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“Fucking scum, fucking Horatio…” Colt muttered darkly.
Carmelo opened his palms. "Look, I get it if you don't want to get involved, I mean, if you can't take this guy in... he's a bit of a wild card..."
Colt rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Christ, Carmelo, we aren't a fucking homeless charity for stray dogs-"
Carmelo tilted his head down and raised his hands." I know, I know, I get it if you say no-"
"I don't want to say no," Ash spoke up from the sidelines, quietly yet with certainty.
Carmelo and Colt both silently turned their heads to look at him. "I don't want to, either,” Colt admitted finally, then he blew out a deep breath and nodded slowly. "We aren't saying no," he said with certainty.
Carmelo raised his eyebrows. Had he just done it? Successfully convinced these guys to take the poor bastard in? He thought it would be harder, he thought these bikers would be loath to help, but they weren’t.
Carmelo stammered on. "I mean, he could be a complete psycho, I know you're not really set up or qualified to cater for-"
Ash interrupted. "Qualified? We’re fucking humans. That's all the qualifications required to help a brother in need." He frowned at Carmelo.
"Well, okay then." Carmelo nodded quietly. "You could come pick him up today."
Colt pursed his lips and sighed. The world weary sigh of someone setting off on a long trek up a steep hill.
"Ash," Colt barked, snapping forward suddenly, "make this happen, we'll get him today and get him back to health at least. He can stay if he's a good 'un, or he can go.”
Ash nodded, then turned and roared out, "Prospects!"
Carmelo almost jumped, but three guys in newer, plain black leather jackets loped out of the swinging kitchen doors. They formed a huddle around Colt and Ash.
Colt spoke first. "We got a new brother that needs our help. We're going to make it happen. No questions asked," he said.
Ash then took over. "So you," he pointed to the first prospect, who was listening intently. "Get the van ready, we'll need to load up a bike. Colt, me and you will be going down to the station to pick him up."
The first prospect nodded. Carmelo did a double-take. It was Lyle, former member of the MC before Colt had taken over. He’d been an alcoholic, they’d not so affectionately named Skunk, as he had literally been drunk as a skunk all day, every day. He was the only one who had lived after the explosion at the clubhouse, mainly because Lyle had passed out drunk outside the compound, half a block down the road. Colt had sent him off to rehab and then taken him into the new MC. A ballsy move, Carmelo had thought, as Lyle kept his loyalty close to his chest, and didn’t share any opinions on his time in the former Black Coyotes under their old Prez, the ruthless Cleaver. Lyle was older, much older than the other prospects, older than Colt, but he looked better than when Carmelo had last seen him. He looked sober, for a start.
Ash turned to the next Prospect. "You, get a room ready, one of the bigger ones, and an easy chair in there, too."
“Ash, sorry man, but there aren’t any more rooms ready, there’s some still being refurbished but-”
“He can have mine,” Ash returned in a heartbeat. “I’ll move into one of the half finished rooms…”
Carmelo was impressed at his generosity.
Ash turned to the third prospect, rapping out orders in quick succession. Carmelo had to hand it to Ash, it was military precision.
"You, draw up a rotation schedule, ‘round the clock care for our new brother, everyone does a shift, and I mean everyone-"
"Even… April?" the prospect piped up.
Ash glanced at Colt who gave a subtle single nod, and then Ash nodded back to the prospect who had asked the question. "Yes, but she does afternoons, no nights. Everyone does four hours on, for the next two weeks..."
Carmelo turned to Colt as Ash continued to brief the prospects. "He's good," Carmelo muttered, talking about Ash. "Is he ex-military?"
Colt shook his head. "No, ex-concierge," he said with a straight face.
Carmelo's mouth opened and a single bark of laughter escaped him before he could shut himself up. He had no idea if Colt was joking or not. "I'm surprised he's not your VP," Carmelo added, as Ash continued to dole out instructions to the eager prospects, guys who were basically apprentices in the MC, getting all the dirty, degrading hard jobs until they proved themselves and were formally welcomed, or patched in, earning their name patches for their leather cut.
Colt smiled then, and shook his head. "Ash isn't VP material yet. He's an excellent Sergeant at Arms." Colt paused. "Ash is good at punishment,” Colt added in a deep, almost husky voice.
Carmelo gulped, hoping not too loudly. Colt continued like he was talking about a delicious cake recipe. "So good at punishment," he added, amusement now clear in his dark eyes. Carmelo didn't get whatever was so funny.
