“Roommates.” Stalker bumps fists with Paint, who looks at me, slightly worried, not having missed the look I’d sent him. I do nothing to reassure him.
“Saint and Pippa keep their own room, likewise Bullseye. Piston and Woody will take Tempest’s. Freak’s son, Ace, will be staying with his grandmother, so Words will be moving in with the enforcer. Rattler and Winchester will take over Short’s.”
“Oh, fuck no.” Winchester rubs his hands over his eyes. “Can’t Freak take Rat?”
“No.”
There’s so much feeling in that one word, Winchester doesn’t even try to argue.
“We sent out Knight to get four cots and set them up in church. The club girls will be staying in there,” Bron continues.
“And if we want a meeting?” Prez asks, not happy our sacred room is going to be a boudoir for the club whores.
“Then we’ll kick them out.” Saint shrugs, then grins at Prez. “Unless you want them all in your room?”
Bullseye looks like he’s seriously considering it for a minute, then he grins. “After last night, don’t think I’ve got the stamina.” He winks at Trixie standing behind the bar. “But maybe I’ll revisit the idea soon.”
I’ve been counting everyone off, and one person’s missing. “What about the prospect?”
“He’s getting some shut-eye right now in our room,” Bron tells me. “Figured you’d want him on guard duty. When he needs sleep, he can bunk down in any empty bed.”
“We’ll need more than just the prospect on rotation,” Saint declares, his stern gaze moving around. “I want two bodies on guard at all times, and Pippa, until Genie returns, will man the security monitors, though she’ll need someone to take shifts with her.”
Piston raises his hand. “If Pippa shows me what to do, I’m willing.” He brings his sling to the fore. “With this, I won’t be useful anywhere else.”
Saint gives a sharp nod to show he’s agreeable to the suggestion.
Prez raises his chin toward the VP, then turns his attention to my old lady. He stares at her for a moment. “Good fuckin’ job, Bron.”
“Not all me.” She shrugs. “Pippa and the girls came up with most of the suggestions. I only wrote them down.” She pausesfor a moment, then grins widely. “Oh, and we ordered pizzas in. They’re in the kitchen.”
“Now why the fuck didn’t you lead with that?” Rattler asks, as all brothers turn and make their way through the door at the back of the bar, with more than a little elbowing and jostling.
She pulls me back as I start to move forward, pulling my head down so she can whisper in my ear. “I put aside a couple of pizzas for us. They’re in my car already, as are your clothes and other things I packed. I only need to get Trip, then we’re ready to go.”
This woman? I got a feeling that if I hadn’t old ladied her, one of my brothers would have seen her merits and wouldn’t have waited long to step up.
The first nightwith our houseguests went quite well, even though the next morning I was a bit peeved that Bron insisted on cooking breakfast for them. She wasn’t a fuckin’ skivvy. Trip seemed to take the crowded house in his stride, but seemed wedded to his ear defenders, which had replaced the noise-cancelling headphones he’d borrowed from Paint’s niece.
Bron, not on shift at the hospital today and able to now that the danger, for the moment, has passed, stays at home with Trip. I leave her her car, as later she’s going to another therapy appointment with Trip. I catch a ride in the truck Stalker and Paint brought with them last night.
On the journey, Paint complains loudly about Stalker’s snoring, which he denies ever happening. I tune them out as they start arguing one of them should take my recliner in the lounge tonight. Eventually, their bickering gets too much, and Ishut them up by saying I’ll kick them both out of the house, and they can end up camping behind the clubhouse.
When we arrive, no one has time to continue sulking. Prez has already got everyone ready to start working – with the exception of Words, who’s had to go to conduct a funeral, and, as an aside, while he’s there, put a couple of extra bodies into the cremator.
Just as we’re discussing the best way to clear the remnants of the original barn, we hear the glorious sounds of motorcycles arriving. And, if I’m not mistaken, the distinctive throaty roar of a Dyna Super Glide. One sideways glance toward Prez confirms he’s also listening, as he turns away and makes a sound that resembles a growl. I admit it, I feel for him. He had a nice fucking bike, shame it’s in ruins.
Anything to delay the task, for which we have no idea what we’re doing, as a group, we head for the gate. When the bikes approach, Prez gives Knight the nod to open the gate and let them in.
Then it’s back slaps and greetings all around, after Lunatic and Hardcore from the California Kings, have parked up their bikes.
“Thank fuck you’re here,” Saint tells them as he leads them into the clubhouse to freshen up. “We have no idea what we’re doing.”
Hardcore looks at the new glass that Winchester and Rattler are currently installing in the clubhouse windows. “Looks like you’ve got this all in hand.”
“Nah, Brother,” Prez tells them. “We’ve got a bigger problem out back. Our barn, our bunkhouse, was destroyed, and it needs a total rebuild.”
“Fuckin’ with ya,” Hardcore replies with a laugh. “Big Daddy told us your situation. Well…” he slaps Lunatic on the back.“We’ve got the expertise you need. Just let us get caffeinated, and then we’ll have a look at what we’re working with.”
