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While the guys are busy looking around, I sit at the bar and handle some last-minute business with Mary. Before I presented the idea of a brothel to the club, I did a shit ton of research. Part of that was visiting every brothel in the state, which is how I met Mary. I didn’t make any friends by stealing her from one of our competitors, but she’s the best in the industry, so we had to have her.
She’s been involved in sex work since she was sixteen, got kicked out of her house, and was forced to become a prostitute. She hightailed it to Nevada in the seventies when brothels were made legal and worked until she was forty-two. Then, she took over as Madam of the place she was working previously. I’d never ask her age, but if I had to guess, I’d say she’s nearing seventy but with the energy of someone in their twenties.
An hour later, my eyes are nearly crossed with how much paperwork Mary set in front of me, and the guys have returned to the parlor.
“You did good, kid.” Cyrus claps a hand on my shoulder, a look of pride in his eyes.
“Thanks.”
“Did you say the girls were coming tonight?” Golden asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I thought it’d be good to have a meet and greet their first night on the property. Tomorrow morning, they’ll move in, and by tomorrow night, we’ll be open for business.”
Lucky grips my biceps. “Please say we can stay and party.”
“Considering we’ll all be taking security shifts, it’s probably smart to let them get to know you guys.”
His eyes light up like a child on Christmas morning. “Fuck yeah.”
The guys hoot and holler, a buzz of excitement filling the air. The club has been through a lot of shit, and this is the first slice of good we’ve had in a long time.
“Can we fuck ’em?” Riot asks.
I grin and sit back, knowing Mary will take this one. She doesn’t disappoint.
She takes a breath before looking each man directly in the eyes. “I know all of you oversized children think this place is your new playground. It isn’t. These women are here to work, just like any other job, and they deserve your respect. That said, they aren’t on the clock tonight, and I can’t stop consensual activities from happening.” A roar of excitement echoes through the space, but Mary holds up her hands, silencing them again. “But—and this is a big but—after tonight, we will be open for business, and your only role here is as security. No exceptions.”
There are a few grumbles, but we’re not Neanderthals. We may be bikers, but we’re evolved enough to separate business from pleasure.
I hope.
“One more thing. If I get wind of you dangling your position with the club over any of my girls, youwillbe banned. I was very clear with Mr. Rigger when I took this job that I will not tolerate any funny business. My girls work too damn hard to put up with your bullshit. Can I get a ‘yes, Madam’ so I know you all understand?”
One by one, they acknowledge her, looking like scolded puppies when I know they’re more viper than canine. It’s laughable, but I’m glad they’re taking it seriously. The regulations and government involvement in opening a brothel are mind-blowing, and I’d kill the brother who fucks this up for us. We’ve put too much money and effort into it.
The door creaks open, and a brunette pops in, assessing the place before smiling and throwing the door wide so women of all types can join us. We’ll have a revolving lineup of ladies, so most aren’t local and only here for a two-week tour. We have big names in the industry who do tours worldwide and are highly sought after, but a few are transitioning from illegal sex work to the brothel.
“How much are you expecting this place to make?” Cy sidles up to my spot at the bar, ignoring the bikers and industry workers mingling in the parlor. He’s one of the few who is happily monogamous.
More accurately, he’s fucking obsessed with his woman, Char.
“My conservative estimate is in the upper seven figures. After operating costs and taxes, maybe take home three mil.”
“And your liberal estimate?”
I shrug. “Most of the other joints around here are rundown. They haven’t been updated since the seventies, and because of that, they don’t attract the right clientele or lineup. With what we built here, I expect to triple that figure.”
“Holy shit, son.” Cy runs a hand down his gray beard. “And it’s all legal?”
“Every penny.”
Our chapter of the Sons was founded in the sixties, and it carried on the National SOE’s tradition of earning through murder and weed. Back then, bud was still illegal, and the club made decent money selling it until the two-thousands when suddenly there was a weed shop on every corner. Our Prez at the time, Wrecker, was smart enough to get a license. We opened our first shop, Dope, selling the shit we were growing anyway and giving us a way to funnel our cash when the IRS started sniffing around.
It was good enough to keep the club running, but Wrecker got greedy. He set up a warehouse to lace our weed with PCP and connected us with cartels to buy it wholesale. We made bank for a long while, but everything changed last year when Wrecker was killed by another member, Crash. We didn’t know it at the time, and Crash was elected Prez.
Everything went to shit after that. Crash pissed off another local biker club, the Royal Bastards, who blew up our warehouse. Shortly after that, we discovered what a piece of shit Crash was, and, oddly enough, with help from the Royal Bastards, we took him out.
No one was upset about losing the warehouse, but the missed income hurt and put a lot of brothers out of work. The Garage, Dope, and contract killing weren’t enough to keep us going. Especially since only a few members take contracts. Personally, I’d kill a motherfucker without blinking an eye, but I don’t get a thrill from it like Riot, Dutch, or some of the others do, so I leave it to them.
