Page 3 of The Biker's Brother

“They’re not going to accept me unless I participate in club revenue.”

Brant smirked. “You want to make a donation to the treasury?”

“To use your phrase, don’t be ridiculous. That would be more likely to cost me respect.”

“Agree.”

“Maybe I could work for the club. I don’t have a lot of free time, but I can make some.”

Brant took a swig from a cold long neck.

“Oddly enough, you and I are on the same track. I’ve got a job that no one wants to do. If you’d volunteer, it would go a long way towards making inroads. Maybe even waive prospecting.”

“Waive prospecting? You can do that?”

“I can’t do it on my own, but I can put it to a vote. I’m thinking most of the boys would trade a little principle to get out of this one.”

“Why? What is it?”

“Security detail.”

“Are you worried that I can’t process more than two words at once?”

Brant cocked his head to the side.

“If you want to be in the club, you’re going to have to learn some respect for the office of president.”

“Okay. When I’m in the club, I will.”

Brant couldn’t help but smile. Brash had always been a hell raiser. He came into the world so intense that he was wearing a little baby scowl between his eyebrows even in his toddler pictures. Brandon, on the other hand, was witty, easygoing, and, well, charming.

“So again, what’s the job?”

Before Brant could answer, the food arrived.

“Always amazes me how fast they can get this shit ready to eat.”

“Yeah. It’s a miracle,” Brand said. “Now stop dodging the question.”

“Well, there’s this girl.” Brand sat back in his chair and started shaking his head. “Come on. You haven’t even heard about it.”

“I’ve heard the words security detail and girl paired with inside knowledge that everybody in the club is running from the job.”

“Don’t make up your mind without knowing all the facts. You wouldn’t do that in business.”

Brand knew his dad had a point. Using his dad’s linguistic style, he said, “Alright. Lay it out.”

“This girl comes from money. Like your mom. And you. She’s from Boston. Anyway she got herself into a marriage with a bad guy and now her father’s afraid for her life. The divorce is proceeding, but her dad wants to make sure she lives until the gavel comes down. I guess the ex is after her money and they have reason to believe he’ll kill her if he can.”

“Jesus.”

“’Bout sums it up.”

“How old is she?”

Brant searched his memory. “Twenty-four?”

“Wow, Father Time. Have you met the twenty-first century? If she’s twenty-four she’s a woman. Not a girl. And don’t try to tell me that political correctness hasn’t paid a visit to Austin. There are females all over the UT campus that would make Gloria Steinem look like Phyllis Schlafly.”