Page 8 of Snagged By Hook

Zombie clapped Croon’s shoulder across the bar. “I knew you were the right fit for both the club and to run this place.” Croon had always justgone with the flow, but Zombie, with that vision of his, saw more in Croon than just the annoying guy who took home the $250 every open mic night they had.

Croon had been one of the best prospects they’d had, and he turned The Metal Shop into one of the hottest local venues for death and thrash metal. He’d balked when they got rid of open mic night, but he was still serenading the ladies of Provo any chance he got.

“Looks like you found your niche.” Hook raised his beer to Croon.

Being in the black felt good. Especially during the first few years of the chapter, they had dreams and attitude and not much else. They’d slept on old Army surplus cots in the salvage yard building, which had seen better days.

Now they had multiple businesses in the black on the reg. Their vision for the Provo RBMC was coming to fruition. Most people thought they were insane to stick around and establish their chapter in the heart of Mormon country, but Zombie saw things in a way few did, and it was paying off in spades.

“Oh, that reminds me.” Zombie downed the rest of his beer. “Got a call from our brothers in Montreal today. Vicious needs your particular skills, Croon.”

“What? Does he need someone to sing “Happy Birthday” at his big five-oh party this year?”

Hook swallowed his beer wrong at the proclamation.

“I’ll be sure to pass on felicitations from you when I tell him you agreed to find what he’s looking for.” Zombie stood. “Let’s make it interesting, shall we?”

Up until that moment, Hook thought he might be the dumbest man in the room. That was until Croon’s cocky ass spoke. Zombie didn’t have a poker face, and it was certainly about to get interesting. All Hook could hear in his head was the voice of Admiral Ackbar.It’s a trap.

“Interesting’s good. Lay it on me.” Croon was grinning like a loon.

“Dumbass,” Hook and more than one of his brothers mumbled, shaking their heads.

“Ten days, Croon. Find a ’69 Road Runner or ’65 Satellite for our Canadian brother, or you’ll serenade their Veep at hisnot-fiftieth birthday, Marilyn-style. Complete with a white dress and red lips.” Zombie smiled wide, and the room erupted in riotous laughter.

“Vicious will fucking love that.”

Squatch whooped. “The club’s social media will blow up when I post the hell out of that video.”

Croon’s jaw was on the bar. “Dude, pick your jaw up and get to work,” Santa scolded. “Those ain’t a dime a dozen.”

“Prez!” Croon called once his brain caught up to his ego. But it was too late, Zombie was gone, and Croon was fucked.

But maybe not, the man had a knack.

Iron slapped five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills on the bar. “I got five that says we’re about to see how purdy our songbird can be.”

Hook felt bad because no one was putting their money on Croon. Hook took pity on him and slapped the cash down. “He may be a dumbass who can’t read a room for shit, but he has a knack for these things. He found me a Corvair, didn’t he?”

Santa chuckled and added some green to the growing pile. “That’s true, Hook, but he didn’t have just ten days, nor was there pressure to wear a dress if he failed.”

Croon surveyed the room. “Really? Hook’s the only one who has an ounce of faith in me?” He looked truly hurt, especially when his eyes fell on the man who he seemed to admire most.

Virus threw his hands up in surrender. “At least I didn’t put money against you. That counts for something, right?”

Croon just stared as Iron gathered the cash from the bar. Then he and his brothers stood to leave.

“Come on, brother, let’s not keep ‘em waiting,” Hook beckoned him.

When they got outside, most of the tension he held from earlier, from her, leached from his body. The rumble of the pipes and the vibration of the machine between his thighs was perfection. Scanning his brothers brought him a sense of peace and belonging. One he hadn’t had until he found a family in the Bastards.

The ride back to the clubhouse drained everything negative that was lingering. But as soon as he dismounted, it was all back with a vengeance. The past was screaming in his brain, as it tended to do every so often.

He’d decided he would stay at the clubhouse tonight instead of his place. He could use the company and another drink or ten to silence the memories.

With Prez and Heidi at their home, the girls were waiting for them when they arrived.

Drinks poured, snacks made, and tits out.

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