MADMAN
“ H ow’d that new client tour go?” Silver, our club’s treasurer, asks once Felicia has left.
“How do you think it went?”
He grins, knowing damn well an appointment that long meant we got the money. “Like taking candy from a baby.”
I huff, shaking my head. “Rich women like her have to know we have the best sperm around. They’re willing to pay a premium price for some premium dick.”
He snorts, following it up with an amused chuckle. “Saw the alert come through in the club’s email account. Looks like her payment has cleared, and we’re thirty-k deeper.”
I nod. “She wanted to pay all of it upfront once she realized she’d be taking five cocks in one go if she decided to.”
“Did she? Decide on the group option?”
“We signed an NDA. Of course, she chose the five cocks.” I mutter, making him laugh some more.
None of our brothers will be complaining, that’s for sure.
We don’t have the typical sweetbutts around the clubhouse like other MCs do.
We have two women we keep on staff for the occasional blowjob if we have a longer spell, or if we’re having company from another chapter, but we rarely use them.
Our clients keep us busy enough, plus we’re being paid to be full of cum, so it’s not good business practice to be shooting it off all the time where it won’t count.
Not only do we get pussy on the regular from our paying clients, but it also helps keep us healthier. We are tested before every appointment, as are the women. If anything comes back abnormal, we don’t fuck, we reschedule until both parties get a clean test back.
Reign strolls in and I immediately tell him, “Hey techy , send an alert to the brothers. We need Church in a few. Got a new client to discuss.”
“No problem, Prez. I saw her on the cams; she’ll make some pretty babies.”
“One for right now, we’ll see if she decides to be a repeat customer.”
“They always do,” Death grumbles, tossing the rest of his drink back before standing and folding his arms across his chest. The motherfucker is massive, just one of the reasons why he’s our club’s enforcer. “Be there in a few, putting my phone up.”
We don’t allow cells or any sort of recording devices in Church, so the brothers leave them in their rooms ahead of time.
“Same,” Silver comments, sliding from his barstool to saunter off behind Death. The brother jingles in his wake, his chains clinking with each step. Along with his chunky rings on each finger, you’d think he has a damn jewelry addiction.
Moments later, several brothers file inside, wiping their brows and bitching about the early Texas heat this year.
“Madman,” Our VP nods at me as he passes, heading for the closest bottled water he can find.
“Brass. Those mares get settled?”
“Yeah, they’re all good. Shadow had some fun with a handful of goats that managed to find their way around the east side of the property.” He responds and removes his hat, using it to fan himself.
A few of us chuckle in response before they all head for their rooms to put their phones away. Most will swap shirts, too, since the fuckers are already a sweaty mess from working the ranch this morning. They know I don’t want to smell that shit while stuffed around a table for Church.
Grabbing the client profile, I snatch a cold twelve-pack of long necks for the brothers not working the afternoon shift, and some more bottled waters for the rest of us before heading in for Church.
I place the drinks in the center of the table, with me taking a bottle of water for myself before sitting at the head of the table.
My brothers file in shortly after, some slower than the others, brows going up at the drinks.
We do what we want for the most part, but we typically only party on the weekends if we’re not too worn out from ranch tasks that week.
Too much alcohol can fuck with sperm count and, in this business, that’s our main money maker.
Brass whistles, “Damn, Prez. You in a good mood? Can’t remember the last time you bought my ass a beer. Must be looking prettier to you today or some shit.”
With a huff, I mutter, “Fuck off, brass ass.” We’ve called our VP brass ass off and on over the years to screw with him.
He chuckles and gestures to the beer. I nod, and he grabs one, passing a few out to those who ask.
“Alright, now that you assholes have gotten your divo asses settled.” I begin, but am interrupted by War. He’s too busy shoveling fruit salad into his gullet to realize I’ve stopped speaking. Havoc, our other Hellraiser, kicks him under the table.
War glances up from his bowl, his cheeks going red, even though he’s a nasty motherfucker when someone challenges him. “Sorry, Prez. Shits good and I missed chow this morning.”
With an exhale, I nod and continue, knowing he’s been out mending the fences around the west side of the ranch. “Landed another contract today.” My claim is immediately followed up with pleased slaps on the tabletop and smirks, going out around the brothers.
“Hot damn, sugar tits!” Slasher, our SAA, says happily, rubbing his hands together eagerly. He’s chosen a lot by our clients, probably because of his tan complexion, black hair, and deep brown eyes. I don’t know what it is about some women being obsessed with men and dark hair.
“Fuck off with that sugar tits bullshit, bitch face,” I mutter, making everyone laugh louder.
“I’ll let Doc know we have a new client to onboard,” Spade, our Chaplain, immediately interjects.
He’s the opposite of Slasher, with short, light sandy colored hair, clean-shaven, and hazel eyes.
He’s average height and build with some sick spades tattooed on the tops of his hands, his demeanor patient and calm.
Always, to the point it drives me crazy at times.
He pulls the small notepad from his plain black shirt pocket, the silver cross and chain ever present lying against his chest. He scoots forward, borrowing a pen from the middle of the table, ready to write down any health concerns and specifics we typically discuss during our client rundowns.
He carries a torch for the female doctor we work with, but he won’t admit it.
Claims it’s all in the name of business and remaining ethical.
Yeah, sure.
“We’ll need to discuss the studs for her.
Here’s her file.” I hand it off to Brass first, who will check it out and then continue to pass it down the line.
Even if a brother wasn’t chosen, everyone still reads over the information because circumstances can change at any time.
“For her first ovulation round, she’s chosen Kilo, Smoke, and Tinman. ”
“Picking the three who look the least dangerous,” King, our secretary, comments.
I grin because I immediately thought the same thing.
Felicia had no idea we’re a club full of one-percenters, so it doesn’t matter who she chose.
We’ve all done our fair share of shit. Spade’s the holiest fucker out of all of us, but even his hands aren’t completely clean.
Kilo rolls his eyes, arguing, “Least dangerous my ass, I handle more sketchy situations than all you fuckers.”
I snort. “Right, you talking to hormonal women all the time, trying to promise them you can give them the baby they’ve dreamed of? When you handle that on the regular, then you come talk to me.”
The brothers chuckle, giving Kilo more shit about how a pissed off, emotional woman is far more dangerous than any criminal he’s dealt with in our supply business.
Shadow takes the file next, glancing over the location. “I’ll arrange travel for our nurse once I can confirm her schedule.”
Smoke quietly mutters, “I can take her.”
A grin immediately curls my lips, but I cover it, rubbing over my mouth until it drops. He thinks she’s pretty. Brother stares at her like she’s hung the motherfucking moon, but he’s too wrapped up in his head over it to say two words to the chick.
Shadow huffs, shaking his head. “Brother, the client is in Chicago, ain’t no way our little traveling nurse is riding your fuckin’ motorcycle all the way up there to collect specimens or whatever the fuck sort of magic it is she does.”
Smoke glowers, “I meant I can fly up there with her, dipshit.”
“Does she need an escort now that I’m unaware of? Last I checked, she was a capable female.” He fires back.
“Alright,” I interject, before they go to blows like they have in the past. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy seeing them bloody their knuckles a bit, I have too much shit going on today to deal with them too. “Smoke?” I ask, needing more context.
“Chicago’s a shit box. She’s a little woman. Just figured she might feel safer with a brother next to her during the trip, is all. Unless our goal is for her to be shot, mugged, or raped. Sold off into prostitution?”
Brass’s brows screw up as he glances between us in confusion. “Wait, isn’t our nurse Sher? The tall, curvy chick always posting pictures of her lifting weights?”
I quietly hum to myself, understanding where he’s going with this. She’s gorgeous but also looks like if you fuck with her, she won’t hesitate to break you in a few places. Rather than outright agree, my gaze pins back on Smoke, “You’re one of the studs, brother. Sit this trip out.”
He frowns, but immediately nods. I don’t offer to send anyone else with her, or it’ll piss him off more than her going alone.
“Shadow, arrange for a car to pick her up at the airport and put her in a nice hotel in a safer part of the city near our client.”
Smoke drops the previous frown, relaxing into his chair at my words.
At least I can appease him easily enough, and at the same time, hopefully make our traveling nurse feel more comfortable.
Most people believe being the president of an MC means I give orders and everyone jumps to do them, but it’s not the case.
It’s more like being the manager at a business full of teenagers you have to keep in check, but at the same time, half the fuckers are your best friends, and at the end of the day, you’d be willing to die for any one of them.
It’s what a true MC brotherhood is, or what it should be, in my opinion.
Lucky for these guys, I’m in the position to make their lives here hopefully better than some other asshole wearing a Prez patch would.
A loud knock on the chapel door has all of our heads shooting to the thick, oversized monstrosity. We made it that way on purpose so anyone having to approach it realizes they’re dealing with an entire fucking club behind it.
Death stands, moving to answer, always first to charge into any shit. It’s the reason we all voted him in as our Enforcer. We can depend on him to have our backs, always. Not that anyone fucks with the kings, they’d have a death wish if they did.
There’s a moment of murmured voices, then Death turns to me. “Prez. A client is in your office.”
I nod, knowing exactly who it is. She said she needed me, and I was willing to offer up a place.
We’ll see if it was a smart idea or a dumb one.
“Look over the file so you’re all familiar with her.
We’ll pick back up later in the week.” My order is met with nods, so I slam the gavel down, eager to see my visitor.