“Fuck, I thought he looked high.”
“Yeah, he was; now get the fuck out of here. I can’t get better if I’m talking to your ass all night.”
I chuckled and left his room, closing the door behind me.
Shit at the clubhouse was definitely not okay. Whatever Scythe was allowing the club to get into was leaving everyone vulnerable. Having to stand by and keep my mouth shut while Scythe allowed the club to go to rat shit, killed me. I was more loyal to the club than half the guys who’d been in it for years.
The Devil’s Armada needed some new blood, and their Tail Gunner needed to be stripped of his rank and replaced. Riptide knew jack shit about protecting his fellow brothers. He was too busy scanning the road for his next piece of ass. He almost got us killed out there today and if he had been watching the road instead of the chick walking her dog, Trigger wouldn’t have ended up in the hospital and still riding down the road with us tomorrow.
Speaking of tomorrow, I was dreading it. I knew whatever Switchblade had in store for me was going to be bad, probably even hazardous. He didn’t give two shits if something was safe or should be cautiously done. That asshole only thought about himself and didn’t care who he had to step on to get there. I definitely was in for a shit storm tomorrow, but if I wanted to stay in this club, I was going to have to bite my tongue and do whatever he asked. It was the only way I was going to stay in the Armada and protect Faith at the same time.
Switchblade came up behind me and gave me a hard push. “Get to work, Prospect, we got a boneyard you need to clean.”
If I showed any resistance, he’d fucking get me kicked out of the club, especially after what happened last night, so I reluctantly got up and followed Switchblade outside. The boneyard was the club’s chop shop. They bought spare bike parts and used them to fix up their choppers when they started to go wonky. A few guys I didn’t recognize were working on a car inside the garage.
“Riptide, Goonie, let me introduce you to your new shop bitch. Have him clean up whatever you want around here. Hell, have him lick your boots if you want. He’s a prospect. I expect you to give him extra shit for fucking up your face, Riptide.”
Riptide glared at me. His right eye was massively swollen shut and a dark purple-black color. His bottom lip was busted, and I swear I made his nose turn ten degrees to the left. He flipped me off, and I blew him a kiss in return.
Fucker
Switchblade turned toward me. “You can start by moving all those engines to the other side of the yard.” He pointed to a pile of junk chopper engines that has been there for as long as I can remember. He then pointed to a corner on the opposite side of the boneyard with his bony middle finger. I noticed he had the word “fuck” tattooed on one side of his finger, and “you” on the other.
Classy.
The engine pile had only gotten bigger over time, and there’d never been any reason to move it. Each engine weighed at least thirty-five pounds. This was definitely a shit punishment for any prospect, but I guess I deserved it.
“It will take me all day to move that much metal by myself,” I grumbled.
“You better get started then,” Switchblade laughed. “You have until the sun goes down, otherwise, you get to scrub the toilets with a toothbrush and then brush your teeth with it. I’ll have you know that Ice has been known to splatter the sides of those things with his massive dumps. I bet his shit won’t taste much different from what you’re used to, you seem to be fluent in shit-talking.
I rolled my eyes and Switchblade caught me. He immediately charged towards me and got up in my face, pressing his forehead against mine in a threatening way. He wouldn’t get away with that shit in the real world, but here, I was the prospect and he was the VP. I couldn’t touch him without repercussions. I was lucky they didn’t kick me out for kicking the shit out of Riptide last night.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me, Prospect?”
“Yes, I did. I rolled my eyes because you’re threatening me with grunt work that fraternities punish college pledges with.”
Switchblade sneered, his top lip curling in an unflattering way. “Keep it up and I’ll figure out more shit for you to do. You won’t last another day if you keep feeding me that defiant attitude.”
Switchblade walked off, leaving me alone with the pile of metal sitting against the side of the building.
Riptide walked over to me, spitting at the ground near my feet. “You better watch your back, Prospect, because the first time I get you alone, you’re dead.”
I turned toward him, unfazed. “You can’t kill someone who’s already dead inside, asshole. So fuck off.”
Riptide walked off, leaving me alone to move the engines.
One by one, I lugged the heavy metal off of the pile and moved it to the opposite side of the boneyard. Riptide and Goonie watched me from the garage doors, snickering when I ended up struggling with a particularly heavy engine and dropped it in the middle of the yard.
“That motherfucker is gonna kill himself,” Riptide yelled loud enough for me to hear. “And when he does, I’m gonna tap dance on his mother-fucking entrails.”
“Nah, I think he’ll be fine,” the guy introduced to me as Goonie said. I didn’t know much about him other than he wasn’t part of the club. He’s slightly round with dark mocha colored skin that had blotches of a darker color ink weaved over him like an intricate quilt. It was hard to see what kind of tattoos he had because his arms were so dark that the ink blended into his skin color. Upon closer inspection, I realized it wasn’t ink at all, it was grease and oil from working on vehicles.
I think I need glasses.
Goonie looked to be about twenty-two. I think he was hired as a mechanic and helped Riptide around the shop. He didn’t look like he had any interest in the club other than working on vehicles.
Wiping my brow, I stared at my babysitters and glared at them through my sunglasses, wishing I could fuck Switchblade up for giving me such a labor-intensive job. I underestimated how heavy engines actually were and carrying them all by myself had my muscles and forearms burning after only a few minutes.
By noon, I was dragging ass, barely able to walk a few steps across the yard without stopping. Switchblade would come outside every few minutes to see his dirty work firsthand. I hadn’t made a very big dent in the pile since he gave me the task this morning. Every time he came out, he would smirk and comment about how weak I was, and how I would never be a part of the Armada under his watch. When he came out for the fifteenth time, I lost it.
“Why don’t you take a picture? It will last longer,” I yelled, struggling to get a heavier engine across the yard. I threw it on the pile and made the long trek back to the pile of engine parts.
“Why the fuck would I want a picture of your ugly mug, Prospect? Move faster, if you keep this pace up, you’ll never finish.”
I was about to argue with him more when Faith and her beat-up Buick pulled through the gates of the boneyard. There was a high-pitch screech coming from under the hood, and I bet my left nut that it had something to do with a belt being loose. The left rear tire was a bit off kilter so as she drove across the gravel, there was a strange thunk sound coming from the rear of her car.