Page 23

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

CONAN

I had Auto check into Demi’s foster parents and their deaths.

I wanted to make sure there weren’t any inquisitions into the way their life ended.

From what he’s found so far, it’s ruled a murder/suicide and even if there are questions surrounding why the dipshit took that route, nobody has any suspicions that it is anything but how it seems.

Their families had their house demolished, deeming it to be unfit and dilapidated. They sold the land and someone has already built a new house on the property. So if Demi did leave any evidence behind, it’s been destroyed.

Auto has also been keeping a tab on David, Niles, Joey, and Liam’s tragic accident.

Lucky for us, the empty bottles we tossed into their vehicle before toasting it, was in our favor despite how banged up they were.

The investigator in charge of the crash ruled it as a drunk driving incident.

I’m honestly surprised by that since some of their injuries might’ve been a bit more…

shall we say severe than what would’ve happened in a wreck.

However, before they took their final breath, we force fed each of them an entire bottle of liquor.

Their blood alcohol levels were astronomical.

Sure, they should’ve been passed out and shouldn’t have been capable of getting behind the wheel and navigating their rental, but that was the picture we were trying to portray.

It was broadcast that as inebriated as they were, the residents of the town we set the scene up in are blessed they didn’t take anyone out, outside of themselves, during their drunk driving escapade.

Not wanting their families to mourn them too deeply, we put some of the club girls’ panties in their pockets, just in case their clothes didn’t char in the fire.

But if they did, we were prepared for that too.

A mile marker or so before the crash site, we tossed their phones, so even if that was questioned, their photo albums were loaded with pictures of the girls gyrating on them. You couldn’t see the women’s faces, but you knew exactly what was happening.

Those photos were snapped before we dragged them down to the cellar. We had to call the girls back temporarily to snapshot that evidence, but it was worth it and we paid the girls well for their participation.

We also threatened them within an inch of their life if they ever spoke about it.

Even with each other.

Before we brought them into our fold, we made it perfectly clear how little their lives meant to us if they betrayed us.

They understood, quickly, what the outcome for them would be if they ever went down that road.

We don’t care what your gender is, you come at us, we’ll take you out.

Even if we’ve tasted your pussy and felt it wrapped around our dicks.

We will respect them as long as they respect us. We will make sure all of their needs are met as long as they don’t play a game of Russian roulette.

They may be holes to the brothers, but they won’t be treated as such.

As long as they follow protocol and don’t turn their backs on us and stomp all over our generosity.

Their life with us and after us will be golden as long as they turn a blind eye and ear to what they see and hear.

We can’t always keep things on the downlow, it’s next to impossible considering we are who we are. You’ll never hear us make excuses for ourselves because we don’t give that single fuck if you agree with our actions and lifestyle or not.

“Yo, Conan. You with me?” Auto asks, bring me back around to the here and now.

“Yeah, I’m here. Just took a trot down memory lane. We let the new girls in on our shit, more than we ever have, and it has me concerned,” I admit.

“I’m watching them,” he tells me, showing me a screen that’s monitoring their rooms.

Both individually and collectively.

They have their own section of the clubhouse that we turned into a mini apartment complex.

Then he continues, “After Peaches and Kitty did what they did to Luna, I’m not taking any chances with this new stable of girls.”

“I don’t like that word, stable, use a different one in reference to them. We don’t sell skin and that makes it sound as if we do,” I chide.

“Noted,” he says, nodding his head.

“Have they said anything about their participation with the four dead men?” I ask, still twitchy about the trust we gave them.

“Not a peep. They seem to like it here. Did you know most of them were foster kids? They grew up in the system, in similar situations as Demi did.”

“Knew that. When we sat them down as they came in and interviewed them, it came up. Figured it’d make them humble and looking for a place to belong. We figured it’d keep them from flipping on us.”

“I can tell you they’re thankful to not be working dead end jobs or turning tricks on the streets for survival. Destiny has stated that living here is a cushy life compared to what she was doing before answering our call.”

“Good. As long as she keeps thinking of it that way, things won’t get messy,” I state.

“Xavier, it pisses me off, after hearing the girls talk, that the system just throws them away once they hit eighteen or graduate, whichever comes first. They don’t even get enough of a stipend to set them up in a place to live while they look for a job.

They have the mentality of its every man for himself.

This is what’s wrong with our government, they spend money on stupid shit instead of taking care of their citizens. ”

“I agree, Auto. Not every one of them heads off to college or a trade school. I know that there is financial aid out there for foster kids, but not everyone has the grades to get into a school. Most of their education isn’t up to par for that.

Kids of abuse don’t put their grades above survival.

It means they drop beneath the scholarship’s acceptance tier. ”

Auto mumbles, “It’s a travesty.”

“It is, but there’s nothing we can do about it. All we can do is offer them a chance here where we can watch over the girls and help mold the boys.”

“Yeah. Just yesterday, when I was in town, I was approached by a group of three boys. Dammit, Conan, they looked scraggly and malnourished. Dirty as fuck, I can’t even think of when the last time is that they took a bath.

They were definitely street kids. Their clothes were hanging off of them in tatters and they stunk to high heaven. ”

“What did they want?” I ask.

“What they all want,” he harrumphs. “To become prospects.”

“Did you take this to Kodiak, Auto?”

“I tried, he wasn’t around. I didn’t want to go to his house and disturb him and you’d already left with Demi to y’all’s apartment by the time I got back.”

“How do we get in touch with them?” I ask. “If they won’t be a good fit for the club, and we don’t bring them with us, maybe we can help them out in other ways.”

“I rented them one of those pay-by-the-week motels on the outskirts of town that has a kitchenette attached, bought them a few groceries, got them a couple of new outfits, and put a little spending cash in their pockets. It wasn’t much, only what the ATM would let me withdraw.”

“You’re a good man, Auto.”

“Do you know my parents tried to become foster parents and were turned down because they didn’t make enough money?

They are good people, Xavier. Their hearts are so damn big they would’ve loved those kids as if they were their own.

But sonsofbitches like what Demi got stuck with, are approved? Make it make sense.”

“I would if I could, brother. It’s confusing as fuck on who qualifies and who doesn’t. Not everyone has to jump through hoops, while others do. The system is whacked,” I grit out.

“It really the fuck is. Do you want me to take you to meet these boys?” he asks.

“I do, Auto. But first, I want to go and talk to my brother in case he wants to tag along for the ride. I’m not the one with the final say, it has to be agreed to by the both of us.”

“While you talk to him, I’ll give them a ring and make sure they’re there.”

“If they are, tell them not to go out, we’ll be there in the next hour or so,” I suggest.

“Will do,” he announces, plucking his cell out of his pocket and typing out the digits that’ll connect him to the motel.

While he’s doing that, I track down my brother and find him opening his office.

“Marcum, need to have a word,” I say.

“Come on in,” he tells me, turning on the lights as we walk through the door.

“Need you to come with me and Auto somewhere,” I tell him before he has a chance to settle in behind his desk.

“What’s this about?” he probes, shuffling around a few things that are in his inbox file, mostly invoices having to go out with our quarterly post office run or bills needing to be paid.

Electricity and water are necessary now that we’re stationary, so when the notices come in, he sticks them there and pays everything on the first of the month.

I share with him what I just learned from Auto, skipping the whole education talk we had, and stick to the boys only. By the time I wrap up what I know, he’s pocketing his keys and grabbing his helmet.

I text Auto to let him know we’re ready to head out and follow Marcum to our bikes. We may be rough and gruff on the outside, but we have bleeding hearts when it comes to kids, especially those who are deemed as throwaways.

This is one of the reasons our society is so damn broken.