Page 34 of Marcus: Sins of the Father

“Hey, boys,” one calls out, giving us a flirty smile as she rolls up a stocking and attaches it to a garter belt.

Ronnie leads us to the office at the end of the hall. It’s a small room, and with the four of us, it's crowded.

Ronnie squats in front of a safe and takes out a canvas bank deposit bag. He unzips it and pulls out several envelopes of cash. He tosses them on the desk.

“Double check it.” His eyes meet Billy’s. “Here’s the slip.”

I glance over Billy’s shoulder to see the amount and have to stifle the whistle that almost escapes. I’m not sure exactly what the envelope system is, but I’ve overheard enough to know the club takes ten percent off the top. The rest goes to the bank to be divided into several accounts, one being the operating expense account to run the joint and keep the bartenders, bouncers, and girls paid.

Sonny’s does very well—the MC does very well.

After a few minutes of counting and triple counting, Billy nods, satisfied. We trudge back down the hall, and Ronnie breaks off behind the bar.

“You boys want a drink?”

Billy shakes his head. “Just here to handle business.”

We move toward the door.

Ronnie calls out to us as we’re about to step through it. “Hey, tell Cole I still haven’t seen anything.”

Billy makes eye contact but doesn’t answer. Just nods and shoves the door open.

We all know what Ronnie meant; the Death Heads have hung low since we saw them. They seem to have disappeared from the area, but we’re all on edge. No one likes a stray in their backyard.

“Have either of you heard anything?” I question, strapping my helmet on.

Billy squats and shoves the thick envelopes in his saddlebag. “No, but they must be thinking things are all right. I mean, they’re throwing JP’s birthday this weekend.”

“JP?” I quirk a brow, my mind blank as to who he’s talking about, but I’m not club blood. I didn’t grow up immersed in the club like Billy and TJ, so they tend to know more members from the other chapters than I do.

TJ swings his leg over his bike and reaches for the helmet hanging from the handlebar. “He’s one of Mack’s good friends. He’s with the War Dogs MC. You know, that ex-military riding club.”

“Oh, right. The members went to their cookout last summer while we manned the clubhouse.”

“Yep. Mack served with some of them, and my dad has kept the relationship going once he took over as President. Mack asked dad if we could throw JP a party for his 70th. Dad said he’d be down for a reason to have a party. Should be fun. You know the girls from Sonny’s will be there.” TJ waggles his eyebrows.

“You’re just hoping that hot little redhead who was up on the pole notices you,” Billy jokes, standing and strapping his own helmet on.

“I wouldn’t complain.” TJ twists his throttle and roars out onto the road. Chuckling, Billy and I thunder out after him.

The three of us ride to the clubhouse and make our way to Cole’s office.

Billy taps a knuckle on the open door. Cole, Green, Crash, and Wolf are waiting. Seems our sponsors are here to make sure we didn’t screw shit up.

Cole glances up. “Hey boys. Come on in. Put it here.” He taps his finger on the desk.

Crash’s eyes connect with mine, and I nod, letting him know all’s well. He nods back and returns his attention to Cole.

Billy reaches a hand behind his back, lifting his leather jacket to slide the thick envelopes from his jeans and toss them on the desk.

“Great, let’s get this counted quick.” Cole hands an envelope to each brother, and they thumb through the bills.

They each finish and toss the envelopes to Cole, Green finishing up last.

“Come on, brother, I know you can count faster than that,” Wolf teases.

“I was double checkin’. Something you all shoulda done,” Green snaps, throwing his envelope Cole’s way.

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