Page 18 of April’s Fool

My phone vibrates again, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I glance at April’s message.

April: You guys would seriously help me?

Me: Damn right we would. You don’t need books to write the paper if it’s about businesses and how to keep the margins in the black. Seeing firsthand how a business is run is essential. Cannon will sit down and help you with it. All you gotta do is ask.

Which I’ll ask for her. Each night, after returning to the clubhouse from my position shadowing her, with a prospect taking my place, I’ve told him about the guys and what my gut is telling me about the situation. There’s no way he wouldn’t help her.

Besides, getting her off campus for a little while will do her some good.

Me: I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes. Pack a bag for the weekend.

I figured that would give her enough time to gather whatever she needed. My bike’s parked three blocks away, so it won’t take me long to get to her place, but she doesn’t know I’ve been shadowing her this past week. If she knew, she might flip out on me and change her mind about coming to the clubhouse.

Once I get her there, I’ll explain that I’ve been shadowing her all week. If she understands what I’ve observed, she may open up to me, reducing my need to ask Rimfire to investigate the different guys I’ve sent him photos of.

April: Are you serious right now?

Me: 30 minutes, sweets. That’s all you’ve got.

I shove my phone in my pocket and keep following April until she gets to her apartment, laughing to myself as she picks up the pace. She’s nearly running, moving as fast as she can. I might just have to tease her about it when I tell her about my week’s activities.

I’m sure she’ll blush the way she does when something gets to her. I’ve seen it a few times from a distance, but I look forward to seeing it up close and personal.

“This is your clubhouse?” April gapes, sliding off the back of my bike.

“Yeah.” I grin, watching her as she takes in the massive warehouse the club converted into the clubhouse.

The original members started the club here, in a massive brick warehouse that used to store tobacco products for shipping. The club bought it outright when the business went under, and in 1987, when they founded the club, they also bought the mortuary and cemetery grounds just five minutes down the road.

Ten years after the club started, each founding member split off to expand the club and the business. Each club expanded into two state territories. Over the years, those members either opened two separate clubs or one that covered both. Rex, the founding President and Cannon’s grandfather, put both his grandsons in charge of the clubs here and in Mississippi. Cannon got Virginia, while Steel got Mississippi. It’s worked out for them both, and, as far as I know, all the businesses under the club’s name are flourishing.

Rex is around, off and on, throughout the year. He goes back and forth between here and Mississippi, spending time at both clubhouses. Rex and his ol’ lady raised both Cannon and Steel after their son’s tragic accident. I don’t know what happened to the mom. Cannon’s not one to talk about it, and I respect that he doesn’t bring up his past.

But looking at April, taking in our clubhouse, I turn to the building to see if I can’t see it from her perspective.

From the outside, it looks worn and rundown, but I know it’s not. The club fixed the place up. When she walks in, she’ll see the difference. Woodwork and chrome make up most of the clubhouse. Tables and chairs are scattered around, with three pool tables off to one side. A large-ass TV and a sectional are in another area. Along one wall is a bar, with beams running up to the ceiling on either side. There’s a door right at the end of it that leads to a kitchen that was remodeled a few years ago for Rex’s ol’ lady, who loves to cook her ass off. She spoils her ‘boys’ with the meals and treats she makes in there.

Toward the back of the first level, we hold church and the offices for Cannon and Hornet. The second and third levels of the warehouse hold the bedrooms, all remodeled, so each room has an attached bathroom.

What April can’t see is the small building behind the clubhouse where the clubwhores stay. It’s all one room with a large shared bathroom. Multiple shower heads and three toilets for them. Kinda reminds me of a jail cell for women, and they have to share everything.

“This is pretty cool. I like the look of the aged brick and mortar. It screams ‘Enter at your own risk’,” April says, eyes on me.

My lip tips up on one side as I take her in. “Yeah, guess you could say that.” I swing a leg over, straighten, and take her bag from her. “Come on, let’s get you inside. You can meet the rest of my brothers.”

“Um, yeah, sure,” she murmurs, adjusting the straps of her backpack.

I grab her other pack from one of the saddlebags and sling an arm over her shoulders, tucking her close to my side. “It’s gonna be all right. It’s not your first time at a clubhouse.”

“True, but every club is different, I’m sure,” she says quietly.

“You’re right,” I agree. “Every club is different, but you’ve got nothing to worry about.” And if she does, I’ll take care of it. No one is going to fuck with her here. If they do, I’ll put a boot in their ass.

Chapter 11

APRIL

Stepping into the Grave Prowlers’ clubhouse. I didn’t know what to expect. The scantily clad women shouldn’t shock me, but they still do. The clothes they’re wearing should be illegal. Some are wearing only lacy bras that put their nipples on display.