Even if it did take a shit ton of work to get the houses livable again.
Dogwood Construction was born out of those first houses. Not only does the community benefit since we provide homes for those who need them, but we open even more doors when people can rent to own if they get approved for the program.
Some days I wonder why we don’t get a damn parade in town.
Then I remember Sheriff Lyons and how much he hates the club. The man takes the law a little too seriously if you ask me.
“If anyone is interested in getting their house started in the compound who doesn’t have one yet, let me know.” Ryker glances around the table, but I keep my mouth shut.
I had my house built right after Ryker did. Even though I spend most of my time in the clubhouse, it’s nice to have somewhere to escape now and then.
And you better fucking believe that I’ve never taken a club whore out there. Hell no, that’s not peace, that’s inviting trouble.
“I’d be interested in getting a timeline on a house, and looking at some options for the build,” Playboy speaks up and I’m momentarily stunned.
When I take in the looks on the faces of most of the brothers around the table, I’m not the only one surprised by Playboy’s request. He groans and flips us off when he notices the shock which has rendered us momentarily speechless.
He comes by his road name honestly. But his love of women, and the way he chases them like a dog to a bone, doesn’t ever come before his role for the club. He’s a damn good enforcer—strong and a little fucking crazy. There’s never been a time when he was intimidated by the violence he sometimes has to dole out.
Not only is he an enforcer, but he runs Ridge Tattoos and is a damn good artist. He’s accomplished a lot at 28. But I’m not surprised because he’s a club brat, same as me. Wearing a patch was always going to happen and he found out where his talents shine early on. That’s what happens when you’re always drawing.
“Fuck you guys,” he grumbles. “I love the clubhouse, but I want one of those California king beds and it won’t fit in my room here.”
“Sure,” Scratch, our Treasurer, and another second-generation brother, snorts, “that’s why.”
“Can’t see another reason,” Playboy deadpans.
Scratch doesn’t say anything else, just holds up his hands in surrender before going back to his tablet. I’m sure he’s looking at the numbers for the businesses the club owns. The man is meticulous about the books. Which is a damn good thing; there’s no way that would be me.
Give me a motor and I can make magic. Crunching numbers? Fuck, just kill me.
“We’ll set it up,” Ryker cuts through the brothers giving Playboy shit.
It’s not like I can blame them, I didn’t think he’d even consider moving out of the clubhouse.
“Wouldn’t mind looking into building on club land,” Whiskey, our secretary and the man who runs On Wasted Ridge Bar and Grill, throws out there. “I’m good with the place I have for now, so no rush, but I wouldn’t mind moving and having a little more land to work with.”
“You just don’t like Sheriff Lyons driving slower when he goes by your house,” Wrecker deadpans.
“You’re not fucking wrong,” Whiskey grunts.
“We can sit down with a calendar and see what’s what.” Ryker nods at Whiskey before looking at me.
“Things are good at Hank’s,” I tell him.
Sidewinder, who runs the business with me, and is the club’s Sergeant at Arms, pops up, “Yup. We should be getting that full remodel in soon. I don’t entirely know what condition it’s insince I couldn’t take it apart, but the guy is determined to have it restored. Something about his mom and dad getting one just like it as a wedding present and driving away from the church in it. His daughter wants to remake the photo when she gets married.”
I let out a low groan. Not because the story isn’t cute; it is. But because the guy is obsessed with making his little girl’s dream come true. It’s a damn good thing he has deep pockets and lives in Knoxville. It means he won’t be entirely up my ass. Apparently, he has a buddy in another chapter, and we got the nod when he went looking to make the impossible possible.
Now the work is on us. Well, Sidewinder. He has the patience for restoration where I need instant gratification.
I give him a side-eye since he’s sitting next to me. As Playboy starts talking about Ridge Tattoos with Scratch filling us in on Over the Ridge Moonshine after him, Sidewinder leans closer to me. “The fuck is the look for?”
“You ready for that restoration?” I ask the question under my breath, not trying to disturb church.
Especially not with Jackal in the room.
The thing is, the club is solid. It has been for years. If we don’t make all our money legally, is it really anyone’s business but ours?