Page 58 of Property of Stone
“An ol’ lady…they’re like a wife, right?”
“Kinda, yeah. When you see ‘em they sometimes wear ‘Property of’ cuts.”
Someone must have done some research. He could just imagine what her search history looked like ever since that day she first showed up at The Castle. Hopefully the feds didn’t flag her account.
“Property of what?”
“Of their ol’ man. Their cuts identify who they belong to and are leather like ours. The sweet butts cuts are denim and say ‘Property of the Kings.’”
“Representation for an MC is important, huh?”
“Cuts are a symbol of our brotherhood and loyalty. Also makes a damn statement.” So did the colors inked into their backs.
“What statement is that?”
“Nobody fucks with the Kings or what belongs to us. You do, you’re gonna fuckin’ regret it. Guaranteed.”
Chapter Eleven
“It soundslike the Kings are serious about protecting what’s theirs. But from what I’m hearing, the women are considered club property. Does that include the sweet butts?”
“Yeah. Kids, too.” This woman asked a lot of damn questions, but at least it showed she was interested. Her questions so far were pretty generic so he could answer them, but if she started asking about actual club business, he might have to shut that shit down.
“Are there valid threats against the club?”
That question bordered on what she couldn’t know so he answered that one carefully. “Threats can come out of nowhere, as you should know. When it comes to club property—ol’ ladies, kids, sweet butts—we got their back if anyone fucks with ‘em for any reason. Just like I got yours.”
“Besides protection and getting the privilege to ‘serve and service’ you and your brothers, why else do these sweet butts stay?”
“Don’t think our dicks are enough?”
“I’ll take a highly educated guess and say no. Do they get any other benefits that don’t have to do with sex or violence?”
Stone snorted. “Get loads of benefits if they follow the rules.”
“What rules?”
“We give ‘em scratch every month to get tested.”
“I’m assuming you’re not testing their IQ but for sexually transmitted diseases.”
Even better, the woman had a sense of humor. He liked that. “Yeah. Gotta keep their shit clean.” By shit, he meant slit.
“That’s it?”
“They don’t suck or fuck anyone but fully-patched members. No prospects. No hang-arounds. Nobody outside the club. They do, they’re out.”
“Okay, so your brotherhood can share them but nobody else. And?”
He kept waiting for one of his answers to send her into a feminist freakout. But so far, she’d been rolling with it all. “They’re available at all fuckin’ times.”
“No exceptions?”
“Some exceptions. We ain’t tyrants.”
She rolled her blue eyes. “What else?”
“Can’t be causin’ drama all the fuckin’ time.”
