“I’ve got it, Rebel,” Prophet says, putting his hammer down. “Colt, Preston, y’all are with me.”
“Why are you taking them?” I question.
“Do you think I’m carrying bags?” Prophet retorts. “I’m the fucking muscle. They’re prospects, they get to do the lackey work.”
The rest of us chuckle as the three of them stalk to their bikes and head out. I honestly wasn’t thinking about the fact that Porter and Paxton haven’t been found yet, so I’m glad Data reminded both of us. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to Holly with her being pregnant, and it would gut me if they got ahold of Marnie again. At least with Prophet on them, I know he’ll lay his life down for both women. Not that I wanthim to do something like that, but I feel better knowing he’s armed.
We might not be like a lot of clubs out there, but all of us hold our concealed carry licenses, and although we usually always carry anyways, with the attack on Marnie, none of us go unarmed. I’m sure Prophet won’t go into any stores, but who knows? Even though stores nowadays have signs in the windows stating no weapons are allowed, I don’t think he’ll give the first fuck if one of the two women is in trouble and will opt to deal with the authorities later if it comes to it.
“I really like the false floor, brother,” I say as Rebel trips the mechanism so we can see the glowing grim reaper pop up.
He chuckles while nodding. “Yeah, I suspect there will be folks pissing themselves when they come around this corner.”
“Maybe I need to check with the club attorney and see if we should have folks sign a waiver before they come in,” Data muses. “Last thing we need is someone having a fucking heart attack and dying. The family could sue us for all we’re worth!”
“Check into it, Data,” Rebel commands. “May as well make sure the club’s protected on all fronts.”
I shake my head as I continue to paint the trim in the room. We’re down to the last few rooms, thank God, because while it’ll be a money-maker for the club, it’s definitely been labor intensive for all of us. We’d have been okay with the ideas we had, but Paul and some of his cronies got involved and the whole project took on a life of its own.
“Didn’t Paul say that he and his friends were doing the last room?” I ask.
“Yeah, and from what he’s said, it’s going to be a doozy,” Rebel mutters. “I’m almost afraid to see what they come up with, but at the same time, they’ve been around the block a few times and I’m sure whatever they’ve got planned will have people talking about our haunted house for years to come.”
“This will probably be an annual thing,” I muse and break out into laughter when some of my brothers’ eyes widen because this has become a chore.
“We’ll change shit up and keep some of it the same,” Rebel announces. “We’ll have a year to plot and plan.”
“I suspect Mr. Google is going to be our best friend,” Fox adds, talking louder to be heard over the laughter.
“Definitely,” Rebel states. “Okay, this room is ready except for the fog machine that’ll be over in the corner. Paul said they just wanted their room painted with that black light paint.”
“You mean the shit that shows up when you use special lights?” I ask.
“Yep. I don’t want to know what they’re planning,” Rebel says.
I nod in agreement because I don’t wanna know either. Nope. Denial may be a river in Egypt, but I’m fine living there. I wouldn’t say I’m a wimp at all, but I’m not a huge fan of slasher films. The fact thatThe Texas Chainsaw Massacreis based on a true story is enough for me to realize that true evil exists in this world, and I don’t have to watch it on a big screen.
“Then let’s get it done so it’ll be ready for them,” I advise, moving to that room. The paint, trays, and rollers are already in there and soon, we’re down to the last bit of trim.
“Boys! I’ve got lunch,” Esther calls from somewhere downstairs. “Come and get it while it’s hot!”
We quickly clean up our mess, moving it all into the hallway since the room we were working on is, for all intents and purposes, done. En masse, we thunder down the stairs until we stop and stare. She commandeered our sawhorses and put several pieces of plywood on the top and there’s a spread fit for a king sending up the most delicious smells.
“Thanks, Esther,” Rebel says, kissing her cheek. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble for us. We’d have been happy with sandwiches.”
“Speak for yourself,” Psycho replies, loading his plate, which is arealplate and not a paper one, with chicken and dumplings, buttered biscuits, and fresh green beans. There’s even a peach cobbler waiting to be demolished.
“It wasn’t any problem. I know Paul and his friends will be here soon, so wanted to make sure they ate as well. Are the girls here?”
“Marnie and Holly went to the mall,” Rebel says as he crams half a biscuit in his mouth. “Fuck these are good.” His words are now garbled, but we all understand his sentiment the second we each bite into one of our own.
I know she cooks from scratch, but how she makes them so they’re light and flaky, not hard as a hockey puck is beyond me. I’d ask her, but I don’t care enough to know. Instead, I grab two more and stack them on my plate. “Thanks, Esther. It’s alldelicious,” I finally say, once I’ve chewed and swallowed a few times.
“The best thing that ever happened to my girl was when Rebel came into her life. Now I have all of y’all to feed, too,” she says, beaming as she watches us eat.
“Woman! Are you letting them eat me out of house and home again?” Paul asks, walking up to his wife. He kisses her cheek as she grins up at him. “Yeah, yeah, you know all you have to do is smile at me and I’m putty in your hands, even after all these years. Did you boys get that room done?”
“We got it painted, Paul, after we tried out the trap door,” Data says. “Wait’ll you see how well it works.”
