Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Zeke eyed up Reaper. “That what you want? Or that somethin’ she wants?”
The sniper jerked his baseball cap lower. “I’m nobody’s bitch.”
“It’s somethin’ you want, then,” Zeke concluded, his jaw shifting.
Rage didn’t miss it when Reaper’s eyes sliced over to Vi and then back to Zeke.
What the fuck was going on between those two?
Reaper then pulled on the brim of his hat and answered, “Got a bike. Like to ride. Angels of Fury told me to fuck off when it came to joining their club, so yeah. Why not?”
“Sled,” Zeke corrected him.
“Sled. Bike. Same shit,” Reaper muttered. “Didn’t know the terminology was crucial.”
“It’s not. Our cousin’s just being his typical dick self,” Indie said. “As long as you don’t ride a pink one like Lexi, or attach streamers or a bell to the handlebars, you’ll be good.”
Rage noticed Zeke staring at him, a question in his eyes. He shrugged in answer.
If being a former Marine recon sniper meant the man had discipline, was loyal, and wasn’t a pussy, then Rage might make an exception when it came to letting the man patch in without being a prospect first.
But the membership as a whole would have to agree and he knew they’d get some pushback since every fully-patched member once had to prospect for a year. And most of them hated every fucking second of it.
It was worth it in the end, but it was like running a gauntlet to get there.
While Reaper would definitely be a club asset, since he was a Shadow, he didn’t need to be a DAMC member. The Shadows worked for Vi, and if they wanted to press the issue, that meant they worked for the club, whether she agreed with that or not.
But…not being a member could mean he might not want to do some of the things Rage would want him to do, like the real down and dirty shit. By not wearing their colors, he’d also have no loyalty to the club itself. Only to Vi.
And whether she liked it or not, Vi was club property and not a DAMC member.
It was one thing for Rage to handle the revenge on those three Souls. Taking them out had been child’s play. But going after the La Cosa Nostra was going to take a lot more fucking finesse than Rage had.
Once they left the warehouse, he’d talk to Zeke about the benefits of patching Reaper in. It wouldn’t cost them shit to do so and could help the club in the end.
They would just need to convince the rest of the membership to agree. Including the OGs.
Chapter Six
Lyric stared at the electronic calendar hanging on the wall at In the Shadows Ink. It helped her keep her appointments straight, as well as her employees’.
Her schedule had somehow been wiped clean for today. She swore she had some booked. Maybe they all canceled?
So strange.
“You should just go home, Lyric. We can handle any walk-ins today,” her best ink slinger said from behind her.
Lyric turned to regard Trish. The woman was not much older than her but she was a hell of an artist. “But you’re all booked up today. How are you three going handle walk-ins, too?”
She was surprised Trish would even suggest that. She knew Lyric would never just go home and leave the responsibilities of the shop in their hands.
Trish smiled. “If they don’t want to wait, we’ll have them make an appointment and collect a deposit.”
In theory, that sounded good, but in reality, they could lose that customer. Walk-ins were usually an impulse decision. And they could very well go to another shop, even one that wasn’t as good as Lyric’s.
Plus, her tattoo shop could use all the money it could earn. Mostly because she had salaries and normal overhead to pay, not to mention the big chunk the club took.
Recently she’d been working longer hours and taking extra appointments because she was saving up to move out. Living with her parents had helped her financially, but it was time for her to find her own place. Be more independent.
Have a place where she could bring a date over. She certainly couldn’t do it at her parents’ house. That would be awkward. Not only because of her father, the rest of the bikers living in the DAMC neighborhood were overly protective as well.
And nosier than an Italian nonna.
She had seen it plenty of times. If the date was brave enough to enter the compound, the OGs—whether DAMC or the Shadows—were suddenly outside tinkering with their sleds, watering their driveways, or having a dad meeting in someone’s yard, trying to intimidate the guy with stare-downs.
Of course they’d wear their cuts, too, despite normally not wearing them at home.
Her club sisters all quickly learned to meet their dates elsewhere if they ever wanted to date again.