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Nevada shoots me a look from across the table. “You really doin’ that?”
“Let’s not talk about it,” I sigh.
Riot points at me. “See, that right there. Sheer frustration.”
“You do look a little tense, bro,” Nevada agrees. “What’s up your ass if it’s not a chick?”
“Can’t a man just sit in silence and not be interrogated?” I raise an eyebrow.
Nevada chuckles. “That’s rich comin’ from you. I sat in a room with you for thirty seconds when we first met and you wormed my entire life story out of me.”
That isn’t entirely true, but I suppose not far off.
“Hey, it’s not his fault he has a pretty boy face.” Riot goes to squeeze my chin and I slap his hand away like a little bitch.
“Fuck off the two of you. You think I enjoy listenin’ to you bitch about whiny little issues when you could be comin’ down to the soup kitchen and puttin’ your money where your mouth is?”
“Touchy today,” Nevada snarks. “Must be no pussy, it’s doin’ stuff to you.”
I suppose I was like him five years ago, but the novelty of women night after night surprisingly wears off fast.
“I doubt I need to take advice off a man whose Mom still makes his lunch,” I throw back.
Riot chuckles.
“Hey, don’t knock it, have you had one of her club sandwiches?” Nevada gives me a serious look. “I swear nothin’ tastes as good as Mom’s cookin’, except Manny’s, of course.”
Nevada is lucky in the sense that he does have a Mom who cares about him and from what I’ve heard, loves him immensely. She’s been around the club a few times and is fully supportive of her son being in an MC. If anything, she thinks it’s done him good. If it keeps anyone on the straight and narrow then that’s gotta be a good thing. Raising a kid alone can’t be easy, and aside from Nevada’s ridiculous sense of humor and the fact he has no filter,she didn’t do a bad job.
“Speakin’ of which, have you moved outta home yet?” Riot shoves him in the shoulder.
“Very funny. You know fine and well it’s Mom who lives with me. Anyway, she’s cool. We stay out of each other’s way. I do all I need to do upstairs in my room.” He gives us a wink.
Nevada makes decent money as a heavy-duty vehicle mechanic, mainly servicing trucks and buses. He bought the house he was renting with a decent sized casita for his mom to live in, which is kinda nice. I like that he looks after her.
“Pass me a bucket,” Riot says. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”
The other men pile into the room; Hawk, Jett, Ryder, Harlem, Tag, Bronco and finally Cash.
All the while, I’m checking my messages to see if Bella has been spotted back at the shelter. The feeling of uneasiness still washes over me and I can barely concentrate on what I’m doing.
Cash brings the room to order as everyone takes their seats.
Only the committee members are permitted in this room, and it’s where all the important meetings take place. Usually it’s just a general catch up on how all of the businesses are doing, but lately we’ve all been watching the saga unfold with the mob.
“You heard any more from the Irish?” Harlem gives Cash a chin lift.
“Nothin’ worth us getting our panties in a twist,” Cash replies. “Plan on skatin’ under the radar for a long time to come. The Italians are caught off guard without half of their associates and soldiers. It’ll be sometime before they can recruit those kinds of numbers.”
“Meanwhile, Callaghan and his crew get a nice plug at lookin’ like heroes for the citizens of New Orleans,” Harlem says, his face twisted in a disapproving look. Callaghan is the once rookie cop, now detective, who hates bikers and can’t wait to stitch us up for something. He’s heavily involved in the task force meant to bring down organized crime in the city, and for the most part, he does just that. But there’s no love lost between us. Most of the cops have been in the MC’s pockets for years and look the other way when bad people disappear, but the same can’t be said for Callaghan. He seems to have a general hatred for club members in particular.
“Someone has to take credit for it and look good at the same time.” I shrug.
Hawk gives me a chin lift. “Things goin’ okay downtown?”
“Yeah, but could do with a little more help.”
“I’ve got a few hours,” Harlem says. “Tag probably, too.”
