Page 70 of Biker's Collar: Property of Scrap

There are a few tables. A black leather couch with suspicious white stains. Enough furniture for temporary use, but we need to outfit this place with all new everything. After that, we could make something of it for sure. We would need people we could trust working the front door. Solid bouncers and good clients. High rollers who earn a lot and pay their bills.

Not all of the businesses seized from Hakeem are gaming related but hey, this is Vegas. Magnum’s drink offerings add to my excitement about what we’re going to get done here tonight.

“Sure thing, man. Wild Turkey. Neat. Vickie, these are the boys. The boys… this is my old lady. Vickie”

Those two words still mean something in our club. They all give Vickie a nod of respect and introduce themselves. Thorne Shaw is the skinniest of the bunch – and the tallest. He played basketball at the University of Kentucky for a year but got his stupid ass kicked out for selling Adderall to sorority chicks.

He’s still family. Still works hard for the club when we need him too. My cousin has dark, curly black hair and terrifying eyes.Dad never liked his eyes, which he would often say when drunk in a deeply unnerving way, totally out of character for dad, like he was genuinely unnerved.

Vickie has met Magnum “Condom” Sinclair before, but tonight he looks like much less of a mess, although his wide array of liquor and current drunken state indicate he’s spent plenty of time partaking in the family hobby tonight. They seem to get along since they both disapprove of my gambling decisions.

No Deacon yet, but someone scrounged up a few Hollingsworth boys. Cody Hollingsworth is Tanner’s younger brother. They don’t get along. Haven’t spoken in years. Cody is rich as fuck, owns three successful dude ranches out in Idaho. He has a patch, but only shows up to the quarterly meetings or to occasionally bail out the club.

He’s more of a biker and a businessman than a gangster. And he drives the Ducati out front. Which is the douchiest fucking bike you could possibly imagine. Cody has the perfect tight end physique. Six-foot-five and good enough that he played for Kansas City for half a season before his severe injury. It’s a shame what happened.

Grayson Hollingsworth sits next to him, opening up a pack of cigarettes to share one with his half-brother. He doesn’t look like a typical Hollingsworth. He’s only 6’1”, which is still tall, mind you, but he doesn’t have Cody’s head of untamed ginger hair. Nope. Cody is as blonde as the teenager who gave birth to him. Knocking up biker chicks was a Don Hollingsworth pastime. Grayson hasn’t patched in yet, but he would make a good club member. I don’t know the details, but he might have been in prison.

The other two at the table are Blackwoods. I have to hold back my visible surprise that Priest is in the room with us. Ithought his ass was still in prison. There’s a man next to him I don’t recognize.

“Who’s that?” I ask Priest, staring at the blond newcomer as Magnum pours out some whiskey. Vickie declines the whiskey he’s offering her, which makes me feel a lot better knowing that she’s going to have her head on straight. I have to drink to keep the men in line but… I want my head clear.

I look at the blond sitting next to Priest. He shows promise, but he’s young. Not patched in. Looks like a real thug. Blond as every other Blackwood.

“Ruger’s half-brother,” Priest says, giving me an amused smirk. Ruger had some of the shittiest parents on the planet. Half of dad’s stories about the club were related to his father, the trouble he got into, the crimes he committed, and the women he fucked and fucked over.

Still, Doc Blackwood kept good track of his brother’s illegitimate children, so I’m surprised to find one so… young. Not just that – one that I haven’t heard of before. I suppose while we have been handling the situation with Oske, everything has been going tits up on the Blackwood side of things. Gideon and the rest aren’t the type to talk.

Well, Ruger would talk. But nobody wants to talk to him and he probably has Darlene’s head cut off and baking in the oven like the fucking nut job he is. Hearing Ruger’s name makes me uneasy.

“Since when does Ruger have a half brother?”

I wish I could hide my uneasiness around the new guy. He has that typical dead-eyed Blackwood stare. I fucking hate it.

“Since this motherfucker was born,” Priest says, pouring more whiskey than he needs down his throat. I swear this asshole is being an idiot on purpose. I turn to the new kid.

“Name?”

“Zebulon.”

“What the fuck did you say to me?”

I’ve never heard that word a day in my goddamn life and just in case this is an insult, I need to be mentally ready to handle it.

“Call me Zeb,” he says, looking up at me through half-closed hooded eyes. He reminds me of Ruger. A little too much for my liking.

“You plan on joining?” I ask him.

“If y’all will have me, sir,” he answers with a very thick Louisiana accent. He had to have spent some time in the Deep South. I nod approvingly at his presence. We’re all here. All ready to discuss the future of our club and it feels good.

Feels fucking righteous.

I don’t give the kid a direct answer, because that type of position in our club is earned, not given. Even we had to earn our spots in the club. Deacon knocks on the door. He’s the only one missing, so I know the knocker before Magnum double checks and then allows him in.

Magnum offers him a drink and we settle in for the meeting. I sit at the head of the table, imagining what this room might look like as a fully outfitted club house, just to get my head in the game.

I didn’t call this meeting, so I’m assuming Deacon Hollingsworth has something to report.

“I’ll give it to you straight,” Deacon says. “Hakeem owes a gang of black men about $500,000. With everything we can legally seize from his properties, secret club houses, and everything else… we won’t be able to come up with that money in timeto pay his debtors. And believe me… they’re coming for the money.”

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