Page 4 of Beast
“The bitch told me she was on antibiotics. Turns out she was on them two years ago. Probably why she went north.”
“You need to cut that shit off,” I said. “Before it kills you.”
“My dick?”
“Her, dumbass.”
Cinder laughed. “No can do. Rides me like a cowgirl at the rodeo.” He rubbed his back. “Think I blew a disc with the girl behind the bar last night.” He moved behind the counter and leaned against the bar. “So what’re you thinking?”
“Some shit I heard at Varner. We may have other clubs moving in on our territory. We’ll get that shit straight here and then fill in the chapters. There’s a war coming our way, and we need to fucking be prepared.” I finished the beer and grabbed another protein bar from the basket on the counter. Skittles had run my appetite right up the pole. “Hell’s Messenger is going to strike and strike hard.”
“Beast. Cinder,” Brainiac said and sat at the table. He put down his water bottle and laptop, opened the screen, and turned it on. He was the only MC member Beast had ever seen wear tape in the middle of his glasses. The pussy around the club found him adorable. Although not as big as the other officers, he fit right into the biker's life when he removed his glasses.
“Dipshit looks younger than he did yesterday,” Cinder said. “You find the fountain of youth?”
At twenty-one, Ethan “Braniac” Towles was the youngest officer ever to hold a position in the club. His degree from Standford led to a unanimous vote. His accounting and computer skills were top-notch. Lucky for the club, he couldn’t find a job after the feds busted his money laundering side gig the day after he graduated. Prosecutors had fucked up in the trial by releasing sealed information. Brainiac walked out a free man, and the prosecutor lost his job. The club only recruited useful men who brought something unique to the brotherhood.
“Fuck you, Cinder.” Brainiac shoved his glasses up his nose. It looked like he was trying to grow a beard, but the shit was so patchy on his face that it looked like a yard with grubworm problems.
“You’re not my type, Brains.”
“You two done flirting?” I asked. “I need to see the financials on Chaos Mods. I wanna see the cash flow from the guns, weed, and the girls.” Brainiac frowned. “Don’t sweat it, Brainiac. I know you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re logging what’s brought to you, assuming what’s brought to you is right in the first place. I can’t see how the need for pussy has slowed.”
“It’s the millennials,” Brainiac said. “They need their phones more than they need pussy or dick. Sex is way down on the needs list.
“You think somebody’s skimming?” Cinder asked, scratching his crotch again. “We’ve been tight with the accounting and keeping good books.”
“I think someone’s interrupting business,” I said. The other club officers came in and took their places around the table. It was the first time we sat around the table together in five years. There was going to be hell to pay for whoever set me up. I’d knocked those guys out in Sturgis, but they were alive when I returned to my room. As far as I figured, and my lawyer made this argument in court, someone else killed two of the guys I hit. I looked around the table. “Fuck me sideways to Friday. Thought you guys were recovering?”
“We all agreed to drag ass in here this morning no matter how we felt, looked, or smelled,” Big Kentucky said. His zipper was down, and today was commando day.
“I could do without the smelly part,” I said. “Got tired of the way fuckers in Varner smelled.” I turned to Cinder. “Would someone tell BK to zip his fucking pants?”
Everyone laughed, and then the room fell silent. I took a moment to take in the room. These were good men around the table—Brothers who cared about each other.
“Only missing Kickstand,” Cinder said. Kickstand’s seat at the end of the table had stayed empty since the day he was murdered. On Mondays, since the day Kickstand died, a Prospect was responsible for shining the chair, so Kickstand’s memory continued.
“That’s business number one,” I said. “I couldn’t get shit on the hit while I was at Varner. Nobody knew anything. Word from the streets?”
Big Kentucky shook his head. “Not a damn thing. Had to be the Messengers. Nobody would have a reason to kill Kickstand. The old man was always at the club. Never did shit to anyone.”
“It was meant to cause a crack in the club,” Slash said. “Didn’t work, and now we’re all ready for bloody retribution.”
“Another mod shop?” I had gone over every scenario while lying in my cell, staring at the ceiling. “When he first opened Chaos Mods, I know a lot of shit went down. At least two chop shops went belly up.”
“Only two others in the area we’d be competing with,” Watcher said. “Giant Machines and Chester’s Harley. Be a fucked up move on their part to kill Kickstand. Fuck, Kickstand helped get them parts they couldn’t find. He never saw them as competition.” Johnny “Watcher” Walker was a Canadian transplant who’d come south to escape a warrant. The club took him in and kept the locals off his ass. As the Sgt. at Arms, he took care of shit others didn’t want to. Honestly, he never really allowed anyone else to do the bad stuff. He enjoyed it too much.
I glanced at Cinder, and Cinder nodded.
“We’ll leave when finished here. Pay them both a friendly visit.” Cinder scratched his crotch.
“Get some fucking medicine for that while you’re out.” I stood and peered through the window, looking toward the front gate. “The girls need a manager. Skittles needs something to do. I want to vote on her managing and Brainiac doing the books. We need Prospects out drumming up business.” I turned to my brothers. “Any oppose?” None did. “Let’s talk weed.”
Brainiac turned his screen around so everyone could see it. He’d created a sales graph. “We’ve been trending down the last few years and saw a dramatic decrease last month.”
I shook my head in confusion. “What the hell happened last month?”
Slash, the club’s Enforcer, said, “I’ll take this one. The locals,” referring to Pine Bluff’s police department, “made an unexpected raid. Our guy on the inside had no idea it was going down.”
