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CHAPTER FIVE
*Chaz “Cash” - Treasurer*
Fuck all this coddling the guys are doing with the initiate. The kid needs a feed of adrenaline, not hugs and well-wishes. Baylor made me ride bitch all the way to Florida for my initiation rally. Sent my bike over in a goddamn car hauler. Keeping my balls a comfortable distance away from his back for several hours was a fucking challenge of epic proportions. Most miserable trip of my life.
“Time to pay your dues, oh Wise One.” After slipping the gaiter around my neck, I drag half the material over my head, hoodie-style, to contain all twenty pounds of my hair.
Zane covers a vacant expression with his helmet, eyes glaring at me through the open visor as he clicks the clip beneath his chin and tucks his curly mop under the comfort liner.
Brodi waltzes over, coming to a stop beside us, helmet gripped and hanging at his side, gaiter pulled tight over his forehead, bandana style. He shoves the skid lid into my chest for temporary safe keeping, steps up to Zane, and dusts off the invisible weight on his shoulders.
He then proceeds to harass him with a physical pre-ride inspection. Making sure his strap is tight enough, the velcro on his gloves is secured, the gaiter he chose to wear loose is covering his neck thoroughly, his jacket is zipped up… casually slipping the cell battery I stole into the breast pocket. “Hope you like that back door entrance,” Brodi states, giving his chest a final, firm pat. “Because you’re riding ass with me for the next several hours.”
Zane coughs and clears his throat, the sound muffled through layers of protection.
The sexy, loud rumble of Vee’s Ape firing up draws our attention toward the front. The bone-thrumming, mechanical clatter of Coty’s Duc follows, preluding a melody of other delicious exhaust tones.
Kio finishes tying back his hair and folding his gaiter balaclava style before padding forward toward the garage door, light-footed in his vented riding shoes and looking like a damn biker ninja. He then slips his gloved fingers under the bottommost edge of the garage door and pulls it up, revealing to anyone in a ten-mile radius of our presence with how the open garage always projects sound like a damn speaker.
Lips curled in a psychotic grin, Brodi turns and yanks his helmet out of my arms. “Cash, don’t do anything reckless. Oh Holy One here might piss himself.”
I suck in a greedy breath of the intoxicating, exhaust-filled air before responding. “Not making any promises. You stocked on first aid, Bro?” I address Brodi but flash my teeth at Zane. Knowing damn well our Tail Gunner has the trauma kit locked and loaded, I don’t wait for an answer. “Rumor has it the kid likes his doc-tr-ine,” I taunt, flicking a glance at the tattered Bible he’s carefully packing into his tankbag. The blank stare I get back tells me the pun is wasted.
Damn, I thought that was a good one. With a self-satisfied smirk I swipe my helmet off the seat of my Ninja and slip it on over my head before slapping Zane upside his. “See you behind bars.”
His eyes widen and he swallows hard.
A bark of laughter busts out of me. “Dude. Calm down. I meant handlebars. See you on the road… behind bars? You know.”
Zane gawks at me for a second, takes a steadying breath, then gets on his bike.
Chuckling, I pull Brodi aside for a quick check-in. “Everything in line for the prelims tomorrow? You get the paperwork in?”
“Yeah, everything is set.”
“Lace has no idea, right?”
“Far as I know.”
I squeeze his shoulder and waggle my eyebrows. “Stay vertical, Bro.”
