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A few months ago, he’d busted in on the ol’ ladies’ girls’ night only to find them watching a how-to twerking DVD. Buncha garbage. So, he’d turned that shit off and showed them how to get that shit done right. They’d ended up having an impromptu booty poppin’ party. Of course, Izzy going into labor cut the fun short. Turned out, the ol’ men of the club got a tad possessive when their women were in the presence of a little male ass shakin’. Who knew?
It’d become a running joke at his expense. One he had no choice but to bend over and take since he was still a prospect, and he wouldn’t do a damn thing to jeopardize that. First time in his fucking life, he had people at his back. Brothers he could count on through thick and thin. Or at least they would be brothers once he’d patched in.
A solid hour later, he waltzed into the hoppin’ clubhouse. Since it was only ten p.m., plenty of drinking hours remained. He strode up to the bar where Monty, another prospect, was slinging drinks. “Hey, T, you’re here. Whatcha drinkin’?”
“Gimme a shot of tequila and a whiskey. I got some catching up to do.”
“You got it,” he said, as he pulled out a shot glass and set it in front of Thunder. Ten seconds later, it was full of tequila, and another two seconds after that, the liquor was sliding down Thunder’s throat.
He sighed as he returned the shot glass to the bar. He was home. With his people. Men and women who understood blood didn’t necessarily mean family, and who didn’t judge a shady history. Hell, almost everyone here had a past that would make the outside world cringe and shy away. But between these walls and these brothers, acceptance ruled.
Time to relax and have some fucking fun.
Guys,” Monty shouted over the pulse of music as he slid the whiskey to Thunder. “Thunder is here.”
The music died, and the clubhouse fell eerily silent.
“Uh, what the hell, Mont?” he whispered, suddenly afraid to break the quiet. “It ain’t my birthday. What’s with the fucking spectacle?”
“Nah.” Monty winked. “It’s better.”
What the fuck?
Copper emerged from the crowd and walked straight to him. People parted like he was fucking Moses, making a trail for the prez as their attention fell to Thunder.
A hard lump formed in the back of his throat. Oh shit. Had he fucked up?
He gulped down the whiskey in two painful swallows. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he turned to face his president. Whatever happened next, he’d take it like a fucking man. He’d survived a beatdown before and could again. All he hoped was that whatever dipshit move he’d pulled wouldn’t wreck his shot at a patch. He was so damn close to the end.
Lips in a flat line and eyes cold as steel in Antarctica, Copper didn’t stop advancing until he was inches from Thunder.
He squared his shoulders and gave his president his eyes. Seconds ticked by as the formidable man Thunder respected above all stared him down. A bead of sweat trickled down his spine. His stomach cramped. The alcohol had been a mistake. It bubbled and burned like acid eating his insides.
“We had a vote tonight.”
Fuck. Oh fuck. He was out.
Was he out?
He’d been a damn good prospect.
Hadn’t he?
Hell, he’d done ever damn thing they asked of him without so much as a sigh of annoyance. Was it his past? The stripping? Occasional exchange of money for sex? No. This group wasn’t prudish or judgmental.
Hell Jazz, Screw, and their newest member, Gumby, lived in a fucking triad, and nobody batted an eye.
The next thing he knew, his face slammed against Copper’s massive chest. and a meaty palm slapped Thunder’s back so hard, he nearly lost his breath.
What the hell kind of ass-kicking was this?
The guys screamed, stomped their boots, and clapped. Mav’s shrill whistle pierced the air and cut through Thunder’s fog.
What the hell?
Copper released him with a laugh. “Did you even hear what I said, brother?”
Thunder blinked, glancing around at the grins on everyone’s faces.
Wait…
Did he say, brother?
“No, I was freaking the fuck out in my head. Did you call me—?”
Finally, the man’s beard split, revealing a huge amused grin. “Brother? Sure fucking did. You’re in, brother. We voted tonight. Your patch-in is next Saturday followed by an epic fucking party.” Copper whacked him on the back again then walked over to where his wife, Shell, stood with her adorable baby bump and tears in her eyes.
He’d done it. Found himself a place to land with people who fucking loved and understood him. Found himself brothers and sisters in chaos.
Thunder stood there, stunned as his new brothers began to congratulate him. It took a solid twenty minutes, but eventually he found himself alone at the bar with a drink in his hand. Now, he was grateful for the burn of alcohol to keep him from flying away.
