And if that’s in her bed, so much the better.
Of course, I’ve got an ulterior motive. So shoot me.
CHAPTER TEN
FREAK
Although I’d promised to take Ace to Flagstaff at the end of the week, he’s grumpy, expecting the days to drag, and I have to admit, it feels that way for me, too. Though it’s unlike me to have such thoughts, I keep getting a picture in my head of me, Toni and Ace, together as a family. Maybe my bachelor days are getting weary, or maybe I just like seeing my son with a smile on his face. This coming weekend will be another chance for us to see if we can meld together.
I do my shifts at the strip club on autopilot, perhaps snap a little more than usual at the self-important dicks who think they can take liberties they haven’t paid for, but apart from having a short fuse, no one can complain I’m not pulling my weight. I find myself watching the clock more than usual, wishing the hours and subsequently the days would go faster. Absence is making my heart grow fonder, though I do caution myself, in case I’m building her up to be something she’s not in my head.
Bullseye knows Ace and I are going to be heading to Flagstaff come Friday, so to accommodate my absence, he calls church a day early.
Thursday comes around, and, not unexpectedly, I get a ribbing, being the one to blame for upsetting the schedule.
“I’m fuckin’ going for Ace, to make sure he’s okay,” I say for the umpteenth fucking time.
Rat aims and then shoots a paper plane at me from across the table. “Yeah, yeah. You’re going to get your dick wet.” I try not to duck as the flimsy missile flies over my head, refusing to give him any satisfaction.
“Freak’s got a girlfriend,” Paint adds in a sing-song voice.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, just as Bullseye walks in and takes his seat
Prez’s eyes scan the table, making sure everyone’s here. He then bangs the gavel and tells everyone to zip their fucking mouths. After silence descends, he gets down to business.
The image of Toni lying naked on my bed comes into my mind. Tomorrow,she’ll be sucking my dick again, and this time I’ll make sure she swallows. Or, shoot my load over her tits…I completely zone out as Stalker gives his treasurer’s report.
The gavel banging the table brings me back to the present, as does Bullseye’s snarl. “You with us, Bro?”
Mentally slapping myself around the head, I give a sharp nod to Prez, then raise my chin toward Stalker. “All sounds good.”
The treasurer smirks as if he knows I haven’t heard a word he’s said. Luckily, he keeps that knowledge to himself.
Then we discuss the businesses, and I give a report on the strip club. Woody gives an update on the auto shop, and Tempest on the gun range.
Then Words talks about the funeral home – it was in his family before his dad died, and he took it over. But when he needed financing for a new cremator, the club stepped in and loaned him the money. It was a logical step for him to join the MC, and for us, the ideal way to dispose of our enemies.
“Since Dum and Dee started prospecting, the demands of the club mean they’re neglecting some of their duties at the graveyard,” Words tells us, adding quickly, “not that I resent that. They’re proving that they’ll eventually make good Kings, but I need extra manpower.”
Stalker consults the tablet in front of him, then steeples his hands. “You’re good for another employee.” As our treasurer, he handles the accounts for all our businesses.
Bullseye's fingers tap the table. “Agreed. But you’ll have to get someone who won’t ask too many questions,” he observes.
“Know that, Prez.” Words doesn’t need to be reminded that his services often come in useful to dispose of evidence of the human variety. “I’ll bear that in mind. Though they’ll be primarily digging graves and keeping the graveyard tidy, so they shouldn’t have much to do with the cremations or the funeral home.”
The meeting continues. It’s the normal shit. Running the club is much like running any other business, balancing finances coming in with what’s going out, how much money we’re laundering, discussing new business proposals, any problems that may have arisen and which need us to put our heads together to answer, and whether the MDMC have raised their ugly heads. You know, typical business shit, just like any respectable conglomerate.
Then there’s the less-than-legal side.
Bullseye looks around the table. “Freak, Tempest and I had a meet with Pagan?—"
Tempest, already bursting a gut, leans forward to interrupt. I’m already laughing, knowing what’s coming. “Wyoming’s come up with a new idea of how to send a pervert a message.” Bullseye grins widely, and motions for the sergeant-at-arms to continue. Seems he needs no encouragement. “Bootneck andFabio described, in vivid detail, how they shoved a computer mouse up his ass, then left him tied down naked on the table?—”
“With a knife through his hand to keep him there.” I make sure he doesn’t miss any of the details.
Tempest tosses a quick glare my way as if I’ve interrupted his story. Chuckling, he tells them, “They described in vivid detail how it was a team effort. Bootneck had to hold his asshole open, while Fabio pushed the mouse in. Then they wrote Property of the Kings across his ass cheeks and just left him there to be found by the cleaners the next morning.” He chuckles. “They did show some mercy. They left the mouse wire hanging out so he wouldn’t need surgery.” It may not have been as funny had not Tempest been using his hands to demonstrate an approximation of their actions.
By this time everyone around the table is doubled up laughing. Words is banging his hand on the table with tears running down his cheeks.
