Page 5 of Devil's Marker

He was friendly with other members of the Huns, but oddly, he couldn’t really say they were friends. Certainly not the kind he was willing to risk his life for.

He shook himself out of his momentary reverie in time to hear Brant say, “We’re the furthest thing from an outlaw club. Well,” he corrected, “I guess we’re not the furthest thing ‘cause that would be your doctors and lawyers who ride as weekend hobbyists wearing clothes that say Harley Davidson on them.” Win’s eyes twinkled at the reference. “These days we’re a network of businesses. Legitimate businesses. My guys are not amateur riders, but we’re not one percenters either. That bullshit is in this club’s past.”

Win shook his head. He appeared to be thirtyish, but his light brown hair, streaked blonde by the California sun, made him seem a little younger. His dark blue eyes had a look of seriousness Brant didn’t usually see on guys who came to the door wanting to be Sons of Sanctuary. His build was on the lean side, but Brant suspected there would be zero fat if the kid did a muscle to fat ratio test.

“I know. That’s why I’m here. I’m not interested in a club that’s…” He seemed to be searching for the right word.

“Pugilistic?” Brant supplied.

“I heard you’re not always at odds with the law and, ah, progressive.”

After a long slow blink Brant barked out a laugh. “Son, I cannot wait to tell my wife that my club and I were called ‘progressive’ today.” Win grinned. “So you’re lookin’ to be an easy rider.”

“One way to put it. I’m lookin’ to be a guy who lives to see the other side of forty. And I like my freedom, too.”

Chuckling while trying to remember what it was like to think forty was old, Brant glanced at the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat.” Win looked at the chair suspiciously, like he was checking it for a possible trapdoor underneath, but sat. “You from Cali?”

“South Texas. Ended up out there because of a road trip with a cousin when I was seventeen. Stayed.” He smiled. “I liked the dry air.”

Brant laughed, knowing full well that the guy in front of him didn’t stay in California for dry air. “We got dry air here.”

“I know. Another reason why I’m here.”

“Well, you’re young, but old enough to know there’re no free rides. What do you have to offer the club?”

“I’m good with investing.”

That was just about the last thing Brant expected to hear. “Investing?”

“Yeah. Have a knack for making assets grow.”

Brant sat up straighter. “You’re speakin’ my language. That why they call you Win?” Win shrugged and smiled. “What was your job with the Huns?”

“Treasurer.”

“Makes sense. How long were you with them?”

“Twelve years.”

“That’s a good long time. How old were you when you prospected?”

“Eighteen.”

Brant nodded thoughtfully. “I know I don’t have to tell you how it works. If you get a nod from the guys, you start as a prospect. Now, if you’ve really got money skills, we won’t waste that havin’ you moppin’ up vomit. But you would have to do your time as everybody’s gofer. No gettin’ around it.”

“I understand. But I do have a condition.”

The club president couldn’t help but look surprised. Club prospects didn’t come demanding conditions. “Don’t have to tell you that’s unusual.”

“I know it is. But the golden goose doesn’t show up on your doorstep every day.”

There was no suppressing a smile. The kid was unique. “You’re lucky you haven’t already been booted out the door. But since hearin’ another biker refer to himself as a golden goose was somewhat entertainin’, I’m gonna also hear you out.”

“I like being part of a club. I like the life. But I also want to prosper. So I want a cut of your increase. At the end of every year, I want ten percent of the net growth for that year.”

“What makes you think we’re worth anything?”

The prospective prospect gave Brant a boyish grin. “I checked.” He returned Brant’s piercing look without flinching. “Of course. No point tying myself to losers.”

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