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“Besides Manny and Gunner, we always have at least one brother at the shop, and one at the parts stop. Take Mac, he prefers the bar, so it’s left to him to manage alongside a Hellfire MC brother. Hell’s Rage usually has two members present, other than Mac and Rooster (Hellfire), four altogether, two from each club, and we take turns.”
“Hellfire MC?”
“Rage’s brother club, different names but the founders of both clubs were brothers. Drake and Chance are cousins. We interact a load with them. Chance is as fuckin’ nuts as Drake. Maybe more so as Chance raised Drake.” Jett chuckled.
“Shop and store?” I asked, reaching for a couple of tempura prawns. Jett moved the platter away, picked up a prawn, and held it to my mouth; I smiled and bit into it.
“The store holds parts customers wanna buy for their bikes and cars. If we don’t have a part in stock, we’ll order and hold it until the customer picks it up. The shop sells Rage merchandise. It always did okay, but it’s become popular because of Drake’s old lady, Phoenix. Phoe’s kidnap and beating made the papers. Plus, we sat down on phones during a fundraising weekend that earned us a lot of publicity. Rage was interviewed locally and nationally, which got our name out there more than it had been. Don’t get me wrong, Rage was always pretty famous, but since the fundraiser, we have become known all over the country.
“The shop sells tees, vests, hoodies, and jackets with our motto or Rage in cool lettering. Items don’t have our full patch, but it has Rage MC or a part of the patch. Shop also has mugs and stuff too. Sell other lines, boots, helmets, and shit; it all makes a decent whack.”
“You say us? How does it work?” I asked as Jett held out another prawn to my mouth. I bit it and began chewing.
“We run a month behind. Texas collects the money earned by the bar and splits it between Hellfire and us. Then Texas takes our half and the profits from the businesses and adds it together. Texas tracks what each business has brought in before adding it all up. Brother takes out taxes and stuff, and the pot is split between us. Drake’s decent like that. He owned the garage and the store and could have kept the cash himself. Instead, Drake signed them over to the club. Got a lot of respect for that. Full members receive an equal slice, and prospects take a lesser cut. Once we make full brother, we get the same.”
“How many brothers are in the MC?” I wondered.
“Fourteen and four prospects.”
I winced. “You must have second jobs?” I couldn’t see how they’d make a decent living from that small amount. Jett swallowed a mushroom and smiled.
“Nah, Sin, not one brother takes home less than eight k a month. I earn a minimum five, and that’s on a bad month.”
My mouth dropped open. Eight thousand?
“How much?” I blurted in shock.
“That’s a shitty month, Sin. Custom builds, fifty k a piece, four a month? Eight twenty-five k pieces a month if we don’t have fifty k ones. The bar makes a fuckin’ fortune, people want to be around Rage, and the shop does a decent turnover, too. None of us ever take home less than that.”
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
“Also, have a pot we put money into; Texas and Drake insist on it. Texas takes ten per cent of the net profits and puts it into the pot before the wages are sorted, then he dishes our slices. A brother has an accident, his house burns down, needs legal help, that emergency funding is there, and you don’t need to pay it back. It’s family Sin,” Jett said, watching me; I swallowed a lump in my throat.
“That’s sweet. The pot and family thing.”
“Your dad and Reid must have thought similar?” he asked. The waitress came and cleared our plates away, and I sat back and sighed.
“We didn’t have money to throw around, but Dad and Reid have the same sense of family. Reid was disowned for attending university. Can you believe that? What parents disown their kid for attending uni and not going down a mine? I don’t understand that thinking. Pops literally adopted Reid. He loved him so much.
“Dad didn’t have anyone. He was cut off when he was younger, probably why he took to Reid so quickly. Dad wasn’t an easy man. Like me, he had issues socially. We both preferred being curled up with a book to partying in a bar. What cash we had, Dad made stretch, especially when I got accepted at college so early and then into Oxford.
“Both times I stayed with foster families. They were vetted by Dad and Oxford. I know most of the money from the shop paid for my education. Dad would hunt down rare books and manuscripts and sell them at a significant profit. It’s where I got my love of literacy.”
“Manny said you were a child prodigy. You’re how old?”
“Manny has a big mouth,” I muttered, and Jett grinned. “I went to college after I turned thirteen. Dad wouldn’t let me go to Oxford because I was too young. So, I stayed at college for two years and moved to Oxford at fifteen. I was at Oxford for four years, came home when I was nineteen, and I’ve been working in the Museum in Pierre for nearly four years. I just turned twenty-three, Jett.”
“I’m twenty-five,” Jett replied. “Did college like you, but at the normal age, then hit the road a bit. Did odd jobs messing in garages, but something was missing. Found that missing piece eighteen months ago at Rage. Hung around for a while and finally applied to join Rage. Discovered what makes me whole.” The waitress brought our dinners, and we carried on asking each other questions. To my delight, Jett was dry and funny.
The food was wonderful; the steak was done just right, and the ribs dripped in barbeque sauce. At first, I wondered how to eat them. Delicately, I began cutting the meat off the bone until Jett laughed, shoved a rib under my nose and forced me to bite it. They were delicious.
“Pick it up, Sin, don’t worry about getting shit everywhere.” Jett smirked, and I gave up and dug in. By the end of the meal, there was a pile of wet wipes in front of us. But the food was gone. For the first time ever, I didn’t feel self-conscious eating like that in public. I sat back with an enormous sigh and rubbed my very full tummy.
“I haven’t eaten like that since Dad died. Thank you, Jett.” Jett’s eyes darkened at the mention of my dad’s death and lit up as I thanked him.
“Want dessert?” Jett asked, and I shook my head. “They do an amazing chocolate orange bomb here.”
I groaned; I loved that flavour! “Oh, hell. Yes!” I snapped greedily, laughing, and Jett laughed with me.
