“With all due respect, Prez, I’d like to check mine out myself. If it has to be anyone, I want it to be me who sends her to the graveyard.”
Bullseye grimaces, then acknowledges Freak’s point. “Yeah, Bro, I feel you. Kind of want to do that myself. Okay, we’ll all go out, see what’s what with our rides. Pick out what can be fixed, and get them over to the shop. The rest, Paint, Short, and Knight can strip for parts. I want all the damage cleared and out of sight in case anyone comes calling.”
“Can we get the club girls to sort out the clubhouse? Then we can get right on that now.”
Saint leans forward. “I agree it’s a priority to move the bikes. Once a brother has either taken theirs to the shop or agreed otherwise, they can come in and move the heavier items inside.”
“Okay,” Prez relents. “Then after that, we get to demolishing anything left standing of the barn and clearing ground. If we’re getting help from other chapters, we want to be ready when they arrive.”
Words puts up his hand. “Er, Prez. There’s something that might be as pressing. With the barn gone, as well as our accommodation, all our belongings were inside. I, for one, haven’t any spare pants, and my spare suit must be ash. I’ve got one at the funeral home, but it’s the button-downs I’m worried about. I need to look the part when I’m conducting funerals.”
“Brother’s made a good point.” Rat points his finger at him. “I need jeans, boxers, and t-shirts. Without fresh clothes, we’re gonna start stinking once we get started with the manual labour you’re proposing.”
Winchester snorts and wipes at his bare chin. “I’ll need a razor and toiletries.”
“You’ll just have to grow a beard.” Rat, sitting next to him, nudges him hard. Winchester shows him his middle finger. “Or aren’t you able to? Have your balls not dropped yet?”
“I’ll show you my fuckin’ balls,” Winchester roars, planting his fist in Rat’s side.
“Shut the fuck up!” Prez bellows. “Rat, keep your mouth zipped and your thoughts about Win’s balls to yourself. We’ve got enough to be dealing with, without you setting everyone at each other’s throats.” He points his fingers at his own eyes, then directs them toward Rattler, who makes a show of zipping his mouth.
“Fuck, this is getting complicated. Bikes first. Then make a list of what you need and your sizes, and we’ll send a couple of the girls into town to get the necessities. Might not be what you’dchoose for yourself, but at least we won’t be smelling our own stench.”
Rat chooses that moment to open his mouth, but sinks back in his chair as Bullseye’s stare levels on him.
I’ve been keeping quiet. All my clothes and shit are safe upstairs, something I feel guilty for, so I haven’t wanted to remind them. But there is something else no one’s thought of. “I’m going to vacate my room upstairs, make room for a couple of brothers to use it. And I can accommodate another two at my house, if they don’t mind sharing Trip’s queen-sized bed, or if so, use the sofa.” The broken springs they can find out for themselves. Beggars can’t be choosers. Grateful nods come toward me, but I haven’t yet finished. “But where are we going to put any out-of-towners who’re coming in to help us? I’d suggest tents, but it’s November, and while the days are still warm, it’s starting to get cold at night.”
Heaving a heavy sigh, Bullseye again turns to Saint. “Think Pippa could start ringing around and seeing if the town’s motel has any vacancies for a few nights?”
Again, Saint raises and lowers his chin, then observes, “Christ, what a fuckin’ mess. The MDMC haven’t managed to take us out, but I’d like to kill them all over again, and this time make it fuckin’ hurt until they’re screaming for their mothers. They’ve hit us, and hit us fuckin’ hard.”
“I hear you, VP.” Bullseye sounds tired, then his face tightens, and strength comes into his voice. “But we’re still alive apart from one casualty, while they’ll never cry for their mothers again. And we’re going to build back better. This is just a bump in the road, Brothers. Wewillsurvive. Wewillget revenge. Nobody fucks with the Kings.” He pauses, then brings down the gavel, presumably before anyone can point out another problem. “Church fuckin’ dismissed.”
