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CHAPTER THREE
*Coty “Coyote” - Vice President*
“Why am I the only one who didn’t know we were leaving early?” is the first thing out of Zane’s mouth when we roll up to the clubhouse and five other bikes are already parked inside the garage.
“Initiation day, my man, and failing your first test is not the best way to kick off things. You really need to work on the element of surprise. Sleep with one eye open next time… or at least lock your damn door,” Brodi lies, walking at a clipped pace ahead of us. We circle around, slip in the side entrance, and make our way through the dark gaming area toward the beam of light coming from the boardroom.
Since rank dictates the order in which we receive information, Brodi only beat him by a sleep. He got a late-night call from Vee and failed to pass on the update to his prospect before passing out again. The rest of us found out not too terribly long before that.
“Another tip might be leaving your phone on,” I supply. “House calls aren’t usually my thing; you’re lucky I like you. Baylor texted everyone the meetup time a little after midnight and said you didn’t respond, so I took it upon myself to tag along with Brodi while he paid you a visit.” The part I keep locked tight is that I had an ulterior motive for going out of my way to be there. Someone had to break the news to him, and his response would have been less than stellar if the news came from Brodi.
Zane already knew he was supposed to attend his first Gulf Coast Bike Week this season, but not that we were leaving a day earlier than originally planned or that he would be going as an initiate instead of a prospect.
“Um, thanks?” The reply comes out shaky as he fumbles to remove his phone from the cargo pocket of his riding pants. All the device gives him is a black screen when he tries to turn it on. His nostrils flare and eyes shut for the span of a deep breath before reopening. He stops walking a couple feet away from the throw line for our dartboard, flips over the phone, and pries off its back cover.
Brodi sucks in a breath, eager to finish the meeting and get on his bike to ride away that constant pent-up energy. But his direct-line prospect needs a moment, so he waits, patiently by his standards, adjusting from foot to foot.
Zane’s fingers wrap around the battery-less cell, and with an exaggerated exhale, he clenches his hand, and the panel snaps back into place.
“Right. Like I said, keep your door locked.” Brodi beams, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet at this point.
No doubt Chaz is the culprit who snuck into his apartment last night to fuck with him. Simply locking the door would’ve at least challenged Chaz a bit more. Maybe the jangle of the attempted break-in would have roused Zane in time. Hard not to laugh at the poor kid, but I manage. Scarcely.
Just when I think that phone is about to become a makeshift dart, the clenching of his teeth stops, his jaw slackens, and he sniffs, hands curling tightly at his sides.
“Hey.” I duck my head down to capture his dejected attention, slowly straightening my spine again and encouraging him to hold his head high as a result. “Just because one of the guys got one over on you doesn’t mean you’re not ready. And just because you’re ready doesn’t mean it’s happening this exact moment. We have a lot of pavement to ride first. Tighten up that attitude, hm?”
The kid has been on the fast track since day one, but we chose to withhold that information from him. Our club is too small. Kal had to lie low and build slowly after he broke away from the Rolling Stones; we’ve been filling our officer spots and making impressions for three years. Zane meets all the criteria, aside from his innocence. But what makes him even more ideal is that, like the rest of us, his innocence was jaded by circumstance. The fact that he had just been on a church mission before running from home is an added bonus.
Zane shoves the inoperative phone into his pocket and storms past Brodi and me, eating up the last several steps into the boardroom.
“Nice of you sleeping beauties to join us,” Kal gruffs, lounging at the head of the table, boots kicked up on the corner. His surly gaze turns to our Secretary. “Kick us off, Bay.”
Knowing this meeting and a few hundred miles are the only things separating me from a weekend in the Gulf Coast, my body buzzes with anticipation. Feigning indifference, I sit to the right of Kal as rank demands and let our brigade do their thing despite wanting to skip the formalities and get the hell out of here.
The sooner we leave, the sooner I can see Lace. Stealing a quick glance down at my watch, I note that if we get there early enough I can even pay her a surprise visit.
The ginger clears his throat and begins his secretarial duties: “Raise your hand if you’re not here.” His gaze scans every member, saving Zane for last. “Appears everyone is accounted for.” Baylor then flicks his attention to Vincent for the traffic and weather report. “What are we doing today, Captain?”
Vee spits out a string of Italian, also affording Zane an amused glance. He then leans back in his chair and flashes Zane a toothy grin, his eyes practically glowing under the scattered light casting from the billiard chandelier. Women get stupid over his eyes. To me it just fucking looks creepy; no one should have eyes that bright blue. Plus, I know firsthand how ruthless the man is, so the way his eyes gleam only makes him look even more like a feral animal in my opinion. Based on how Zane swallows hard upon being the recipient of such a look, he might be inclined to agree.
“Everyone get that?” Kal glances at each member, lips barely twitching at the corners. The entire club is all about getting this over with but not at the expense of having our initiate break formation before we can even toe up the kickstand. One by one, each member behaves in a way that not only lightens the mood a bit but also jostles him — keeps him alert.
Zane speaks up, voice unsteady, eyes checking both our President and our silent and brooding Enforcer. “N-nope. Not a word. Come again?”
My indifference blossoms into pride. Speaking up during meetings can be risky for prospects, but not being clear on what the hell you’re doing when you hit the road is a greater risk. What he doesn’t know is that none of us understood a damn thing Vee just said. Since the day we took Zane in, we have all just played along.
Gripping his shoulder, I give Zane a supportive squeeze as our Tail Gunner repeats the details of this run… in English. Brodi picks up a pen, for no useful reason other than to be an annoying twat, and starts rapidly clicking the plunger while running through the details as quickly as possible. “We’re starting with the scenic route, cruising through Blood Mountain on the way to Atlanta. Then, we’ll slab it. There’s a band of storms rolling through North Florida right now, but the ride should be clear. Last I checked, no hurricanes are planning to muck up the weekend either.”
Chaz, knowing the treasury report is up next, takes advantage of the order of events and homes in on Zane before jumping into his responsibility. He leans forward, the rustle of his one-piece motorcycle suit echoing through the room, and plasters on a smirk. “Slabbing it means we’re taking the interstate.”
Zane rolls his eyes. “Right. Got it.” When the kid isn’t pissing himself, he has quite sizable balls. One day, maybe he will get brave enough to flash them.
“Apparently we have a couple of parrots in attendance.” Kal groans, still playing along. This somewhat pleasant — dare I say playful — behavior from him is unusual. If I didn’t know any better, I’d wonder if he’s actually looking forward to getting to our home-sweet-hometown a day ahead of schedule.
As long as his hard-on is for a different reason than mine, I’m good. I glare at him, trying to read into this strange version of our typically bland Prez. “Chaz…” Kal prompts. “Everything on par for this trip? Would hate to get there early and waste our time when we can be anywhere else but there.” Kal locks his gaze on mine, and his jaw ticks with a combination of gritted teeth and an accusatory sneer. I raise an eyebrow, lean back deeper into my chair, and cross my arms — guess my anticipation must’ve not gone as unnoticed as hoped.
Chaz delays, focus darting between us, mouth quirking to the side. Every member knows I have it bad for this woman. Of course I love the club life — doing what we do — but she just makes it so much better. And, yeah, I’m not dense, they all like her too. For reasons I prefer to not think about.
