Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
“Fuck no!” both shouted, color now back in their faces and no longer scared about dying. Their pucker factor was now down to zero.
Dodge grinned.
“We all voted the other night and as you know, it’s gotta be unanimous. And lucky for you two, it was.”
Both nodded as Trip handed them their top rockers. Deacon came around the bar with the bottom rockers and the smaller square “MC” patches, saying, “Gonna get those prospect patches removed this week and replaced with your permanent ones.”
Trip picked up again from there. “The only thing left to do is pick your road name. I’m sure as fuck that you two have spent the last fuckin’ year thinkin’ about that. And I’m also sure neither of you wanna keep the name we gave you. So, let’s hear them.” He glanced at Tater first.
“Dozer.”
Dozer?
Just like Dodge, Trip lifted an eyebrow at that, shook his head, then glanced over at Possum.
“Woody.”
A variety of noises came from the brothers surrounding Dodge. He’d had the same reaction as them, except his was a muttered, “Christ.”
“You look like a fuckin’ tater tot and you look like a fuckin’ tampon. But you want Dozer and Woody?” Trip shrugged and shook his head again.
Next to him, Judge snorted and dropped his head, also shaking it.
“Can kinda understand the Dozer name,” Ozzy said on a laugh. “Since he’s about as fast as one.”
“And as big as one, too,” Dutch added on a huff.
“Where’d you get Woody from?” Trip asked the former prospect.
“Name’s Elwood. Figured Woody would work.”
“I got a woody…” Deacon started, grabbing his crotch with a sly grin.
“That one might not be so smart,” Trip told Possum. “It’s almost the same as pickin’ Pecker Head.” His head twisted toward Sig. “Remember that name for a future prospect.”
Sig gave his brother a thumbs up.
“It’s a name I was called my whole life,” Possum explained. “Well, ’til I became a prospect.”
“Now’s the perfect time to change it,” Trip suggested.
“Don’t wanna change it.”
Trip’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, then fuck it. Possum is now officially Woody.” He shook his head again. “Good fuckin’ luck with that around here.”
“We got access to the sweet butts now, right?” Dozer, formerly known as Tater Tot, asked with his eyes all lit the fuck up.
Christ. The first thing Dozer wanted to do was bust a fucking nut. Dodge couldn’t blame him since the man tended to strike out when trying to pick up randoms at Pete’s. It wasn’t only the fact he was shaped like a potato, but it also had to do with him not having anywhere to bang them. Most women weren’t into having sex in a bunkbed where anyone could walk in and watch. And would.
Now he’d have his own room and the sweet butts wouldn’t turn him down. Well, they could but knew better. Being available to any of the brothers was part of the “job requirement” of being a sweet butt.
If they didn’t like it, they could find a new job.
“Yeah, full access just like you have in the kitchen,” Judge said, smirking. “But I’m sure you’ll be inside them less than the fridge.”
“All right. We got more important shit to discuss than… Dozer bulldozin’ one of the sweet butts.” Trip made a face and faked a shudder. “Let’s get to it so we can get to partyin’ ‘stead of pukin’.”
Ozzy snorted and slapped Dozer in the chest. “Now I ain’t gonna get that image outta my fuckin’ head.” He faked a gag.
“I’m so ready to fuckin’ party!” Woody yelled, pumping a fist into the air and ignoring everyone else.
Trip’s eyebrows rose and Woody quickly controlled his excitement. “All right. Next order of business… Took me forever, but finally came up with a motto that belongs to us. Not the Originals, us. ‘Cause even though a lot of us might have that Original blood in us… We. Are. Not. Them!” The last four words were shouted. “And I wanna make sure we never become them, either.”
A roar rose up in The Barn and some boot stomping accompanied it. Trip being so fucking passionate about the club made everyone else’s blood start pumping, too. The Fury brotherhood would not exist without him.
He continued, “Wanna know what you think about it since, like I said, it belongs to us. All of us. You don’t like it, speak up. ‘Cause if no one objects, it’s gonna be official. We’ll move the sign above the front door and hang it on the wall inside here. I’ll get a sign with the new motto to replace it. Yeah?”
A bunch of “Fuck yeahs!” circled the room, including one from Dodge.
He had thanked Rook before for inviting him into this brotherhood, but after tonight he was going to thank him again. Also Trip. He owed both of those men since they’d tossed a life preserver to save him from sinking. His last bid inside had been the roughest one to date and he’d been thankful for Rook having his fucking back.