Clutch
My plan was total dog s**t, and Minus would never go for it, but at least I had something to bring to the meeting. Mr. President had made it clear during our last conversation that showing up empty handed wasn’t an option. Jase ‘Minus’ Vincent was the newly minted president of the Burning Saints Motorcycle Club, and I was currently his Sergeant at Arms-length.
“You need another one of those, sweetie?” Sally Anne’s smoky voice pulled me back from the haze I’d been lost in for God knows how long.
“I’m sorry, what?” I replied.
“Beer. Do you need another one?” she asked.
I needed another ten but knew “Good King Minus” would chew my ass if I showed up loaded. I downed the last swig from the bottle and pushed away my half-eaten burger and fries.
“No thanks, baby doll, I’ve gotta ge
