability to tell people what their tat should be, as you probably heard over breakfast. Trip, can you enlighten us all?”
Trip spends five minutes telling the story of how Autumn suggested a knockout idea for a tattoo for Shar, and then how she cured gym guy of his desire for a shitty tattoo of his own design.
Quite a few of the brothers express an interest in visiting the shop and I’m not convinced it’s all for a tattoo, either. I’m betting more of them come out with a booking than not.
“Most of you spent some time in town yesterday helping us decide how we initially stock the hardware store. Pen, can you give us the general consensus, please?”
“Sure thing, Pres. I have collated all the questionnaires that you brought back, along with all the scraps of paper and other assorted information techniques that some of you employed. Overall, the townsfolk are keen to have a hardware store again. They don’t mind us opening with a skeleton stock as long as they can place an order. They currently have to wait for orders to be delivered anyway. They think that if they support us by ordering their first two or three orders, we will get a feel for what the town needs, and then be able to stock accordingly for them to just walk in and shop off the shelf. I think they’re spot on and we should have a good shelf inventory in only a few months. We’ll never be able to stock everything, but as long as we can have most and then short order times, we’ll be as good as it gets.”
“Right, thanks Pen. Now to the next order of business. Prospects. How do we feel they are doing and what have you all got to justify your opinion?”
Looking around the room, I see head nods, blank looks, and in some cases, complete surprise.
“Cord, your thoughts, please.”
“I’ve worked closely with Snore, and I think he’s great. He has a solid work ethic, always the first at the garage, got involved from the start. Some of his ideas are brilliant in their simplicity, but the results they promise are great. If you’re looking for someone to nominate him as a brother, I’m all in for that.”
“I’ll second that,”
Trip adds. “Shar and I visited the garage and we can vouch for Cord’s opinion.”
“Good. Votes for Snore to be made a brother then.”
All the votes are ‘ayes’ and so my decision to get a cut for him was obviously well-founded.
“Brawl, get Snore in here and don’t be gentle.”
Giving an evil grin, Brawl slips out of the office.
“Snore! Where the fuck are you?”
Everyone in the room snickers and tries to hold back the laughter, knowing that Snore will be pissing his pants when Brawl drags him into church.
Moments later and a very pale Snore is shoved into the room followed by a suitably scowling Brawl.
“Get that rag off his back. It doesn’t look like it’s been cleaned since the day he got it,”
I snarl and stand up.
None too gently, Brawl removes the cut and throws it to me. Feigning a look of disgust, I step aside and let it fall behind my desk.
“On second thoughts, it looks cleaner than the rest of his clothes.”
Bending down, I pick up his new cut and throw it back. Brawl snatches it out of the air and spinning Snore to face him, and keeping him mentally off balance, he wraps the cut around him, shoving his arms through the sleeve cut outs.
Still with no idea what just happened, Snore looks at me and then round the room. Cord steps forward, slaps him on the back and congratulates him. Our little bit of play acting must be worthy of an Oscar, as Snore still doesn’t understand.
Everyone cheers and when Cord states, “Welcome, brother!”
The penny finally drops. Looking at his cut, the pride beams from him and he looks seven feet tall, as he draws himself up, chest out, and I’m sure there’s a tear in his eye. No one will acknowledge that as we’ve all been there.