“As all of you know, Hugo has left to start a new Savage Kings chapter up in Virginia,” Roman tells the seven of us gathered around the long wooden table. “Abel is away, looking for a place up there closer to his daughter, so it’s safe to assume that he won’t be around much. We’ll be voting on the prospects soon, once they’ve had time to heal, which means…we’re going to need new prospects.”
“Fuck yeah, and soon,” Cannon agrees while shoving his fingers through his blond hair. “It’s been months since we’ve had someone to do our shit work for us at the dealership.”
“Damn right,” Winston says. “I could use an extra minion in the garage for detailing bikes.”
The guys all chuckle, myself included, since the main purpose of the prospecting period is to haze guys and push them to see how much they can take, while also getting them to run errands and do all the other messy shit that none of us want to do.
“Who wants to be in charge of picking at least one new recruit for the club?” Roman asks. The table goes completely silent.
Eventually, several guys mutter complaints about already having too much work. There are some mentions of time away from wives and kids. I swear, they’ve all turned into a bunch of pussy-whipped motherfuckers lately.
Of all eight men currently sitting at the table, Leo and I are the only ones who haven’t settled down. Leo doesn’t seem to have much interest in talking to anyone — even us — right now, much less women. Since most of the guys are getting hitched, there are hardly any women around the clubhouse anymore. Roman said something about how it would ‘look bad’ to let in chicks for us two single guys when there’s no way for them to know when one of their ol’ ladies might stop by. They just don’t want to end up in the doghouse, and they would, apparently, even if they didn’t speak to the women.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” I huff when no one else volunteers. “I’ll pick a prospect and sponsor them since the rest of you are all a bunch of pussies.” Torturing the poor fucks could be fun. It’s not like I have anything better to do. I gave up on dating long before women stopped coming around the clubhouse. I didn’t want to be responsible for making any more of them cry. I stopped dating right about the time I finally realized that it was me, and not my girlfriends, who was the problem in our relationships.
“You sure about this?” Winston asks me as he strokes his growing black beard.
“Yeah, man,” Verek adds with a grin. “We need to put the potential prospects through their paces but not permanently injure or kill them.”
There’s more laughter from the other guys since I’m not exactly known as being the warm and fuzzy type, which further helps explain the crying chicks.
“I can handle the job,” I assure them.
“Great, less work for the rest of us,” Roman says with a clap of his hands. “Thanks for volunteering, Marcus. Can you also put the notice up on our website and social media for the club and wherever else we make announcements?”
“Sure. What else do I have to do?” I grumble. I’m not being sarcastic. It’s the truth. I literally have nothing else to do. Well, I mean I have my side-hustle, but that’s just a hobby, something to do when I’m bored that makes a little money.
“Great,” our president replies. “Set a date a week or two out for anyone interested to come in and start the screening process in person. Reece has got a brand-new application for everyone to make it easier for him to run background checks,” our president explains. “Oh, and also try to take some photos of them on your phone to send to Reece rather than ask for IDs. He said the IDs and names could be fakes, so he prefers to run their photo through facial recognition software or some shit.”
“The man doesn’t take his job lightly, does he?” Conrad mutters.
“Can you blame him?” Roman asks as he glares at the other blond twin. “One of the Emerald Isle prospects was a rat who cost them lives.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry,” Conrad apologizes. “I had forgotten about all of that mess from a few years ago with Torin’s wife and kid.”
“The last thing we need is a traitor to come in and fuck us over,” Verek remarks before turning his gaze to me. “So, you need to make damn sure they’re all vetted before they even step foot in this clubhouse.”
“You don’t want them in the clubhouse?” I huff in disbelief as I lean back and cross my arms over my chest. It’s one thing for me to agree to do the club this favor and another for them to fucking tell me how I’m supposed to do it the entire time.
Verek nods. “That’s right. Some of us bring our women and children in here.”
A few more voices speak up to agree with him, telling me I’m fighting a losing battle.
“Then where the fuck am I supposed to meet with them?” I ask. “Should I set up Zoom meetings or some shit? Do it virtually to appease you fuckers?”
“The parking lot should be fine, at least at first,” Roman answers. “Or out back. We’ve got some lawn chairs in the shed, don’t we?”
I consider that for a moment. “Yeah, I guess doing it outside could work, but what if it’s raining?”
“Then they’ll get wet and so will you,” Nolan remarks with a chuckle.
I flip him off and ask, “Do you want to do this, asshole?”
“Fuck no!” Nolan replies. “The only thing worse than being a prospect is picking a new prospect.”
“Amen,” Leo agrees. “I don’t want any part of it.”
Shit. Are they right? Is it really going to be that big of a pain in the ass?
I was so busy thinking about how much fun it would be to give the new recruits a hard time that I didn’t realize that whoever I select, well, if they fuck up, it’s going to be on me.
Goddamn it all to hell.
