Chapter 8
As the only original Satan’s Sinner left, I have the chair at the opposite end of the table of Hanger, our President. Each chair begins to fill as our patched members start trailin’ in for church. Gunner, Ghost, BamBam, Bear, Writer, Hunter, Romeo, Demon, and Chayser take their respective places while a few of the prospects stand against the wall.
You don’t get a seat unless you’re a patch holder. Hanger calls for church to begin. “We have new stock coming in from our run last month. The new dealers have agreed to work with us, so the shipments will be arriving in the next few days. When the drugs and guns get here, I want BamBam and Ghost to run the drugs over to the Cobras—they’ll have their shipment of guns and ammo ready for you to bring back. Demon, go over how our money is doin’ now that it’s been spread out.” Demon has now taken Ripper’s place as our Treasurer. He also does the books for me at Stilettos.
Having two one-percent motorcycle clubs in one town can be difficult, but when Bulk, Hanger’s dad, was President we made a pact with the Cobras. We don’t deal in drugs if they don’t deal in guns. So while each club will get shipments of both from their suppliers, we do a trade: They get our drugs and we get their guns. That keeps the peace and we don’t have to fight for territory rights. Plus, it makes it a good deal having an ally if we need to call in for extra backup.
“We have increased $75,000 so far. Stilettos is bringing in the most, but we already figured that it would. The rest is running good through Runaway Tattoo and Lady Sinners. Plus we have the money coming in from Bear’s garage, which is all legit, so it looks like we are back on track. This new deal should bring us up even more, with an increase of at least $50,000.”
“Good deal,” Hanger responds once Demon is done, and continues with the real matter at hand. “We have a spotting on The Four Kings—they’ve been hidin’ out in a run-down house outside of Topeka. Have been for a while now, and we heard they’re trying to bring in new members, along with prospects. Apparently trying to build back up, with Deuce as their President.”
Deuce double-crossed not only the Cobras, but us as well, and we won’t let that shit slide. Now we have to find the old Vice President of the Cobras and take him out, along with his little fuckin’ minions that call themselves The Four Kings. “We think it would be best to put someone in undercover to try and get in good with them. It has to be someone that Deuce has never seen so he doesn’t suspect anything.” We all look around the room, knowing Deuce has seen most of us. Especially me doing the fights at the Cobras’ clubhouse.
Our newest prospect, Tink, chimes in, “I’ll do it.” Not only is he our newest prospect, but the youngest; my guess would be he’s no older than twenty. He’s been growing his hair for a while and now it’s down past his shoulders, so it covers half his face most of the time, like he’s hiding. He’s definitely not the biggest in muscle, but his over six-foot height makes up for it. Tink’s eyes are almost black, matching the clothes he wears most of the time.
“You sure about that, prospect? It could turn sour real quick, then what’re you gonna do?” Gunner questions with a raised brow. I’m not sure sending a new prospect in would be a good idea because if he’s gonna do this, then he needs no fear going in. We don’t really know how he will react when put in a tough situation.
“I’ll do what I gotta do for the club,” Tink responds without hesitation. All of us patched members look at one another, thinking the exact same thing: He’s got heart, but is it such a good idea sending him in by himself?
Hanger addresses our concern. “Alright, but I don’t want you in there by yourself. I’ll call Bones and see if he has one of his guys to spare.” Bones is the President of our Tulsa, Oklahoma chapter. Hanger continues, “Let’s take a vote. All in favor of Tink goin’ undercover.” All of us patched members vote unanimously, so the “Ayes” sound out around the room. Hanger bangs the gavel on the table. “Alright, unanimous vote. You’re goin’ in, Tink. I want you heading out tomorrow, as long as we have someone else with you. Onto the next...”
Writer’s phone starts ringing loudly and his eyes cut to Hanger, giving him a silent apology.
Writer keeps his phone on because Ever is due to have the baby any moment now. If any of the women were close to delivering, none of the guys would go without their phones, so they can’t expect him to. “Shug, what’s up, everything alright?” Writer questions into his cell. It’s pretty fuckin’ awesome that he can hear now and got clean. It was fuckin’ awful watching him detox; he’s one of our own, and there wasn’t shit we could do to help him. We just had to wait, let the drugs run through his system, and hope that he would overcome the addiction. “Why, what’s wrong?” he asks, then is up on his feet in the next second. “I gotta get to the store, something’s wrong,” Writer tells us. As soon as the words leave his mouth, the rest of us are on our feet as well, following him out the door.
When I see where we’re headed, and it’s not Ever’s store, I change my destination. I’m not fuckin’ stupid; my brothers are headed to the hospital. It’s about time for her to pop that kid out, and Sierra Greene’s the doctor. I’m not taking a chance in hell of seeing her for the first time in all these months.
Pulling into the parking lot of Stilettos, I see Dancer’s Hummer is already parked. I unlock the front door—the door is to be locked at all times if she is here by herself before opening—and walk into the lit club. The atmosphere is different when it’s empty, it’s quiet.
“Hey, Hacker.” Dancer glances up at me from her task of making sure all the chairs are positioned correctly around the tables.
“Hey.” I begin helping her.
“Have you thought any more about getting a manager for the dancers? We haven’t talked about it for a while.”
“Yeah, I put an ad in the newspaper.”
Dancer busts out laughing. “The newspaper? Who looks in the paper for jobs anymore? It’s all about social media.”
“Do I look like a fucker that uses that social media bullshit?” I cock my brow.
“True, but these women are getting outta control, Hacker. More fights, bringing drugs in here, and some are having sex in the VIP room. This whole place will get shut down if the cops get involved.” She moves to the next table.
“The cops ain’t comin’ here. All we can do is keep firing the ones causing problems; there’s always new dancers.”
“Well, I hope you find someone from your ad.” She smirks, and I mimic her.
“Shut it, Dancer. Let’s finish getting ready to open.”