Page 30 of My Hotshot

Pirate leaned forward. “I can talk to Saylor and Mac. See if they’ve heard anything about what Don’s planning. Might give us a heads-up.”

Yarder nodded. “Do it.”

“Can’t they just use shit from the show for promo?” I asked.

Yarder threw his hands up. “I don’t fucking know, Dice. None of us want to do this anymore, but we signed the contracts. We’ve got to.”

“Tell them the rest,” Compass muttered from Yarder’s right.

Yarder sighed. “Also, when the show premieres, they want us there.”

“There where?” Cue Ball asked.

“Wherever they decide to do the premiere. They bring people in to watch the show before it airs on TV. I guess it’s a thing.”

“And when the hell is that?” Aero asked, with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Two months.”

The room lit up with angry murmurs and curses. Chairs scraped. Boots hit the ground louder than needed. Smoke swore under his breath while Throttle groaned like Yarder had just told him he’d have to shave his head.

“What are we supposed to do if Boone and Gibbs are still on our ass in two months?” Smoke asked.

Yarder’s voice went serious. “Stretch has three more weeks to do whatever the hell he’s doing. If he hasn’t made a move by then, the Banachi are stepping in. By the time of the premiere, Boone and Gibbs are gonna be just a memory.”

Fade tipped his head and grinned. “I fuckingreallylike the sound of that.”

Pirate bumped his fist against Fade’s. “Hell yeah, brother.”

That got everyone fired up. The noise shifted from complaints to celebration. Grins, fist bumps, excited mutters. Hope was a dangerous drug, and we were all getting a little high.

“All right, all right,” Yarder hollered over the noise. “Save the party for after. Right now, we gotta get through this damn photoshoot.”

The groans returned like clockwork.

Yarder nodded to Compass.

“They’ve got Aero, Cue, Pirate, Throttle, and Smoke scheduled at nine in the morning next Wednesday,” Compass rattled off, his voice businesslike. “Then at noon, me, Fade, Dice, and Yarder. And at four, they want the ol’ ladies.”

“Like, couple shots?” Fade asked.

Yarder glanced to Compass.

“Solo shots of the ol’ ladies, then couple and group ones,” Compass explained.

“Dove’s gonnahatethis,” Throttle laughed.

“Sloane ain’t gonna be thrilled either,” Aero added.

“We’re just as surprised they want them,” Yarder said as he rubbed his temple. “But if the audience likes what they see, the network’s doubling down. As much as we hated the cameras, the money they gave us got us out of a tight spot. Let’s get through this. Hopefully, they won’t need us again until the next club gets their seasons.”

“This shit is gonna takeallfucking day,” Throttle whined.

“Yeah, well, tough shit. I’ll send you the address. It’s an old warehouse on the edge of town. Bring your bikes, and try not to look like dumbasses, yeah?” Yarder said, already done with the conversation.

There were a few muttered “yeahs” and “fine, whatevers.”

“Anything else?” I asked, already tapping my boot against the leg of my chair.

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