Devil's Saints - Priscilla

You’ll do what the hell your told, when your told, you won’t ask fucking questions, and you’ll keep your damned mouth shut. If you have any questions or comments, keep them to yourself. – Brute

Ken hated his life right now.

He was on his hands and knees with a small scrub brush cleaning God only knew what from the bathroom floor. Men were disgusting. And most of the men that had been here since the last time this floor was cleaned could not aim.

He could only hope that it had been a really, really, really long time since the floor was cleaned.

That had to be it.

Maybe the floor had not been cleaned since the clubhouse was built in the 1970’s. Yeah, he was just going to ignore the fact that he had helped lay the linoleum tiles four months ago. All his mind needed to know was that the building was old, men had no aim and in just over six months, he would earn his full patch.

He certainly did not need to think about what the hell this clump of brownish goo in the corner was. Grabbing the putty knife, he scraped up the last of the goo and dumped it into the five-gallon bucket. The sound of it thwacking and slurping against the plastic trash bag made him gag.

If the smell of the floor was bad, the taste that invaded his mouth was worse. He gagged again and even more of the taste invaded his mouth. Looking at the bowl of the toilet, it was ruled out of the options of places to lose his breakfast.

The bucket in front of him was never even anywhere remotely close to being on the list.

“Prospect,” a booming voice called from the doorway.

Looking over his shoulder he saw Ryder scowling at him. The tall man was lean and muscular without being overly bulky. “What?”

“Excuse me?” Ryder cocked an eyebrow at the young man and Ken swore under his breath as he realized that he had fucked up. “I know you did not just ask me what without standing up and addressing me with the proper amount of respect.”

With another soft curse under his breath, Ken stood up and faced the older patched brother. “I’m sorry, sir. How can I help you, sir?”

“That’s much better,” Ryder smirked. “President wants to see you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ken said as he watched the other man walk away.

He looked down at the bucket and gave another small gag. A hand moved up to run through his short hair, he caught himself just before his hand, covered in cleaner and things that he’s rather not think about, made contact with his head and hair.

Dropping his hand, he shook and walked out of the hallway bathroom. The club bunnies kept the other bathroom clean but refused to clean the one for the men. Now he knew why.

Walking down the hall, he reached Brute’s door and carefully knocked with a clean knuckle. “Ryder said that you needed me, sir.”

“How’s that bathroom?” Brute grinned at him.

“It’s disgusting, sir,” the younger man admitted.

The dark mahogany eyes sparkled with amusement before they hardened. “You’ll keep that in mind next time that your brain decides to check the fuck out. I’ve got to go across state lines and take care of some personal business. When you finish the bathroom, check with Scrapper, he’ll let you know what to do next.”

“Yes, sir,” Ken nodded.

“And get this on your cut,” Brute tossed a long skinny black patch at his prospect as he walked past and ushered the younger man out of the office.

Ken stepped out of the office and looked at the patch as the president pulled the door to his office. It was a name plate that said LEO in block white letters.

“Leo?” he asked as he looked up at the older man.

Brute tapped his finger against his own head as he walked away from the office and towards the front door. “For your leopard spots, but Leo is shorter.” Pausing at the door to grab his helmet and keys to his bike, he looked at some of the brothers that were in the bar area. “And I’m not certain that all of them,” he jerked his head towards the bar, “could even spell leopard.”

“Fuck you, pres!” Bam Bam called out with a laugh. “I can spell leopard.”

“This coming from a man whose name is literally just three letters repeating themselves,” Kix laughed.

“That bathroom finished?” Scrapper asked from the table that the four brothers sat at.

Ryder chuckled as he dealt out a new hand of cards to the other three patched brothers. “Did not look like it.”

“No, sir,” the newly christened Leo admitted.

“Get it finished,” the president’s son and vice advised.

Leo nodded and turned to go down the hall.

“Where the hell are you going?” Scrapper yelled.

Leo pointed down the hall, “To finish the bathroom.”

“You have so little respect for me and my brothers that you’re going to just walk away and not be excused?” the vice demanded.

“Oh, to be young and dumb again,” Bam Bam laughed.

“Hell,” Ryder agreed, “I’d love to just be young without so many damned aches.”

“Am I dismissed, sir?” Leo asked after swallowing back his snarky response.

Scrapper dismissed him with a wave of his hand as he picked up his cards.

“Hey, prospect!” Kix called. “Use a bandana as a mask and it will make it easier.”

“Thanks,” Leo grinned at the table and thankfully caught himself before he walked away. “I mean, thank you, sir.”

Smiling, he headed upstairs to his room, and he found a bandana in his top drawer. Heading back downstairs, he fastened the red cloth around the bottom half of his face. Walking into the bathroom, he caught his reflection in the mirror and gave himself finger guns.

Now that he was no longer hating his life or trying to hold his breath and not pass out on the nastiest floor in the history of floors, the bathroom seemed more manageable. He sprayed the clump in the corner before scraping the rest of it up and dumping it into the bucket.

With the gloop off the floor and into the bucket, Leo went back to scrubbing the floor. It took a little while to get it all scrubbed before he used the cleaning rag and wiped it all down. There was no saving the shop rag that was red when he started so it was tossed into the bucket.

Four months ago, he had helped LJ lay the linoleum tiles on the floor. And by helped, he meant that he did it while LJ sat in the hallway and supervised. His supervision consisted of looking up from the game on his phone every so often to let the prospect know that he was doing a good job.

And even more often to make him redo a tile.

Because he was the one that laid the tiles, no, he helped a patched brother lay the tiles, either way, Leo knew that the base was white with a black pattern on it. The off-white color meant that the floor still was not clean.

Dumping the near black water in the bowl down the drain in the sink, he washed out the bowl and then the scrub brush. He filled the bowl with water and cleaner and then scrubbed the floor. Again. And then one more time.

Finally, it was clean, and he moved on to cleaning the rest of the bathroom. The toilet, urinal and sink sparkled and the walls and cabinets were clean enough for a fresh coat of paint. He knew that would be next; Scrapper had told him that the last time that he had come down the hall to check on the man only a few years younger than himself.

Finally satisfied with the job, he went back to the bar and found the same four brothers still playing poker.

“You done?” Scrapper asked without looking up from the cards in front of him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Go get cleaned up, you’re going to go with me over to the Shack,” he tossed down some cards and motioned for two more. “Prospect, you know your name?”

“Leo.”

“You answer if we call you that.”

“Yes, sir,” Leo said and asked for permission to leave which was quickly given.

Just outside of his room, one of the old ladies stopped him. “Do you know where you screwed up?”

“No, ma’am.”

She nodded, “Bev is married, she’s an old lady, not one of the sluts. If you want to fuck her, you need to do one of two things. Keep it on the down low. Or have her husband’s permission.”

“Thank you, Mitzi,” he smiled.

Smiling, she advised, “Take initiative, do what needs to be done. Don’t wait for orders.”