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“Yeah. Got that. But I’m not the only one who was like that.” Easy’s eyes sliced from Sig to Deacon, from Cage to Ozzy. “Don’t gotta revisit the details. We all know the history.”
“Yeah, and ‘cause of that Sig got a serious ass beatin’ and so did Cage. Ozzy and Deke were just ho-bags with dicks.”
“I resemble that remark,” Ozzy grumbled. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ a man-ho unless you stick your dick in the wrong twat.”
With nostrils flaring, Trip took an audible breath at the opposite end of the table.
“You ain’t helpin’, asshole,” Cage said under his breath.
“Was I supposed to help?” Ozzy asked with both eyebrows pinned together. “Someone forgot to tell me.”
“Why’re you still secretary when you don’t even fuckin’ take notes?” Cage asked him, this time loud and clear.
“I’m supposed to take notes? I was told to fill a fuckin’ spot. I’m fillin’ it.”
“Yeah, and you get a vote. I don’t and I do more than you.”
“You fuckin’ schedule club runs. How fuckin’ hard is that? Every other Sunday. There. I did your fuckin’ job. It’s done. If you need me to get out a Sharpie and mark a big fuckin’ X on a calendar, I can go the extra mile.”
Surging to his feet, Trip grabbed the same gavel his father Buck had used and slammed it on the table hard enough that Easy was surprised it didn’t splinter. “Enough! Jesus fuck!” He ripped his hat off and whipped it across the table.
Better that than the gavel.
Ozzy sat back in his chair and smirked. Cage sat back in his and shot daggers across the table at the Original.
“Don’t know how Shay puts up with your ass,” Deacon said with a head shake.
“It’s all in the tongue,” Ozzy wiggled that tongue between two of his fingers held in a V, “and dick action.” He pumped his hips in his chair. “My woman’s got it good.”
“You got it good, asshole,” Judge corrected him. “Better never forget that. The second you do, her ass will be out that door.”
Ozzy shrugged and grinned.
“You forget we all sat at this table after she left your ass. We remember,” Deacon reminded Oz and used his index finger to tap his temple. “She don’t need you. You need her.”
“Reese don’t need you, either,” Ozzy grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
Trip sighed loudly and shook his head. “You’re makin’ me wish I was in the house dealin’ with Rush’s explosive diarrhea right now instead of dealin’ with all of you.”
Deacon groaned. “Thanks for makin’ me relive that nightmare.”
“Same,” Cage said, looking a little green around the edges.
“Thanks for remindin’ me of what I have to look forward to,” Judge muttered. “The last time I dealt with an infant was over twenty-one years ago.”
Easy couldn’t wrap his head around having that much of an age gap between his first baby and the last. Hell, for Judge and Cassie, her current pregnancy might not be her last, even though Cassie wasn’t committing to any more until the one in her belly was evicted first.
“The more babies you all have, and with the horror stories I overhear, gettin’ my nads snipped is lookin’ better and better,” Ozzy announced.
All eyes turned to him.
“Shay don’t want kids?” Trip’s brow had dropped low.
“You gettin’ neutered would be a good thing,” Cage told Ozzy.
Did they all forget Easy was still standing there waiting to find out what was happening next? He didn’t come upstairs to discuss babies and exploding diapers. That had not been on today’s agenda. Or on any day’s. But Ozzy was right. Hearing some of the horror stories when it came to babies and raising children made him consider never having them. Loads of people were happy being child-free. He might be in that group. “Should I come back?”
All heads spun back toward him.
“Nope,” Trip answered. “Let’s get this fuckin’ wrapped up. Next person who pulls us off track is gettin’ the gavel upside the head. You’ve been warned.”
Judge tipped his head down and scratched at his beard, most likely to hide his amusement.
Neither Justice or Jury were with Judge or Deacon tonight. Those American bulldogs used to be their constant companion. And like Red touching Sig and Stella touching Trip, petting Jury had the same effect for Judge when he was losing his shit. For that reason, he always used to keep his dog within reach. Now, not so much. The dogs stayed home to help protect Deke and Judge’s families.
Trip did his single sharp clap to get everyone’s attention back on him. “Doctor told me you’ll be healed up, for the most part, in a coupla weeks. So, I’m givin’ you two weeks. Then…”
Easy waited, dread working its way from his gut to his chest.
“Then you’re gonna be hurtin’ all over again,” Judge finished.
Great. For two fucking weeks he’d have to anticipate Trip beating the snot out of him. He would have to save all his muscle relaxers and pain meds for that special occasion.
