Page 55 of Unveiled Wounds

When I’d taken one last look at my sleeping wife, I knew I’d made the right decision. If we had to leave, so be it. She was worth more than my patch.

***

I was a few minutes early for church, so I headed to the kitchen, grabbing my morning coffee before dropping off my phone in my cubicle and walking into the room.

“We got a new prospect?” I asked Sabre, taking my seat to his right.

“Someone was fussy this morning, and since I was up, I made his breakfast.” Sabre laughed, holding JR in the crook of his arm. The baby’s fingers were around the bottle, but Sabre had a hold of the bottom.

“JR’s getting big,” I said, taking it all in.

“He’s growing too fast. I swear, I stare at him in his sleep, trying to memorize his features as they are, and then the next night, I look for any differences. I don’t want to forget any of this time with him.” Sabre brushed JR’s hair across his forehead.

“You going to let him stay for the meeting?” Church was only supposed to be for patched-in members, and I wasn’t sure if this was a tradition we would amend.

“No, when it’s time, I’ll get the prospect to take him to Pebbles. She was in the kitchen earlier, so I asked if she’d watch him until Grace comes downstairs.”

I nodded, not really having anything to say either way. We didn’t fill the silence as we waited for the rest of the brothers to show, and when the clock turned nine on the dot, Sabre stood. True to his word, he handed JR to Prospect D and promptly shut the door.

“Alright, we have a fuckton to get through,” Sabre said, taking his seat at the head of the table.

“I thought we were indoctrinating JR early,” Pretty chuckled.

“He’s too little to tell our secrets, but church has always been for patched brothers. We’re finding our own way, and that’s one tradition I’m not ready to break just yet.” Sabre took a swig of his coffee. “Plus, he was fussy, and we’re not playing ‘pass the baby’. Let’s quickly go through the club businesses. Who wants to go first?”

“The tit show is fine. I still have a few bottles of excess premium liquor, but our numbers are back to normal. The girls are happy-ish, but if someone wants to take over, I’d be a-okay with that,” Count started, placing his report on the table.

No one volunteered, pretending to look anywhere but at Count.

“I was only supposed to take over until we figured out what was going on. It’s back to being just a tit show, and I’d like to get back to my regularly scheduled duties.”

“Noted,” Sabre said. “Moving on. Grease?”

“I’ve got a problem, and it ain’t good. I have a waitlist of over twenty cars and fifteen bikes for restorations. There’s no way we’re ever going to get to them when we can only handle four a month. We just don’t have the room or the manpower.”

“What happened to what we talked about when the three of you went to the new garage?” Sabre asked.

“I know you said it would work, Count, but I don’t see the vision. It’s just a garage, not an auto body shop. I know Buster said she can fix it, but even if she does, we don’t have enough people.” Grease slid down in his chair, not wanting to be the center of attention.

“The plan was to take the shop you’re in now, strip it, and turn it into something else. The regular maintenance is our bread and butter because the restorations are time consuming. They bringin a shit ton per month, but the parts and labor rack up before you ever see payment.” Count cracked open a soda and slammed it like a beer.

“Are you going to add new buildings when the owner sells us the rest in two years?” Grease asked.

“Sort of. I thought we’d look at your numbers again and rearrange as needed. If you need another building, we should be able to do that, but the location gives us options for growth. If I keep buying new garages every year, we’ll lose our profits.” Count drained the rest of the soda. “Right now, towing and wrecking are renting their office, and we don’t do repos or impounding. There’s plenty of land out there to expand over time, and I don’t think I need to remind any of you that expansion means cha-ching.” Count’s blue spikes shook at the mention of money.

“Chef, how are the employees at the diner?” Sabre asked, effectively cutting off the other two.

“Good, but most of them have been there for years. I don’t have a high turnover, and we only hire for the summer–college kids who want to make a little extra, so they don’t stay.”

“We’re going to impede our own growth because we’re stretched too thin. Between the runs and the businesses, we don’t have enough people.” Sabre came to the same conclusion I had a few days ago.

“If we recruit, we have to open the gates,” Pretty chimed in. “I’m not sure I’m ready to scrutinize prospects. You’re talking about vetting everyone who hangs around. What if we get another Pulse, or we’re on someone’s radar and they send an undercover?”

“You’re not going back to jail,” Wreck told him firmly. “If your ass winds up there, I’ll be right next to you.”

It was the closest any of us had heard Wreck ever address their situationship.

“No, but I think about it. What if Emily hadn’t connected with the lawyer? What if Buster hadn’t given her the idea? We could have still been sitting there. Totally fucked.”

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