Page 103 of Vengeance

“Mr. President,” Undertaker says.

Tess’s eyes widen. “Wow.”

“Not you, too,” Jennings groans. “Undertaker, this is my wife, Tess.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“You, too,” she says, her voice breathy, as he takes her hand and gives it a gentle shake. “Wow, you are massive.”

He just smiles, and Jennings expected a comment about how everything else is massive. “I’m not tiny, that’s for sure. Can I speak with you when you have a moment, sir?”

“And so polite,” Tess says. “That’s a refreshing change.”

Rolling his eyes, he nods. “Drop the mister and sir, okay? We’re not formal here.”

“Got it,” he says and follows Jennings into the Chapel.

Jennings shuts the door, catching sight of his wife leaning in to look at them, and he sighs. “You might be one of the worst things for the men of this club when it comes to women.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing,” he says and laughs. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to prospect for your club.”

The image of Undertaker riding a motorcycle in his mind looks like a gorilla riding a toy motorcycle. “Can you ride?”

“Yes, sir. I have a bike, too. It’s a trike, but I can get something with only two wheels if needed. The trikes just fit a little better.”

“We’re going to need your real name for the background check.”

“It’s Undertaker, sir. It was legally changed with all my records. The military took care of that after a specific mission I was on.”

How? “Okay, well, I’ll talk to the other men. You need a sponsor to vouch for you, and you’ll have at least a year to prospect. It’s not fun prospecting, but it’s the rule.”

“I understand. I’m not afraid of whatever you throw at me. I appreciate the consideration.”

“Try on one of these kuttes. I want to see if it will fit you,” Jennings says and walks to the cabinet to pull out a prospect leather for him.

Undertaker takes it and tries to slip it on. “I’m afraid it’s too small, sir.”

“Stop with the sir.”

“Sorry, it’s a habit, but I’ll work on it.”

For such a large man, he’s well-spoken, polite, and conscientious of how he comes across. “Why do you want to prospect the club, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’ve been discharged now for a couple of years, and I haven’t quite found anywhere I fit. I’d never thought about a motorcycle club until Gunner called me, and the club, from what I can tell, isn’t much different from the military. You have men you depend on and who depend on you, and you protect the family at all costs.”

“We are an outlaw club. That means that things aren’t exactly what you’d consider to be legal.”

“Like killing a bunch of Irish club members?” he asks with a smile. “I know. Trust me, I’m far from innocent. My missions may have been sanctioned, but in most other terms, I’d be on death row right now.”

Even though his wife swooned over him five minutes ago, Jennings can’t help but like the man. Colt and West will lose their shit, but that’s okay. “I think I have a larger kutte we had to order for a prospect who never quite made it through his probationary period. His club name was Tiny, which, as you can probably attest, meant he was large. It might fit you better.”

“I appreciate it. If not, I can special order with my measurements. I have a guy.”

“Of course, you do,” he says with a chuckle.

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