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Maybe that’s why I took to Zane so easily; he’s the only one who hasn’t met her yet. Plus, considering his prudishness, he’ll probably be a virgin his entire life. Not a damn thing to worry about with him this weekend.
I use my position to set Chaz back on track. “The fuck you looking at? You got a report for us or not?” I ask over the incessant click, click, click still coming from Brodi.
That shifty smile disappears instantly. He pushes his hands through his long, shabby hair and leans back. “Everything is good to go. Our employer requested to serve us the papers in person, though. Payment is contingent on that this time. But we have enough in the emergency fund to cover the weekend if something falls through.”
Considering Kal is able to keep a neutral expression upon receiving this news, I assume he already knew about it. He told Baylor, Chaz, Kio, and me about the early assignment but failed to mention that little tidbit about being served in person. Every single member, myself included, shifts uncomfortably. But Kal gives our club Enforcer a nod of approval, and Kio takes over to do what he does best — enforce the rules.
Having chosen the only spot at the table that doesn’t have a stream of light spotlighting him because of a busted bulb, Kio leans forward, revealing his sharply angled features. “Seeing as our employer has been the one responsible for keeping us above the poverty threshold for a few years now, it’s best to accede.”
Prez leans forward, and his heavy-soled boots land with a thunk on the stained concrete floor. He scans everyone, a single dark-blond eyebrow lifted high. “Any dissenters?” The look pretty much serves as a threat in and of itself. Dissent, and you can leave. For good. Things have been shifting lately. The club is coming into its own. A little flip-flop of that old adage: when the tough gets going… the going gets tough. Get tough. The time has come. After a few generous minutes, Kal rests his elbows on the table, cups his hands together, and bows his head. “Zane, bless our trip.”
Vincent slaps Brodi on the back of the head, and he finally stops clicking the damn pen.
Zane jolts to his feet, clasps his fingers, and closes his eyes. The satisfying instrumental of leather creaking and boots hitting the concrete as everyone adjusts to follow suit is music to my ears. For me, though, his prayer goes in one ear and out the other. As soon as several “amens” echo through the empty warehouse, I clap him on the back and am the first to walk out.
