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Stepping into the office, years of memories flood through me as I cross the room and open the window.
There were times when I’d fall asleep on the couch as a kid, waiting for Dad to finish whatever business he was dealing with. One time, just after I found how good a woman felt on my dick, I snuck a girl in from town and had her on my dad’s desk. I don’t know why I did it. There were certainly enough places for me to take her.
I find the papers Slade has left for me and flick through them, seeing the plans for each salon and lists of employees.
“Here you go.” A mug of coffee lands in front of me and I push the papers away and motion for him to sit.
“How are you finding it here at the club?”
“Good, I mean, I love it.”
“What do you love about it?” I push him.
“Everything. It feels like home.”
Sitting forward, I don’t break eye contact with him. “Most of us can vouch you’re who you say you are. Growing up in this town at least offers familiarity but the last prospect we had fucked us over and I’m not going to let that happen again.”
“I—”
I hold my hand up to shut him up and continue, “You’ve seen things and no doubt you’ve heard things. My gut tells me you’ll fit in well around here, but I can’t listen to my gut alone anymore. As you know, we’re going to be launching an attack on Effie Rathbone and I want you to prove to me and all the brothers just how far you’re willing to go.”
“I won’t let you down, or the club.”
“It’s easy to say, but when it comes down to it, it’s the hesitation, if any, the brothers will be looking for.”
“I hear ya, but there won’t be any.”
Picking up my coffee, I sip as I watch him. He doesn’t sit before me washed in nerves. He sits with his chin up, his shoulders back, and a resolve I believe is real.
“You can fuck off now.”
I wait for him to leave and close the door behind him as he goes and put my coffee down. I rifle through the papers again and notice one of the salons adjoins a homeless shelter. Shit. There’s no way we can blow up the salon now. I won’t have the homeless ending up with even less than they already do on my conscience because of our club.
A knock on the door interrupts me and Dad walks in, again looking fresh and with a smile on his face.
“The prospect said you were in here. You’re early.”
“Did you expect any less?” I snort.
“Welcome to the life of responsibility.”
He takes the chair the prospect vacated minutes ago and clasps his hands behind his head. The cheeky fucker lapping this free time up, not that I blame him. He deserves it.
“Are those the papers Slade left for you?” he asks.
“Yeah, one of them adjoins a shelter, which means blowing it sky high is off the table.”
He doesn’t seem so surprised, and I ask, “Did you already see that?”
“Slade mentioned something last night. I already knew you wouldn’t do anything that would affect the place. So, the question is, what will you plan instead?”
Leaning back in the chair, I close my eyes. Whatever we do has to be done fast. In and out. Nothing that can draw witnesses and give them the opportunity to call in the law.
“I’ll think of something spectacular.”
“I know you will, son. Anyway, your mom and I are heading to the hospital to see Gunner and Harper. If you need me, call.”
He pulls his old ass up and it still amazes me how fit he is for a guy heading close to sixty. Running around after club has certainly kept him in shape.
