Page 71 of Biker's Collar: Property of Scrap

Nobody in this room could possiblyfloat$500,000. Maybe Tanner Hollingsworth has that type of money liquid. Magnum does, but the reason he has that kind of money is because he doesn’t bail the club out of their stupid ass decisions unless it’s completely necessary. Understandable. He handles all the club’s real estate needs so we stay out of his hair.

I’m lucky Southpaw put him on my team.

“Why can’t we come up with the money?” I ask him. “It’s Vegas and we seized all of Hakeem’s assets…”

“We have problems with the slot machines,” Deacon says. “Most of Hakeem’s people took the deal. A few stayed. One of the girls told us that someone fucked with the slot machines and he hasn’t earned any money from them in nine months. That’s a big fucking problem. They’re the biggest earners in underground casinos because they’re programmed to get around the betting limits.”

“Programmed?”

I don’t like college words like “programmed.”

“I can fix slot machines,” Vickie chimes in.

You could hear a fucking pin drop. Women don’t typically chime in at club meetings and it’s a well-known rule amongst bikers and Rebel Barbarians specifically. Vickie doesn’t seem to know how she fucked up, exactly, but she knows the energy in the room just shifted as the men all wait for me to respond.

How the fuck do they expect me to respond?

I’m not my brother. I squeeze Vickie’s thigh and give her a warning look.

She can’t talk out of turn again, but I can’t push her away if she has a skill that we desperately fucking need.

“You can fix slot machines?” I ask Vickie.

The potential for her to be extremely skilled in this capacity might surprise the other men in the room, but it doesn’t surprise me. Vickie is smart as fuck, and I know she made the most of her time here with Hakeem…

She shrugs, and since I asked her a direct question, she has to answer. “It’s a little hard, but I did a course. I can make the chance at a jackpot even smaller if you give me a week or two.”

Deacon nods appreciatively, along with Magnum Sinclair. The only person to have an unusual reaction is the new Blackwood kid.

“A black girl can fix machines?” Zebulon asks with all the audacity you would expect of a Blackwood fresh out of the fucking sticks. Just the way he says ‘black’ sounds too racially charged for me to remain completely calm.

I’m about to snap at him, but Vickie beats me to it.

“I can fix a man too,” Vickie says. “Snip, snip motherfucker.”

Zebulon turns red and mutters something unintelligible before gazing down at his black Ariat boots.

“When can you look at the machines?” Deacon asks. Vickie looks to me for approval, which I truly fucking appreciate. There is something so goddamn refreshing about knowing that she trusts me implicitly for answers. That she turns to me. I nestle Vickie deeper into my lap.

“She’ll start tomorrow.”

Vickie leans in, and I kiss her.Damn right, woman.It’s like she understands her place here and better yet… she’s ready for it.

“That solves that problem. Anything else, boss?”

“Since we’re here… We might as well check in on our progress and play some cards. Vickie? Want to deal?”

“Deal? Cards?”

An uncomfortable chuckle moves its way around the room.

“I won’t let him lose too much, doll,” Deacon says. “Deal us some cards and let’s have us a good night.”

“I’m only going to deal three hands. Three hands and that’s it.”

Thirty-One

Vickie

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