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“You hired two chicks without running that shit through us?” I asked. “I thought this was a club that everything got voted on.”
Yarder shrugged, “Normally, yes, but we had to move fast on this.”
“Fast on what?” Smoke asked.
Cue Ball interrupted. “And why the hell did we not get to vote on it? Fuck fast. This is a fucking club. We vote on shit, and the majority rules.”
“I don’t want anything to do with what you guys decided without us,” Throttle growled. “Fuck. That.”
We all felt the same way. We were a family and a club. We didn’t make big decisions without everyone being in on it.
“This is why you’ve been a prick the past couple of weeks, isn’t it?” Pirate asked. “You knew you were making moves without us, and it made you a miserable fuck.”
“Enough!” Yarder shouted. He pointed to the door. “Every breath I take is in the best interest of this club. You fuckers don’t even know what I’m about to say and you’re ready to fucking riot.”
“You guys need to calm the fuck down,” Compass added. “We couldn’t say anything until the papers were signed and the ink was dry.”
“Just fucking spit it out, already,” I shouted. These assholes tried to make me feel bad about hooking up with Sloane, all the while they were making deals and whatnot behind the club’s back.
“About four weeks ago, I got a phone call from a production company out in New York,” Yarder started.
I reared back and glanced at Stretch. “What the fuck?” Stretch whispered.
“Why don’t you start back a little further,” Compass grunted. “We’re broke, guys. Any money we bring in is being put right back into the shop, and we’re getting to the point where that isn’t enough. Payroll is high, they raised our rent by ten percent, and just the cost of turning on the lights every day is too much.”
“We’re broke?” Pirate spat. “How the fuck is that possible?”
“Compass just explained how that is possible, Pirate,” Yarder growled. “The shop costs money to run, and then paying each of you fucks every week is more than we can make.”
“Then we need to figure out how to make more money. We could add on and maybe start offering full restorations?” Fade suggested.
“How do we add on when we don’t have the money just to turn the lights on every day?” Compass asked. “You expand and add on when things are good, not when you’re on the verge of shutting the doors.”
“So what the fuck are we going to do?” Dice asked.
Fade pointed his finger in the air. “I’ve heard selling feet pictures earns some good money?”
Yarder cocked his head and winced. “Dude, what the fuck did you just say? Selling feet pictures is your solution to pull us out of the hole?” He sat back and shook his head. “And that right there, fellas, is the reason why Compass and I made decisions without you guys.”
“Well, what the fuck did you decide on, then?” I asked.
Yarder glanced at Compass again and nodded.
Compass leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “About three months ago, we were approached by a production company. They were wanting to start a new series of shows about motorcycle clubs.”
“You said a month ago before,” Smoke pointed out.
“Because before they called me four weeks ago, they called two months before that. I told them to fuck off that first call. Didn’t even listen to what they had to say.”
“Again, making choices without our input,” Throttle grunted.
“Name one fucking time I have made a bad choice for this club. What choice would you have made when it came down to paying yourself or one of you guys? Compass and I haven’t collected a fucking check from the garage for two damn years, man. Two fucking years that you got paid and lived high on the fucking hog while Compass and I got jack shit.”
“Two years?” How did that happen? “We’ve been this bad off for two years? You should have brought this to us,” I insisted. “Sure, it fucking sucks, but you know we all would have taken a pay cut and helped to figure out how to bring in more money.”
“So doing some reality show is the only choice we have?” Throttle asked. He shook his head. “Seems like we’re selling out.”
“You wanna sell out or pay the fucking rent?” Yarder asked.
