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“Listen carefully to what I’m about to say ‘cause violatin’ this next rule will get more than your colors stripped.” Trip leaned forward and planted the knuckles of both fists onto the table. “What happens in this club, on this farm, in the bunkhouse or The Barn stays within this club. Don’t think you can keep your fuckin’ mouth shut?” Trip pointed toward the way they came in. “There’s the fuckin’ door.” Trip sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Rook’s your sponsor. That means if you fuck up, it won’t just suck for you, it’ll suck for him. So, don’t fuck up or you’ll have to deal with him first, then the rest of us after. You got questions? Ask him. Got an issue? Take it to him. He can’t fix it, then he’ll bring it to one of us. But make sure it’s an issue he can fix, ‘cause we really don’t give a fuck about your issues.
“You gotta work. That’s non-negotiable like everythin’ else I just told you. That means your ass is up and outta the bunkhouse when your ass gotta be outta the bunkhouse. No lazy fuckers in this club. We work so we can fill our fuckin’ bellies and drink ‘til we’re drunk. On the same note as fillin’ shit, keep your dicks outta the sweet butts.”
“Any female in this club is off limits,” Judge cut in. “Hang-arounds are not. A hang-around wants to fuck you, have at it. Just wrap it tight. You don’t treat any of the women in this club like shit. You touch them, mouth off to them, disrespect them in any fuckin’ way, you’re done.”
Sig leaned forward and rapped a knuckle on the table. “And by done he means you are done.”
Judge picked back up. “Remember these names: Reilly, Tessa and Saylor. Don’t even look in their direction. Don’t even whack off to fantasies of them. You do, I’ll know and—”
“You’re done,” Sig finished in a growl.
Trip took the reins back. “You listen to the orders of any patched brother in this club. You listen to any of the ol’ ladies. They tell you to do somethin’, you do it. I don’t care if it’s lickin’ the mud off their fuckin’ shoes. They order you to do it, you drop to your knees and start tonguin’ their muddy shoes. You got that?”
Two deep “yeahs” and one whispered one rose up from the line. Rook knew exactly who whispered his answer. He sighed.
“You ain’t nothin’ but a slave for the next year. Remember that,” Judge said.
“Also, no hard drugs on this property. Wanna get stoned? Fine. You bring in anythin’ harder than that? You’re gone. I don’t care if you see a patched brother snortin’ an eight-ball off the naked tits of a sweet butt. You better say no if he offers. You can’t stay off the hard shit?” Trip jabbed a finger toward the door again. “Get the fuck out now. You end up busted for somethin’, anythin’ other than somethin’ we asked you to do? You’re gone. That means keep your fuckin’ nose clean unless one of us sittin’ at this table orders you to do it.”
“These terms can change at any time,” Judge added.
Trip narrowed his dark eyes on the three men. “Since you assholes are all still standin’ there, thinkin’ you wanna stay? That right?”
“Yeah,” again came in unison from the three men.
“Welcome to the suckiest year outside of prison in your fuckin’ life, boys,” Sig announced with a shit-eating grin.
“Now we get to pick your new names. You’re probably gonna hate it but we don’t give a fuck if you do.”
“Oh, pick me! Pick me!” Ozzy yelled, raising his hand and bouncing in his seat like he was no older than Daisy, Cassie and Judge’s six-year-old daughter. “I get to fuckin’ name them this time!”
Trip and Sig exchanged glances. The VP shrugged, so Trip continued with, “All right, Ozzy here’s gonna give you your prospect names. That’s what’ll go on your cuts for now. For the next year you go by those names and nothin’ else. You got that?”
More “yeahs” but quieter this time. Rook glanced at his prison buddies, seeing none of them looking too excited. But all of them had done time and doing a year as a prospect shouldn’t mean dick to them.
They’d all make it if they wanted to.
Ozzy had left his seat and now stood in front of the three men with his hands on his hips, inspecting them from head to toe while sucking loudly on his teeth.
The secretary stepped in front of Charlie Black, a light-skinned black man who would be the first black Fury member in the club’s history, if he made it. The Fury had always been made up of white men, but Rook figured good men were good men and loyalty was the most important thing, not the color of a man’s skin.
