“You’re my favorite cousin, know that?”
She punched his upper arm. Hard enough to hurt since she was no weakling. But then, she had to be tough as nails to do what she did. “Of course I do. But now you owe me.”
He opened the glovebox and pulled out a metal cigarette container. He flipped open the lid and was relieved to see it held six hand-rolled joints instead of cigarettes. The latter was easy to get in prison. Pot? Not so much. He tucked one between his lips before slipping the tin into the pocket of his cut. “Lighter?”
She tossed him one that had been sitting on the dashboard. “Damn, you’re needy.”
“Been inside for eight months. Gonnaneeda helluva lot more than pot.”
“The rest isn’t my problem. The sweet butts know you’re coming home. I’m sure one of them will be load-free when you get there.”
“Their cuntsbetterbe load-free. They know the rules.” Curving one hand around the joint, he flicked the Bic with the other and lit it, then hurried to roll down the window and blow out the smoke. Diesel might be old, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still pound people into the ground with his sledgehammer-like fists.
Even at his ripe old age of…whatever it was…he was still a beast.
“Can we get the fuck outta here?”
She shifted the GTO into gear and took off. The roar of the muscle car’s big block engine vibrated through his chest. The only thing that sounded better was his Harley or a woman screaming when he made her come.
Yeah, he needed to get the fuck home so he could hear both of those again.
Fisting it was the biggest drawback to spending time in a concrete box. Jacking off wasn’t the same as burying himself inside some hot, slick pussy with big tits.
Zeke twisted his head to stare at Vi’s profile as she drove. “They givin’ me a welcome home party?”
“If they had a party for you every time you got sprung, the club would be bankrupt. The only party you might get is a blanket party from your father for fucking up again.”
“He ain’t doin’ shit.”
Zeke was Zak’s number one son.
For fucking up.
Unlike his younger brother Zane, their parents’ “golden” boy.
“He’s been fillin’ in for you while you were away.”
“So, my spot’s safe.”Thank fuck.
“Barely. Some wanted to take it to a vote.” She glanced over at him as she drove toward Shadow Valley. “He reluctantly convinced them to let you keep that patch. For now, anyway. But got to say, he wasn’t happy about it. He promised the members that this was your last time inside. If not, don’t be surprised if they strip that patch from you.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, taking another long draw on the hand-rolled, holding the smoke in his lungs as long as possible before shooting it out the open window.
“Well, what do you expect, idiot? Who wants a damn fuck-up as a leader?”
Zeke ground his teeth before taking another hit. He wasn’t mellowing out fast enough. Especially with this topic of conversation.
He wasn’t surprised that this last bid inside ruffled some feathers, but he was surprised that his father fought for him.
“Look, cuz, I love you, but you need to get your crooked ass straight. You need to figure out how to ‘take care of business’ without getting caught.”
Zeke sucked on his teeth. He hated to admit she was right. He needed to stop fucking up. If not for himself, then for the club.
His old man, the former president of the Dirty Angels MC, always hammered home the fact that fewer members spending time locked up kept their MC strong. Their club size alone was now a deterrent to keep rivals from fucking with them. Losing members for big chunks of time only weakened them.
Keeping them on the streets also kept their club accountsfull because everyone worked in the DAMC’s businesses, but the most obvious benefit was it kept law enforcement off their ass and out of their club business, too.
Nobody wanted pigs breathing down their necks. He had enough of that shit from the screws at SCI Fayette.
