Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
She doesn’t seem upset—just smiles and climbs in. “See you around, Thor.”
And closing the door, she drives out of the parking lot and disappears into the rainy night.
ARES
“They are the hairiest, fattest fucking buds I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Gambit holds up the cannabis buds to the light.
We’re in Church, and all twenty-two Kings are staring at the samples Jack has had brought over from the cannabis crops.
“And sticky,” Venom adds.
Dakota Joe holds a big purple bud up to his nose. “That’s some potent shit. The smell alone is like a kick in the face. How much are we looking at?”
“Street value of just over one million,” Jack says.
“I think this is cause for celebration, boys,” Merrick declares with a grin. He’s always ready to party, and our harvest parties are legendary.
Hands bang on the table in agreement.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Before we party, we pick.” Jack looks around the long table at all the faces seated there. “The crop is ready for harvest tomorrow. It’s all-hands-on-deck. You all know what you got to do and where you gotta be.”
We don’t harvest the crop ourselves, but we all have our responsibility. Jack runs a tight ship. You want to eat, you have to help stir the pot.
This season is set to be our biggest yet, and the Soulless Sons are in place to handle the distribution. The Soulless is a smaller club based in Cooperville. I wouldn’t call us friends, but we’re not rivals anymore, either. They have a good distribution line, so Jack struck a deal with their president, a hardhead called Zed. We supply the merchandise, and they distribute for a certain percentage. It means we don’t have to fuck about with dealers and all the other people who come out of the woodwork when you have A-grade gear to peddle.
It’s also good to have some kind of relationship with the Soulless.
“I ain’t promising anything yet, but if it’s as good as we’re predicting, y’all are going to be receiving cash-fat envelopes at the end of the month.”
The room fills with whistles.
Alchemy, who runs our more legitimate business, the Kings Pride distillery, gets up and picks a bottle off the shelves across the room. He pours us all a shot.
Jack raises his glass. “To a fucking profitable crop harvest.”
A hum of agreement rumbles around the table as all the Kings throw back their shot of Kings Pride moonshine.
It’s a face melter.
Even I react to the burn as it sears a path down my throat and into my chest.
“Before I call time on Church, there’s one last matter to attend to. Lacey from the Spicy Crawdad said three thugs paid her a visit and said if she didn’t start making weekly payments, quote, bad things could happen to the club and the people who run it, end quote.”
The Spicy Crawdad is a strip club the Kings own in town. It’s open twenty-four-seven and is the most popular club in town. Lacey is the feisty manager. As tough as an old leather boot up the ass, she isn’t easily rattled. She’s more likely to blow holes in you with the 12-gauge she keeps behind the bar than quake in her boots. But when something like this happens, it’s protocol to let us know.
“A protection racket?” Shooter asks. “They linked to anyone we know?”
“No, I looked into it this afternoon after Jack got the call,” Paw says. “Luka Silvaro is a gutter-feeding amoeba trying to break into the protection game. But he’s not connected. He’s small time with big dreams. Besides the Crawdad, he’s hit seven other businesses nearby.”
“Bam and I will take care of it,” Loki says with a grin. He’s the oldest of Jack’s twin sons, and to call him a player is an understatement.
“No fucking way,” Bam says.
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because the last time we visited the Crawdad on business, you brought home three girlfriends.”
Loki gives him a shit-eating grin. “And your point is?”
The twins are complete opposites. Loki is a long-haired musician who doesn’t hide a penchant for hot girls while Bam looks like he stepped out of a college debate championship. Glasses. Short hair. He’s more reserved than his outgoing twin brother.
“My point is… if I have to hear you make anyone else scream as you listen to George Michael’s “Freeek!” on loop again, I’ll burn the goddamn house down.”
“Freeek!?”
“Yeah, the girl with the pink hair insisted you keep playing it. Over and over and over again.”
“Oh yeah.” Loki’s grin grows huge as he remembers. “I forgot about her.”
“How? I’m pretty sure she was the one who kept screaming, do me, daddy, do me.”
Loki looks smug and lifts his arms. “Well, when you’ve got it, you’ve got it.”
Bam throws a pack of matches at him.
While the exchange amuses the rest of the bikers in the room, Jack clears his throat. “I could’ve gone the rest of my life without hearing that,” he states, giving his son a pointed look. His eyes shift to me. “I want you to ride out there and let this asshole know what the Kings think about his latest business venture. Pick-up is supposed to be at eight-thirty tonight. You can take Shooter and Dakota Joe.”