Fuck no! He’ll kill the motherfucker.
Talk about double standards, he was the poster child for it.
Grinding his teeth in frustration he forced his thoughts in a new direction.
Club business.
He had more than enough going on at the club. They had a long run coming up and he had a route to plan. He needed to focus, he couldn’t give his brothers a less than perfect route to ride.
Shaking off thoughts of the silver haired ice queen he focused on the maps.
Focused on his club.
A meet had been called at their Las Vegas chapter with a couple of allied clubs. He didn’t know what the hell it was about because Maniac hadn’t let them know yet. All he knew was they were going and he had to prepare a route.
One of the clubs attending was the Grave Robbers MC, and as far as he was concerned they were scum, but he kept his mouth shut. He had a job to do, planning a safe route for his brothers.
It was a long ride from Savannah to Vegas, but he knew they could do it in four days. With safe stops along the route, and an alternative route should shit hit the fan, he was confident he could get them there and back safely.
Along the way brothers from other chapters would join them, increasing their numbers. By the time they reached Vegas their group would be about thirty strong. Maniac and Grave had been given rooms at the clubhouse but the rest of them would have to find a place to crash for the three nights they were going to be there. Sleeping where ever they found a space. He hated sleeping where he had no control over his surroundings. When visiting clubs where there weren’t enough rooms they usually camped in the compound grounds, if it was possible. It meant tents and all the shit that went with it had to be transported to the meet in the club’s trucks. Usually, once they got close to the compound, he sent the trucks on ahead to start setting up their camp. A job for the prospects and new patches going on the ride.
He wouldn’t be doing his usual thing on this run. He usually found a bitch and stayed with her while they were visiting. Not this time. If he was reading his prez right it was going to be a tense situation and he would be sticking close to watch for trouble.
Looking at the map spread out on his desk Lucky sighed. He loved riding, loved the long roads but the camping bit he did not like. With so many bikes coming and going continuously there would be dust everywhere. He hated the thought of dust coating his shit.
“Hate fucking dust.” He muttered to himself.
There was another option though.
They could book into Suzy’s place.
He’d have to ask Maniac, get his go ahead, then reach out to Suzy of Suzy’s Boneyard Campground in Vegas. The old lady was a biker babe from way back and they had used her place before. It had everything they would need. Clean bathrooms with hot showers and a large outdoor kitchen area campers could use.
Picking up his notebook and map he left the office he shared with Dive to find his prez.
It was best to get it sorted immediately just in case one of the other clubs had the same idea. It wouldn’t do to share accommodations. Fights would break out between clubs.
What was he saying…there were going to be fights anyway. Bikers drinking and partying led to fights. It always did. And between him and Dive they usually took care of it. It used to be fun, it wasn’t anymore.
He was getting too old to be dealing with that shit.
Clearing his head with a sharp shake he knocked on his Prez’s closed office door. The closed door told him he was either busy with club business or fucking his old lady.
“Door’s open.” Maniac’s rough voice called out.
Opening the door Lucky stepped inside. Grave, their VP, and Ren, their SAA, sat in chairs to the side of Maniac’s desk. His prez was behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, slowly swinging from side to side.
“Prez, sorry to interrupt. Do you have time to look at somethin’?”
Maniac didn’t say a word just curled his fingers in a come here motion.
Stepping up to the desk he sat down and immediately laid it out.
“I got the route planned and I’ve been doin’ some calculations. We’ll be pickin’ up brothers as we ride and by the time we hit Vegas there’s goin’ to be thirty or more in the pack. There’s no way Jonno can accommodate everyone. It means we’re going to have to crash wherever we find a space. Don’t like that shit. Don’t like campin’ at the compound either, there’s goin’ to be a fuckload of dust. Fuckin’ hate dust.” He grumbled. “Thinkin’ we should book Suzy’s place like we did last time we were out there.”
“That might be a good idea, Prez. I have a feeling we’ll be dealing with hot tempers by the time the meet is done.” His VP said.
Maniac kept swinging slowly, pulling at his black and silvery grey goatee, deep in thought. Drawing in a deep breath he stopped swinging, sat forward, leaning both forearms on the desk. His eyes drilling into Lucky.