“Could be better. Got the same amount of club businesses filling our coffers but a fuckuva lot more members than the OGs. Same scratch going in, more bleeding out. Need to do something about that.”
“Probably should have a bigger emergency fund, too,” Zane suggested next to him.
“Agreed,” Zeke said. “Anyone got thoughts on how to fuckin’ do that? Openin’ up the table to suggestions.”
“Whatever it’s gonna be gotta make us a lotta scratch,” Cruz added.
No shit.
“Had eight months inside, Prez, with nothin’ else to do but think about this kinda shit.”
Wheels loved to bust balls. Luckily, Zeke’s were empty after last night. And this morning.
And this afternoon.
Despite what any of his brothers thought, he had considered it, but none of his brothers were going to like what he’d come up with. It might mean going back to the old ways. Not the ways of the last generation, but all the way back to the originals. When the Dirty Angels were truly fucking dirty.
The OGs might have a problem with that, but thank fuck they were no longer in charge. The members now making the decisions were currently sitting at the table.
“Anyone?”Goddamn, for a group that normally had diarrhea of the mouth, everyone was suddenly too fucking quiet. Did no one have one fucking valid thought in their melon?For fuck’s sake.“No-fuckin’-body?” Zeke sighed. “Got an idea.”
All eyes landed on him. Where they should’ve been in the first damn place.
“It’s about gettin’ more mileage outta the pawn shop.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Zane’s head spin toward him. He was prepared for his younger brother to lose his “chill” with this idea.
He’d get over it.
Zeke powered on. “Got enough members now that we could put together a team to add to the inventory.” He smiled. “Without it costin’ us anything.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Cruz asked.
Before Zeke could explain, Wheels spoke up. “My take? He means usin’ the pawn shop to fence stolen goods. Teamsticky fingers.”
Their road captain nailed it. He was not only smart, but perceptive.
Zeke braced for his brother’s outrage. In three, two…
“Fuck no!”
Just as Zeke expected.
“I fuckin’ manage the pawn shop and my vote on that shit is no. Haven’t spent one goddamn day behind bars—unlike you—and don’t plan on it. Plus, Bri ain’t gonna wanna be involved with that shit, either. You forget who her father is?”
“Which one?” Bri and Beck had two fathers. Cross, a retired pig, and Nash, one of the DAMC’s OGs. A crazy fucking match that never should’ve happened.
But it did. And somehow it worked.
“Gonna hafta second Chill’s take on it,” Chaos said. “Don’t want my sister involved in that shit, either. She already got a record. She don’t need to add to it. Plus, Cross might disown her.”
“No loss,” Zeke muttered in regards to their pig father.
A muscle ticked in Chaos’s jaw. “Would be to her.”
“She ain’t gonna get busted ‘cause it ain’t gonna happen,” Zane assured Beck. “This would need to come to a vote and doubt my dickhead brother’s gonna get enough votes to go along with this bullshit.”
“Could take the vote to the membership.” There were a shitload more members than officers.
