Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Eventually I patched in and Mellow thought we could put to vote to have a charter from the original club. We got approved. At first we were running things through the ship yard when it was still a publicly traded company. The pandemic happened, the government shifted our port contracts over to New Orleans. We pooled our resources together, bought the ship yard. Now the Kings of Anarchy MC own the only privately owned and operated port in the entire Gulf of Mexico. Our corporation is all above board on paper, registered with the secretary of state and all.
What comes in and out on those ships, well some of it is legal and the rest, well it isn’t anyone’s business, but the Kings business. The early days trying to make a profit both legally and illegally was a challenge. Those days are long gone, though, and we have our hands in every business in Freedom Falls to some degree.
Like our silent partnership in this establishment. The bar is lined with bottles of cheap liquor, backlit by blue neon. Women work the room, moving between booths and clusters of men throwing cash like it means nothing. The bouncers—our guys—stand along the edges, keeping order, making sure no one steps out of line. If we have any money tied to it, I have someone in the fold that I trust.
Then there’s Konstantin, seated in the VIP section like some fucking czar, a glass of vodka in hand, his dark eyes locked onto me. I lift my glass to him acknowledging I see him even though I keep my sunglasses in place even in the darkness of the room. I haven’t figured it out yet, but something is different in the Russian’s stare. I’ll get to the bottom of it eventually. I’m confident in that. Business, even on a good night, is never too far from the surface.
But right now? Right now, I’m just gonna enjoy my damn cigar.
The night rolls on, the drinks flow, and the money exchanges hands like it's on fire. Women come and go, grinding on laps, flashing their tits, their hands slipping under belts to coax out more bills.
"You ever get tired of this life?" Mellow asks, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
I raise a brow. "You getting sentimental on me, old man?"
"Fuck no," he scoffs. "Just thinking, that's all."
“You ain’t hittin’ the open road on me, motherfucker.” I tell him the same thing I do every time he seems to get the urge to hit the road. He doesn’t like staying in place for too long. Sometimes I have to let him go ghost for a month or two just to hit his own internal reset.
A redhead straddles his lap before he can say more, shutting him up with her ass. I smirk, watching her move, knowing whatever deep thought he had just got buried under a pair of bouncing tits.
If my ex-wife could have learned early on flash some tits and ass I’ll shut up, we might could have stayed married. Okay, I doubt it, but seriously if women could use what God gave them, straight men shut up with tits and ass in front of their faces, all thoughts fade quick when the blood rushes south.
A waitress walks by, balancing a tray of drinks, and I snag a fresh whiskey without a word. She barely acknowledges me, just dips her head and keeps moving. The girls here know how this works. We run this place, and if they keep their mouths shut and their hands open, life is good for everyone. She’ll still make her tips and the bar tabs will get paid.
I take another drag of my cigar, my gaze shifting back toward Konstantin. The Russian hasn’t moved. Hasn’t even blinked, far as I can tell.
"What’s he staring at you for?" Mellow asks, following my line of sight.
"Probably trying to decide if tonight’s the night he stops pretending we’re friends."
Mellow snorts. "That’d be a mistake."
"Yeah. It would." I smirk knowing I hate that motherfucker as much as he despises me.
A crash from across the room snaps my attention up.
Riot’s on his feet, a chair knocked over beside him. A thick-necked bastard I don’t recognize is sprawled on the floor, blood dripping from his busted nose.
I set my glass down. My brother is always short fused. This man is a stranger. The Velvet Hall is for locals only. Told Konstantin I wanted to make it members only. Fucker didn’t listen before, but now it’s no longer an option. When I want to go out and no business on the table, I mean it. A stranger here, like this, he wants something from the Kings no doubt in my mind.
Mellow appears at my side. “You said no business tonight.”
I sigh, “Yeah, well. Business just found us apparently.”