Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
The older of the two recruits frowned. “Let’s go.”
When Booger swept a tattooed arm out, Jamison took the lead, grumbling, “I know where the fuck we’re going.” He paused in front of the prospect and went nose to nose with him. “Let me catch you up to speed. My granddaddy founded this fucking club. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be wearing those colors on your back.”
“Hell, they haven’t even earned their colors yet,” Finn said. “I wonder if they know that to get their full set of patches, they need to get pegged by all the members first. Kind of like a frat pledge but only kinkier.” He began thrusting his hips and humping the air while moaning.
Nugget’s eyes widened for a second. “What?”
Fletch turned his head away and smothered a laugh.
“Just ask them to use a lot of lube. It’ll make it easier, I promise.” Crew added a wink on the end of that.
“They’re just fuckin’ with you, dummy,” Booger told his partner, shaking his head. “That’s not gonna happen.”
Jamison also shook his head and began to push past them. “Let’s go. I’m already tired of being here.” When Booger slapped a hand onto Jamison’s chest, causing him to stop, he warned gruffly, “Take your fucking hand off me or I’ll break every one of your damn fingers. One at a time. Slowly.”
The prospect removed his hand but shifted so his body blocked the BAMC president. “Only three pigs are allowed. You have five.”
“Oh look, Booger knows how to count,” Finn shouted. “Give him his binky for being such a smart boy.”
For fuck’s sake, they weren’t going to make things easier by fucking with the DAMC prospects.
“Two of you have to wait outside.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Jamison announced. “We were told three from the task force. Cross and I aren’t on the task force, so we don’t count. We’re only here to—”
Booger cut him off. “You ain’t allowed on this property.”
“Who?” Crew asked sharply, even though he already knew full well who’d been banned from DAMC property. It wasn’t a secret.
He jerked a chin up at Cross. “That one. The one that sucks dick.”
Cross’s head snapped up as his spine turned to steel. His wasn’t the only one.
Now Fletch was done being silent. He stepped up to Booger, leaned in, curved a hand around his own ear, lowered his voice and asked as softly as he could, “Want to say that again? Didn’t quite hear you clearly.”
“Said—”
“Nug Nuts, what the fuck’s goin’ on out there? Think we got all day?”
“Fuck,” Nugget grumbled, then twisted his head and yelled, “They got five.”
“They strapped?”
When Nugget turned back to them, Crew warned, “Just try to pat us down.”
“Fuck Nugget!” came a deep and very loud bellow from what looked like a room on the right side of their church. It had the door cracked open enough to hear, but not see, who was beyond the door.
“Goddamn it,” Nugget grumbled under his breath, then twisted his head to yell over his shoulder again. “The cocksucker’s with ‘em.”
When the prospect turned his head back around, a fist came flying past Fletch, making him jerk out of the way. It nailed Nugget squarely in the nose. It was like smashing a balloon filled with red paint.
Blood flew and the baby biker stumbled backward, landing on his ass. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” came out muffled as he pressed his hand to his gushing nose.
“Someone forgot to teach you respect, boy. You better learn it quick,” Crew told him, shaking out his hand.
“That’s probably not going to help my cause,” Cross said.
Fletch could see Cross trying not to smile, though. He most likely wanted to dance a little jig on top of the downed prospect. While wearing wooden clogs. With cleats.
“Isn’t going to make it any worse,” Finn insisted, using his boot to shove Nugget back to the floor when he tried to get up. “Say you’re sorry.”
“Fuck you!” came from the bleeding prospect. He spat blood on the floor, barely missing Finn’s boot.
“What the fuck’s goin’ on out here?” came another bellow from what Fletch now figured to be the Angels’ meeting room.
“Teaching your boy here a little respect,” Crew answered the big man standing in the open doorway.
The very tall, very broad biker with a short mohawk and covered in tats, including the sides of his head, took long strides toward them.
Everyone around him instantly went on the defensive. Without meaning to, they might have just started a war.
“What the fuck you do, asshole?”
Fletch quickly scanned the man’s front patches. Hawk. Vice President.
The older biker named Hawk stopped in front of Nugget, still sitting on the floor and trying to stem the stream of blood coming from his nostrils. The VP’s dark eyes flicked from the bleeding prospect up to Booger and then back down to Nugget.