“Holy fucking shit.” Beast shoves past me.
Holy fucking shit, indeed.
The inside is nothing like the aged exterior suggests. Not even close. The wide open common room stretched out before us has been completely renovated. The concrete floors have been stained in a deep red color, and the walls have that modern urban look thanks to the exposed brick walls. There are industrial-style lights hanging from the high ceiling that cast a warm glow over everything. Everywhere I look something shiny catches my attention. The lights, stainless steel tables and stools, and other shiny fixtures and accessories
“This is fucking crazy, right?” I can’t wipe the perma-grin off my face as I glance over at Pee Wee to gauge his reaction.
“Bro…” He turns towards the massive oak bar that dominates the back wall, mouth hanging open. The dark wood is polished to perfection.
“I’m calling dibs on this spot.” Yukon smirks as he pulls out the black leather stool that sits at the corner of the bar top.
“They even sprung for the good stuff,” Undertaker says, nodding to the top-shelf liquor on full display behind the bar.
And sitting front and center on the bar top is a bottle of Macallan 25 with a big red bow tied around the neck.
Denali walks over and picks up the small white card that’s propped against it. “Welcome to the family,” he reads aloud. “Things only get better from here.”
I tuck my fingers into my mouth and whistle loudly as my brothers cheer. From the look of things so far, they sure as fuck are going to be a lot better than what we walked away from.
Beast slaps me on the back. “We fucking made it,” he says, his usual stoic expression cracking into a rare grin.
I can’t help but smile back. “Yeah, we have.”
Moving deeper into the space, I take inventory of everything. Tables and chairs are scattered strategically throughout the room, giving plenty of room to kick back and have a beer. Two brand new pool tables sit under hanging lamps in the corner, their green felt pristine. The walls are decorated with Harley-Davidson memorabilia, vintage signs, and framed pictures from some of the other Saints chapters.
“This is some high-end shit,” Krypto comments, running his hand over one of the leather sofas positioned near the pool tables.
I round the corner of the bar, curious to see what else has been brought in for our enjoyment. Through a wide doorway, I discover another open area—a massive lounge with several flat-screen TVs mounted on the walls. Plush leather couches andrecliners face the screens, creating the perfect setup for fight nights and football.
“Check this out,” I call over my shoulder.
Yukon appears beside me, his eyes widening at the sight. “Damn. No more fighting over Pee Wee’s shitty recliner.”
“Or his shitty TV,” I add with a laugh.
A swinging door at the back of the room catches my attention. I push through it with Yukon on my heels and find myself standing in what can only be described as a chef’s dream kitchen.
“Holy fuck,” I mutter, taking in the stainless steel appliances, the massive island in the center, and the rows of cabinets that line the walls. “This is nice shit, yeah?”
Yukon moves past me like a man obsessed, his fingers trailing over the industrial-grade stove with something close to reverence. “Eight burners, a flat top grill, and a double oven,” he says, his voice hushed. “Do you know what I could do with this?”
I laugh, moving toward the refrigerator. “Let’s see if they stocked this too.”
I pull open the door and whistle. “Well, we won’t starve.” The shelves are packed with meats, cheeses, vegetables, and several cases of beer.
Yukon’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning. “No, brother. We ain’t going to starve.”
“I’ll take that to mean you’re cooking tonight,” I reply, shutting the fridge.
“Fuck yeah, I am.” He smiles.
I motion behind me. “I’m gonna check out the rest of the place.”
He waves me off, already consumed by something else. Yukon is a master in the kitchen.
Leaving him to check it all out, I head back through the TV room and main room to the staircase nestled between a jukeboxand what appears to be bathrooms. The wooden steps creak under my weight as I make my way up to the second floor. At the top, I find a long hallway with doors on either side. Ten in total, all pushed open.
Curiosity pulls me toward the nearest one. I step through the doorway and find myself in a fully furnished suite. The living area is compact but comfortable, with a TV mounted on the wall, a small couch, and a recliner. I grab the clicker off the coffee table and switch on the television as I walk over to another open door. Inside is a bedroom with a queen-sized bed already made up with fresh linens, a dresser, and a nightstand.
