Between stopping Blue from superman-ing off tall buildings and preventing Kiss from cashing in a pharmaceutical death, McKelle would never know what I’d done for them. Not just because of the club. As a friend, I was loyal as fuck. But in the past, as a boyfriend, I’d fucked up a few times.
Kiss referred to me as a work in progress.
All I wanted was a yes vote to get my patch. Prospecting was like being on probation. Give it time, and I’d fuck this up, too.
I backed the bike into an open spot and made my way to the oil drum.
Sully rested a hand on my shoulder and steered me toward the group. “We’re celebrating tonight.”
“Oh, yeah?” Had he heard something? Friday night at the MC. Church. The night the board met for club business. I remembered the night I’d gone from hang-around to prospect. A slip of adrenaline fired through my veins and anticipation coiled in my gut. Maybe tonight, I’d finally sew on the Heller colors.
“Tank got the official word today,” Sully said.
Bullet flicked his cigarette butt into the oil drum. “Shit that went down at the container yard links back to Moreau. Apparently, the dead DA had dirty hands. He was involved with the Irish mafia. Anything he had his hands on is being scrutinized.”
Blue had gotten his patch because of the fight that night. Details were sketchy. No one liked to talk about the days when dead bikers had filled the morgue.
Night Crawlers, a rival MC, had put a hit out on Blade and Rogue. No one talked about what happened at the warehouse either, but somehow Bullet’s old lady, Stormy had been caught in the middle because her ex was mafia and in deep with the DA.
To get to her, they went after Bullet. Only they nearly killed Blue, and Kiss spiraled, ending up back on the street, deep in her addiction. The way I heard it, Stormy killed her ex to save Bullet.
The Hellers changed after that. I wished I had been around. I would’ve fought for the club. I was fighting my way in now.
“Bullet, send a couple of your girls over to Willy.” Rogue, VP, laughed with a big fucking smile on his face, and this guy never laughed. He idled at asshole.
The biker was huge, and I’d heard stories of the havoc he’d caused with his fists. One of the reasons I kept my distance from Jazzy, his old lady. She had bigger balls than most of the guys in the MC. I’d hate to piss her off.
The club princess had become a queen when she’d sewn on the Sergeant at Arms patch, and I was still cleaning up piss in the bathroom, working the bar of the club, and waiting for Dozer to decide I was ready for full patch membership in the MC.
Fuck being a prospect. I wanted the patch so fucking bad. But until Dozer decided I’d earned it, he wouldn’t ask the patches to vote. All it would take was one fuck up, and I’d be out. I had to get a yes from everyone. Until I’d earned it, I had a lot more ass kissing to do.
“I’m sure Bristol would get on her knees for Willy,” Bullet said.
I’d heard the name Willy, aka William Banks. He was the attorney for the MC.
“She’ll give him a proper thank you.” Bullet might have given up his whores for his new wife, but he’d never be out of the skin trade. He’d moved into live streams. His girls called themselves Good Girl Studios. Cam girls.
“Did Willy say when they’d cut Tank loose?” Torch listened from his place in front of the smokers and grills. I didn’t know the road captain of the club well, except that he was tight with Blade, president of the MC.
“A couple weeks,” Sully said.
Part of prospecting was knowing the history of the MC, knowing the bylaws, and knowing when to speakup and when to shut up. Tank went down for weapons charges, but he could’ve been looking at life.
He wasn’t the only one. The club had a body count, and I’d added to it. Another reason I should have my patch.
“I’ll catch you later,” I said to the guys.
Rogue followed me into the building. “You’re behind the bar tonight.”
No shit. I’d be serving them until I was cleaning up puke from the assholes who couldn’t hold their liquor.
Inside, the chapel comprised the main room of the club. The pews were gone, replaced with worn wooden tables and chairs. The altar had been converted to a bar. The room was loud with music and chatter. Torch had ribs on the smoker, and there were side dishes lining tables near the pool table.
McKelle sat with Blue and Kiss. Brenna perched on Pike’s lap. Rogue crossed the room to join Blade at the president’s table with Dozer and Romeo.
Steele poured beer from the taps. I approached and leaned against the polished wood. I had to admit, I’d felt a little sacrilegious when I’d smashed McKelle against the counter one night when we were alone in the clubhouse. Then she’d screamed, “Oh, God,” and I figured I was already going to hell so what was another sin logged into my ledger of debauchery.
“Lili is with her mom,” Steele said. He had a little girl and was going through an ugly divorce. Steele and I came into the MC about the same time. Lucky bastard. He had his patch. Sometimes it was about who you knew, and he was in tight with Bullet. Vega, Steele, and Kodiak were former Crawlers who did a solid for Bullet when he was looking to retaliate after their prez put ahit out on Blade and Rogue. Bullet returned the favor by patching them into the Hellers.
