Page 69 of Biker's Collar: Property of Scrap

“What did I say?”

“I can wear what I want.”

“Not around the bikers.”

“This shirt has no cleavage,” Vickie says sassily. “I can’t deflate my tits.”

Well, that’s not exactly what I want but…

“Will you at least wear my cut?”

“That musty thing is going to ruin my fit.”

“Wear. It.”

I walk over to the couch and take Vickie’s hand. She stands up, bringing those tits even closer to me. No way I want her heading out with a top that tight.

“It’s a tight top.”

“If you don’t put my cut on…”

I shrug it off, which appears to distract Vickie as she stands there with her mouth hanging open as I drop it into her hand. Don’t know what the hell she’s looking at. Vickie throws my long-sleeved cut over her shoulders and she just keeps staring at me. Won’t have much need for that cut in Vegas.

“Your arms…” I mutter to Vickie when she gives me a puzzled look. “You should cover those up.”

I laugh. “They’re men. I don’t have to worry about my exposed arms around them. A hot woman on the other hand…”

“You’re crazy,” Vickie says.

“Ready to go?”

Vickie nods. She makes me feel way less nervous about this meeting coming up, honestly. When I have her on the back of my bike, I feel even better. Her body curves around mine perfectly and she gives me a second purpose. Hope that I can get my family back together and get this club situation off the ground.

My older brother Ethan is going to call me about Waverly tonight. Since we completed the Vegas job, Vickie and I are moving into a new house and it’s Ethan’s job to get Kaylee-Marie to sign over the rights to our daughter… No more court. No more fighting. I want my daughter. I want my woman…

Wyatt wants to give me a fresh start, and I want to take it.

The new meeting spot is a gutted-out speakeasy that used to serve as an underground casino where Hakeem had roulette tables and slot machines for bigger gamblers, far exceeding the legal limits for bets in Vegas. Our parking lot behind the speakeasy is perfectly concealed from the main road. Magnum’s bike is already parked out front, but Deacon isn’t here yet.

There are a couple other bikes and I recognize Thorne Shaw’s because he uses the same brand as Ethan. His first bike mighthave been one of Ethan’s discards. He likes getting a new bike every couple of years, so many younger Shaws have benefitted from his indecisiveness. The Ducati stands out from all the rest. Rides like a dream, but I would never sleep at night owning a bike that nice. Deacon will buy just about anything. He has a gambler’s perception of money even if he doesn’t play – it’ll just keep coming if you just keep going.

I wonder how many recruits the Barbarians are going to convince to come out to Las Vegas. The more men we have out here, the stronger we’ll be. And while this might be controversial, perhaps these men need to get the right old ladies by their side…

What do I know about leadership? Not much. But I’ll learn tonight. I unlock the door to the club, grateful that Magnum wisely kept it locked after leading the men through to our temporary meeting room.

It feels good to have Vickie on my right arm. I knock on the door to the back room. I smell tobacco and whiskey, which is a nice, nostalgic smell right now. Magnum opens it and I’m greeted by the family. Every decent Rebel Barbarian orpotentialRebel Barbarian gathered together in one room – each vetted personally by Magnum Sinclair.

The boys all cheer when I walk in. No other women sit in the room, making Vickie the only old lady present. She looks as good as a queen – and I’m glad I made her cover up.

My cut over her tight t-shirt and bootcut jeans makes me even more possessive of this fine, thick ass woman. It takes everything for me not to palm her ass like an animal in front of the club members. But we’re not here to party or act unruly,we’re here to work and determine the strategy for taking over this city at Wyatt’s request.

Even if the Barbarians don’t know Vickie, they don’t question her presence. I don’t have to face the slightest bit of disrespect…

“Rage is on his way,” Magnum says. “Want a drink?”

I glance around the empty room, picturing about eighty grand in repairs that would need to be done to bring the place up to speed. The pool table is the only thing intact in the entire room, oddly perfect amongst the mess with a single, glowing warm bulb suspended precariously over its green fuzz.

Everything else is fucked beyond recognition. Peeling wallpaper. Broken chairs from bar fights. A thick layer of dust that smells like weed, beer and urine.

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