Duke(80)

Another woman gave a horrid, bitter, laugh. “One of us throat punched our old man, we’d be in a world a hurt. You do it and they vote to allow you a gun on RTMC grounds. What the fuck?”

Gen turned to her, kept her voice light. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Veronica, but I ain’t your sweetheart.”

“Well, Veronica, it’s my understanding the vote went my way the second time because I earned their respect. I could’ve hurt Duke, bad, but they recognized I didn’t. I measured my response to put him down long enough to get away without seriously injuring him. That, along with the fact I’m well trained and a darned good shot, showed them I’m not a kindergartner masquerading as a grown woman, and can be trusted with a weapon. Not to use against them, but to have their backs if needed. And last night? No one had to come to my rescue. I took care of every problem — legal, physical, and emotional — without a single club member having to lift a finger to do anything more than make sure it was recorded. Perhaps you might want to do something that earns respect, if you want it, instead of just sniveling and wishing you had it.”

“It true you didn’t know how to give a blow job?”

“Yeah, and my guess is he enjoyed the one he had to teach me to give him a whole helluva lot more than any of the hundreds you’ve probably given him.”

Gen was operating on a guess, but the look in Veronica’s eyes told her she’d hit bullseye.

Veronica’s hand flew out to slap her, but Gen caught her wrist. The other woman was much stronger than Gen had prepared for, though, so she had to go to her knees to avoid the slap even with her hand around the other woman’s wrist. Someone else came forward, grabbed Veronica around the waist, and dragged her back as Duke came storming into the kitchen.

“You raised a hand towards my woman, Vee?”

“She disrespected me, Duke.” Gen noted Veronica looked at Duke’s feet when she talked, and now that she knew what to look for, was certain Veronica must be a werewolf, too.

“You disrespected her first and you know it. Leave the grounds. Brain will let you know if the club votes that you can come back, and how long it’ll be, if you’re allowed.”

“My purse is in the back,” she sounded like she was about to burst into tears.

“Duke,” Gen said. “It sounds like she’s sorry, maybe she should get another —”

“No, Gen,” Duke interrupted. “This is club business. Remember what I said about club business and dangerous situations?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, started to argue, but closed her mouth and went back to washing the dishes someone had used to make the homemade biscuits. Gen paid someone to do this at her house and wasn’t a fan of doing it here.

When Veronica was gone and Duke was back in the clubhouse, one of the other skinny blondes said, “You ain’t just an old lady. You’re more. Not just the gun, but takin’ Duke down? Handlin’ Veronica? You’re right, they have respect for you, and they don’t for us.”

Gen looked at Sheila. Duke had used the term once, too, but they’d gone onto another topic before she’d asked about it. “Old lady? I’m only twenty-nine, not even close to old yet.”

Sheila smiled. “No, it’s a title, a position.”

The skinny blonde looked sad. “Position, yeah. Means you matter. Ain’t just a piece a meat no more.”

Gen turned to the way too thin girl and said, “No woman should ever let themselves be turned into a piece of meat. We all matter. We all have worth, and if we don’t see the value in ourselves, no one else will, either.”

“Easy for you to say, with all your money and everything handed to you. Not everyone drives fancy cars and wears fancy clothes, gets an education that lets them buy whatever they want.”

Gen took a breath and tried to keep her voice kind and gentle. “I have three sisters and one brother. I never met my father. My grandmother lived with us, to help my mom out. We lived in a tiny three bedroom apartment. My mom and grandmother shared a room, my room had two sets of bunk beds so there was room for all four girls to sleep, and my jerk of a brother had a room all to himself. I remember my mother buying me new clothes exactly four times my entire life, everything else was a hand-me-down from my sisters. From the time I can remember, the school bus dropped me off at my mom’s restaurant after school, and I did my homework, got something to eat, and then washed and dried silverware and rolled it into napkins until it was time for the kids to go home and go to bed. As I got older, I had better jobs — cook for a while, and eventually waitress, but my mom had to wait to put me out in the public so she wouldn’t get in trouble with the child labor people.”