BULL

“Have you ever heard of the deplorable group of gangbangers who call themselves The Trainers?” she hesitantly questions, now wringing her hands.

“Can’t say that it rings any bells, Dot. Who are they?” I ask.

“From what I’ve been able to uncover, they’re an inconspicuous bunch of thug wannabes who stick to the underbelly of the downtown Dallas area. They prey on young, vulnerable girls who won’t be missed by their families or friends and coax their way into these ladies' lives with offers of gifts, money, security, and a place to live. Of course, that is after they audition for the part.”

“Audition for the part,” I repeat her words under my breath. “Shit.”

“They provide the gang’s officers sexual favors in exchange for food in their bellies, a roof over their heads, and promises of protection. All of this only happens and is offered after they’ve successfully passed the elimination test, of course.”

“Of course,” I mumble.

“Now you know,” Dot says with a nod of her head as though she’s just given some sort of talk.

“Know what?” I ask. My mind is stuck on wanting to find out if Dot’s friends are free of that life or if they’re needing to be rescued from this pack of hooligans. Not that we can go do it, of course, but Pops and Luca detest women being hurt as well, so I figure I can see if we can give them the information and let them do their thing.

“Why it is that I’m having trouble swallowing this whole tryout thing you make the club bunnies endure?”

Anger slowly begins unfurling throughout my system when she utters the most ridiculous bullshit I’ve ever heard.

“You do know, that’s not us, right? We aren’t like those men. We don’t go looking for young, vulnerable women to lure back to our den of sin. Our girls come to us, looking, and asking for protection, while offering their uh… their services. Not only that, but we don’t fuck around with underage girls, which it sounds like those pussified asswipes do.”

“I know you guys don’t do that, Bull. I’m not saying that you do or accusing y’all of being the same type of men in that aspect.” She’s gentled her tone, probably in response to the rage I’m sure is wafting off me with every breath I struggle to take.

Right now, I’d like to get up and throw some things, but I’m trying to calm myself down so we can discuss this in a rational, mature, manner.

We’re not good men, we live life by our own rules, riding and living hard, but also being free to do just that. We don’t force the women to become club bunnies; far from it, actually. And even if there are those who feel that life is abhorrent, ultimately, it’s the woman’s choice to stay with the club long term or leave when she’s had enough. But we don’t deliberately hurt or harm women or children, which is what it sounds like this gang did or does, since I’m unsure if they’re still around or not.

“In that aspect.” I’m beginning to feel like a broken record with the amount of words and phrases of hers I’m repeating.

“Never mind, I’m done,” Dot huffs, throwing her hands in the air, completely frustrated with me, although I honestly have no fucking clue why because I’m trying to come to grips with what she’s told me, much as she did when I told her how the club bunnies were procured. “No matter what I say or how I say it, all you're gonna hear is judgment and condemnation.”

“If it’s neither of those things, then what is it, Dot?” I’m not sure why I’ve turned into an aggressor, what it is that she said that’s triggered me, but I feel like a knife has been stabbed through my heart.

“It's about a group of men I admire who need to step back and reevaluate the way they bring ‘entertainment’ and ‘servants’ into your club. Ask those personal questions, make sure the women y’all are taking in won’t be further damaged by what they're agreeing to provide to the single guys.”

“I really don’t like the word servants you’ve used for what the girls are, Dot. They don’t live in servitude with us brothers.” Right now is the first time she’s sounded even remotely condescending or judgmental and it’s not setting well with me. At all.

She’s pushing buttons that she needs to steer away from. She’s implying things about my brothers that are hitting a nerve. We are nothing like those brothers or the crew her friends ended up being taken advantage of. And I know me, I know this is fixing to get way out of hand, but no matter how hard I try to prevent this from becoming a train wreck that’s fixing to derail, I can’t—I’m too fucking worked up to quit now.

“Then what do you call their roles, Bull? Friends with benefits? Club assistants?” Normally her sass is cute as fuck and I get off on it, but not this time.

Pushing her off of me and over to the side, I peer into her eyes, and sharply spit out my feelings about her implications, “It doesn’t matter what they’re called, Dottie. They’re ours. We protect and provide for them. We tend to their needs… all of their needs just like they tend to ours… really fucking good.” I lean in, getting nose to nose with her as I say the last of my statement.

“Is that so?” she hisses.

“That’s so,” I quip, shoving my huge-ass foot right into my own mouth. Because no woman likes to hear about someone else’s bedroom abilities, especially when they still bear your mark and scent on their body.

A laugh, one full of mirth erupts from her lips. “This… us, it's not gonna work, Bull. We’re too different. I’ll never understand this part of your life. Quite honestly, I don’t know if I can accept it.”

“You may just be right about that, Dottie. I refuse to tie myself down to an old lady that’s judgmental, stuck up, and a narrow-minded elitist.” Her jaw flaps open and closed, mist coats her irises before her hand flies and slaps me across the face.

“I knew you were an asshole in some ways, I even accepted that and thought it was cute, a part of your personality I was willing to accept since no one is perfect. I’ve never had a man who got all growly over me before you, but now, I’m not finding you or your actions cute, Bull. I’m finding them coldhearted and high handed.” Her eyes stay stuck to me for a few seconds before she shifts off the bed and heads into the bathroom. Through the door she says, “I’m gonna shower, pack my stuff, and see if there’s an open room for me somewhere else. Could you please leave until I’m done?”

“It’d be my pleasure,” I growl, tossing my clothes from earlier back on and walking out the room. Not content to leave it be, I take great pleasure in slamming the door as I leave the house.

I need a drink.

Or ten.

It’s a good thing that Pops showed up with a doc in tow and the lights have been reinstated.

* * *

“Wait, what exactly did she say?” Kruger asks as I down another shot.

Like so many other things in this underground city, we have a bar and after mine and Dottie’s fight, I headed there to drown my sorrows.

Unfortunately, several of my brothers were there and before long, I was venting and pouring out everything that happened. However, instead of the blanket solidarity I expected from my brothers, several of them, including Kruger, were withholding their support.

So, once again, despite my misgivings, I repeat what Dottie said as Kruger and Country listen closely.

“Want my opinion, brother?” Country asks, once I’m done.

“Not really, all I wanna do is sit here and drown my sorrows,” I complain, taking another shot. At this rate, I may actually get drunk enough to temporarily forget the fight.

“Well, that sucks and is too damn bad because you’re getting it anyhow. Instead of listening and trying to understand where she’s coming from, you went on the defensive and allowed certain key phrases to stick in your mind and rule your emotions. Sit back for a minute and go over everything she said. Think it over now that the heat of the moment has passed.”

“He just gave you some damn good advice,” Kruger admits. “And I think, after hearing about the story and the way Dot explained her friends' situations, we should go back over our induction process with future bunnies.”

The people around me evaporate into thin air as I sit back and go over every word we both said in fine detail. I come to some conclusions about myself and my overprotectiveness over my brothers and wonder if I jumped the gun and let shit spew from my mouth that I should’ve let simmer before I spoke out of turn.

“Shit. It’s time to find some knee pads for these old knees, I’ve got some groveling to do.”

I just pray my mouth and attitude didn’t write any checks I can’t cash, because there’s no fucking way I can go the rest of my life without my Polka Dot.