“You never had to fight one off like that before,” Sig said with his brow drawn low. “Also didn’t know you were into that.”
Dodge shot him a pointed look. “We all got our thing.”
Sig grinned and his brown eyes lit up. “That we do, brother.”
The irony of this conversation was not fucking lost on Dodge and he was thankful as fuck when Trip did his single clap again. “Don’t make me get the fuckin’ gavel. ‘Cause if I gotta climb those fuckin’ steps, I ain’t gonna hit it on the bar to get your fuckin’ attention, I’m gonna clock you in the head with it, instead.”
“Or you could use The Punisher,” Judge suggested, the corners of his eyes crinkled. “It’s a bit closer. Actually, I don’t mind doin’ it for you, Prez. I’ve been practicin’ Whac-A-Mole with Daze.”
“You teachin’ her to take over from you and be our first female enforcer?” Cage shouted out from the back of the pack with a snicker.
Hell, that question was a good way to get everyone to shut the fuck up.
“A female enforcer?” Dutch grumped near Dodge. “That ain’t ever happenin’.”
“Never say never, old man,” Rook said, wearing a smirk. “Jet would be a good one.”
“Women got their place in this club, and it ain’t as an officer,” Dutch said next.
“Not even as a member, either. Ain’t that in the by-laws?” Deacon asked.
Trip shook his head. “As an officer yourself, you should fuckin’ know what’s in the by-laws.”
“Well, it ain’t like I walk around with a copy in my fuckin’ back pocket.”
“Alrighty,” Trip shouted, rubbing at his forehead. “Enough of this shit. Dutch is right, so drop it. If women want a club, they can start their own.”
“The fuck they are,” Shade growled. He probably felt strongly about that idea since he had three women in his household he had to worry about.
“Not our women. Other women,” Trip clarified and then lifted a hand. “And what I just fuckin’ said does not hit our women’s ears. You get me?”
“Yeah, Trip don’t wanna be beaten to death with The Punisher durin’ the night,” Easy said on a laugh. “Stella would make a great prez. Don’t tell her she can’t do or be somethin’, cause knowin’ her, she’d probably purposely do it to prove otherwise.”
That was for damn sure. Having an Original’s blood surging through her veins, Stella was truly Trip’s queen and could easily step into his place. But Dodge was keeping that shit to himself. He might be a dumbass, but he wasn’t that much of a damn dumbass.
“Stel’s got enough on her plate. Nobody plant that fuckin’ seed.”
“Like you planted yours?” Deacon asked on a half-snort.
Trip yanked his black baseball cap off his head, scraped his fingers through his hair, then slammed it back on. A gesture he tended to do when his temper was flaring.
That also was a signal for everyone to get back to business before he lost his shit.
“Someone go get those two fuckers,” the prez ordered. “They should be included in tonight’s club business. We’ll hand them their patches and get that over with first.”
Whip quickly slipped through the door between The Barn and the bunkhouse to retrieve the two prospects.
“All the sweet butts here?” Trip asked nobody in particular.
“Yeah,” Sig answered. “In the kitchen gettin’ shit prepared for the celebration after.”
Trip nodded. “All right, everyone shut the fuck up, then. They got no fuckin’ clue that we all voted already, so when I tell them, let’s get them goin’ and pucker their assholes a bit first.”
Even if the vote had gone the opposite way, Dodge would’ve still wanted to keep them on at Crazy Pete’s. They both did a good job at the bar and good help was hard to find. Now that they would be patched over, he’d have to talk to Stella about what to offer them salary-wise.
As prospects, they were free labor. They got a roof over their head, a place to lay that head and food and booze to fill their bellies. If they needed extra scratch, they had to earn that elsewhere. Working at Pete’s, they at least earned tips. It wouldn’t be enough for them to live on if everything else wasn’t already handed to them.
They might be treated like slave-labor but their basics were covered by the club. Anything above that was for them to figure out.
Even Dutch made them work off any repairs or service needed to their sleds.
Being a prospect usually sucked ass. As a prospect, Dodge had it easy and he was well aware of that fact. He only had to do half the time as the newer prospects and he’d been lucky to fall into the position of manager at Crazy Pete’s since it was a solid fucking job. One that didn’t need a formal education.
Other than the occasional required training by the Liquor Control Board, he just needed to be good with people and have common sense. Two skills a lot of people lacked.