“Of course I did, but I’m sure she’d appreciate it from you.” She sighed. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re out and that it was the last time you’ll be getting arrested. Stop over for dinner this week. The family hasn’t sat down to a meal together in…I don’t know…eight months?”
Damn, his mother knew how to make a point without it being in his face.
She leaned in and hugged him. “Do better, Zeke. Prove everyone who doubts you wrong by being the best president this MC ever had. Or just do it for me.”
Chapter Three
Zeke’s gazeslid around the thick wood table with the DAMC logo carved in the middle. The table where his father, his uncles, and his great-granddad once sat.
But not his grandfather. Fuck no. Mitch Jamison didn’t follow in his father’s footsteps. He had decided he’d rather wear a pig skin instead of a cut.
And between Mitch’s two sons, one went the same route by becoming a pig and the other, Zeke’s father, followed what was in his heart and veins by becoming the president of the Dirty Angels.
Now Zeke sat in his old man’s former seat at the head of the table with the gavel only inches from his fingertips.
It was good to be back. Now it was time to get to work and do his mother proud.
He grabbed the gavel and slammed it on the table. “Let’s come to order.”
The officers quickly shut their traps and focused their attention on their president.
Chill, the VP, sat to his right. The sergeant at arms, Rage,to his left. Next to Rage sat Cruz, the treasurer. To Zane’s right was Chaos, the club secretary, with Wheels, their road captain, sitting next to him.
The club’s executive committee was made up of five voting members to avoid tied votes. The road captain didn’t get a vote unless another officer was missing.
The other end of the table didn’t have a seat. It remained open so any member or prospect called in front of the executive committee could stand there and face them.
Everyone at that table had generations of DAMC blood flowing through their veins, except for Cruz Delgado, the son of a former Shadow named Hunter, but he’d grown up with the rest of them in the gated DAMC community. Everyone at that table had known the MC life well before joining the club.
He glanced over at his VP and Zane started with, “First order of business should be J.J.”
That was right. Crash’s son recently turned eighteen and could now be a prospect.
“Crash gonna sponsor him, or is someone else doin’ it?” Zeke asked, not giving a shit who answered.
Wheels spoke up. “Crash.”
Zeke nodded. That meant the OG would be responsible for straightening out his son if he fucked up as a prospect.
“We need to call them before us?” Zeke asked next.
“Fuck no,” Rage grumbled next to him. “We all know who the fuck he is. No reason to waste any more goddamn time. Were just waitin’ on you to get out.”
Making J.J. a prospect wasn’t important business. They could’ve handled that shit without him. “First order of business then is J.J. finally gettin’ his bottom rocker. All you fuckers good withthat?”
He glanced around the table and one by one they all said “aye.”
He slammed the gavel again. “So fuckin’ be it. What about his prospect name? Ain’t lettin’ him fuckin’ pick.”
“’Course not,” Cruz agreed. “Been thinking about it. Came up with Jagoff since he keeps hinting he wants the name Joker.”
Joker.Zeke shook his head. The kid could chose whatever the fuck he wanted for a road name once—hell,if— he survived his year probation.
They all had to do that time in order to earn their full set of rockers and it sucked. But then, that was the fucking point. If becoming a member of an MC was easy, their club membership would be exploding like a pressurized can of raw biscuits.
Chaos snorted. “Jagoff’s fuckin’ perfect ‘cause he’s gonna hate it.”
Zeke gave zero fucks if he liked it or not. “Next order of business.” He glanced over at Cruz. “How’s our accounts lookin’?” Because his ass was broke and he was about to dip into one of them.
