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)
“Or make the third floor an apartment and keep the second floor as our space and it’ll be a sound buffer for when we get too loud down here,” Fletch suggested. Despite it being a shit-hole, the idea of having their own clubhouse was growing on him. He had a say in it since he was VP. However, the building they were currently standing in might not be the best option.
“Who the fuck would want to live in an area that’s zoned industrial?” Miller asked.
“Someone who needs a place to live. And think of how damn safe that apartment will be with us coming and going downstairs,” Jamison answered.
“If the renter’s a single woman, she might not be safe with Fletch around. He’s always on the prowl for his next fiancée.” Rez snarled like a tiger and clawed the air with both hands.
“Speak for yourself, Alvarez. At least I don’t need an app to get laid.”
Rez’s expression twisted. “I don’t need an app. All I have to do is flash my badge and the ladies’ clothes fall off.”
Snorts and laughter filled the first floor.
“Hate to tell you, Rez,” Crew started, “that works for all of us. Except Cross and Monty. But if Monty ever decides to pinch-hit for the other team, it might work for her, too.”
“How do you think I have four freaking kids?” Miller asked. “If I walk in the door wearing my uniform, those clothes fall right off.”
“You could get snipped,” Cross suggested, “then you don’t have to worry about having any more rug-rats.”
Miller grimaced.
“Okay, we’re wasting time here,” Jamison said, impatience coloring his tone. “We haven’t finished exploring the first floor yet and there are two more to show you.”
Cross wandered back to the windows at the front of the building. “I don’t think it’s smart to have all this glass. Nash told me about the time the Shadow Warriors shot up The Iron Horse Roadhouse during their Christmas party. You were even there during that mess, Ax, remember? They ended up reinforcing that whole place to practically make it bulletproof.” He rapped a knuckle on the dirty glass of one of the large windows. “This isn’t even close to being bulletproof. You know what this is?”
“Shrapnel,” Nox grumbled. “If we’re inside, a few blasts will kill us all. If not by the bullets, then by getting our arteries sliced from flying glass.”
“Jesus, Nox. Shut the fuck up,” Miller groaned. “It’s bad enough we’re targets while on duty but having to watch our backs off-duty, too?” He shook his head.
Jamison shrugged. “Then like Rez said, we leave the plywood up to disguise this place, and since the windows will be useless, we’ll reinforce them from the inside. Or we remove the glass completely and brick them closed.”
“Good idea. Even though we might not have any rivals now, we’re still a brotherhood and other clubs might see us as a potential threat.” Rez’s gaze sliced between Jamison and Cross. “Just us being an MC might not make us hated by them, but what we all do for a living could.”
“Who doesn’t hate us?” Crew asked, slapping Rez on the chest. “Remember, it’s the badge not the bike.”
“Hey, if we’re doing this, we need a karaoke machine, too,” Finn shouted from over near what formerly might have been the bar.
From what Fletch could see, someone must have taken a hatchet to it, turning it into chunks of wood and splinters. That would need to be ripped out and replaced.
“Oh no we don’t, brother,” Fletch told Finn. “Nobody wants to hear your drunken crooning.” The man loved to sing but it was always off-key.
“Women love it.”
“The women who pretend to love it are probably badge bunnies trying to get under your shield… I mean sheets.”
“Speaking of drunken crooning… What about booze?” Rez asked.
Jamison shrugged. “As long as we aren’t selling it, shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll stock the bar ourselves using club funds or, hell, make it BYOB.”
“Or make everyone donate a case of beer or a bottle as part of our monthly dues,” Fletch suggested.
“I like that suggestion,” Jamison said. “And we can get our members to donate used shit, like couches, TVs, tables. We all have stuff lying around we’d like to unload, right? Everything else can be obtained by curb surfing or second hand stores.”
“I guess.” Decker ran his fingers back and forth over his buzzed hair. “I mean, with the mother club breaking down into six regions to make it more manageable, it does make sense to establish a clubhouse… But, I don’t know… Even after we get this place up to snuff, the cost of upkeep, the taxes...”
“We’ll figure it out,” the BAMC president assured him. “We first need to get the details together and present it to the rest of the members. If there isn’t a majority, the whole point of this might be moot.”