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Though, getting up that early would suck donkey dick. Especially if he had to work all day at the garage afterward. If he fucked up a repair, Dutch would crack him upside the head with a wrench.
Even so, no matter what hour he and Easy hit the mountain, with winter coming they were running out of time. They would soon need to stop going up there at all, even to nose around.
“Winter’s comin’,” Rook reminded them.
“What is this, Game of fuckin’ Thrones?” Deacon asked.
“Means cover up there’s becomin’ scarce. Might have to table the Clan Plan ‘til spring.”
“Yeah. Don’t need either of you getting’ caught up there. Don’t need to deal with another sitch like Shade,” Judge said. “In the meantime, need to keep our women and children protected ‘til we got a better handle on what those goat fuckers are plannin’.”
“That’s why I got potential prospects waitin’ downstairs,” Rook reminded the enforcer.
Trip smiled and sat back in his chair. The same spot at the table and the same exact damn chair the former prez, Trip’s father Buck, sat in. Trip slid right into that role like he was born for it. Which he was.
But he wasn’t the only son of an Original in that room. A few of them had Fury blood running through their veins. Trip needed to remember that. He wasn’t the only one who could lead the Fury. It would only take a vote—
“We done talkin’ about those inbred rednecks yet so we can check out the fresh meat?” Sig asked, also sitting back in his chair with an evil grin and rubbing his hands together.
“Appreciate you findin’ them, Rook,” Trip said. “But you bein’ their sponsor makes you responsible for them, you know that, right?”
Rook nodded. “Yeah, know it. But like Dodge, these three had my back while inside.”
“All durin’ the same bid?” Judge asked, surprised. The man was always suspicious of bringing new blood into the club. The enforcer would eventually do background checks on them all. He liked to know who and what they were dealing with.
“No. None of them know each other.”
“Any of them from other MCs?” Trip asked.
“Not that I know of.” None of the three prospective members had colors tatted onto their backs. And he’d seen all three in the shower and shirtless plenty of times. Privacy did not exist while doing time. You got to know your cellblock mates better than your woman sometimes.
“Just convicts,” Ozzy concluded.
“None of them did shit to women or children, right?” Judge asked with one eyebrow cocked.
“No. Just stupid shit... like the rest of us.”
A murmur went around the table. Some of them did worse stupid shit than others.
“If these three stay after we talk to them, will have room for one more in the bunkroom since it holds six. It’ll be awhile before Puss for Brains and Tater Snot move into their own rooms, if they make it at all,” Trip said. “Fuck, was hopin’ someone with Fury blood would roll in. So far, nothin’.”
Sig shot a frown at his half-brother. “Who you think’s out there?”
Trip shrugged, spinning the gavel’s wood handle within his fingers. “Not sure. As much as the Originals fucked and with just as many different women, you’d think there’d be fuckin’ enough Fury blood out there to make a town.”
“If there is, some of those might’ve been made unwillingly,” Judge reminded Trip, giving him a look.
Trip’s lips pressed thin and he nodded. “Yeah. Who’d wanna join an MC where your underaged or fucked-up momma was forced to submit by an asshole biker. If anythin’, they’d hate this club for that reason alone even though the current Fury had nothin’ to do with it.”
“There were more than us, weren’t there?” Sig asked. “Had to be. Stella and Jemma weren’t the only girls born to Originals, right?”
“Don’t need females from Fury blood, need more males to fill the ranks. There’s only thirteen of us, includin’ Dutch.” Trip dropped the gavel to the table and scratched the back of his neck. “Thirteen makes us light. Especially when we got a wannabe militia fuckin’ with us.”
“Got Ry,” Cage suggested.
“No,” Judge answered immediately. “My boy’s gonna stay on the track he’s currently on. He wants to change the direction of that track after he finishes his degree, that’s on him. But ‘til then, his ass is goin’ to college.”
“Ry’s pretty damn straight, too. We need some who are a bit more crooked,” Ozzy said. “Brothers who don’t mind gettin’ their hands dirty if needed.”
“Want this club to stay straight,” Trip reminded Ozzy.
“You want this club to appear straight,” Ozzy corrected their prez. “Get it right. There’s a fuckin’ difference.”
Trip’s mouth pinched tight.
“No matter what’s been happenin’, we still ain’t the Originals, Trip,” Sig reminded his brother. “You ain’t Buck. Judge ain’t Ox. Shit’s different. You got what you wanted.”
