Page 17 of Inglorious (Unwanted Bastards MC #1)

Some churches and cathedrals I’d visited had graves under the church floor, marked by tombstones laid flat. Or they had plaques on the walls to remember the deceased. Inglorious hadn’t done that. Instead, the dead of the Unwanted Bastards stared down at me.

A stunning stained-glass window had replaced the chapel’s old plain picture window, and their names were scattered throughout it.

The scene was cleverly crafted, with each section separate, so that when someone else died, a panel could be removed and their name added.

The image the glass created was one of paradise.

Green fields, blue sky and a Harley in a field with a huge cross in the middle. The names surrounded the Harley.

But Inglorious hadn’t stopped there. The walls had been painted with the brothers’ likenesses, and then a protective screen was placed over them so time wouldn’t destroy them.

Inglorious had immortalised the dead. Even Pink’s name was there, one of the first to fall to Fury.

Tears clogged my throat. This was a clear act of love.

Slowly, I approached the altar and stared up at the images looking at me.

Seth was there with his smug grin, mischief on his handsome face. Mouse gazed out with amusement. Cutthroat, with his stern expression, and Art, with the cheekiness he exhibited in life. They were all there: the fallen.

There were words underneath the mural, and when I checked, I discovered they told the story of how they’d died defending the innocent.

Fuck! I’d misjudged Inglorious badly. Inglorious had honoured them, which meant there’d been a reason he’d not displayed their photos and cuts.

An hour passed as I soaked up the peace and felt a calmness I hadn’t until I entered here.

Inglorious had riled me up with his words, and I probably deserved some, but not all.

Reluctantly, I climbed to my feet and headed outside.

I’d not visited their graves, and it was time I did so.

Surprisingly, the graveyard also showed signs of recent work.

The old, crooked tombstones and crosses had been straightened and reset.

A foot-wide patch of gravel had been cleared in front of each marker, and a vase was installed, with flowers on each grave.

On the opposite side, I could see a couple of rows of abnormally thick gravestones, about double the thickness of the usual ones.

I headed over as they looked new, and I choked up emotionally again.

The first I encountered was Casanova’s. His name, date of birth, and death were present.

But it hadn’t finished there. Casanova’s image was etched on the stone, and at the bottom was a small glass window; now I understood why the grave was so thick.

One of Casanova’s cuts was inside with his name and patch showing.

Forever sealed and immortalised. A few words of remembrance were also engraved, and I choked as I read them.

No doubt, Inglorious had given the engravers the epitaph to etch.

Beside Casanova was Satan, a similar grave but with different memorial words.

Darkness was next, and then Chap. If they held a position, that was also marked.

Each grave held a flower-filled vase. Someone had been looking after them, and I wondered who.

Inglorious hadn’t failed them. Nor had he forgotten the past, I realised as I spotted a tall standing monument.

With a hiss, I saw it contained the names of the good brothers inscribed on it, with their dates of birth and death and their position.

It ended with Heat’s name. Three times over, Inglorious had honoured his brothers.

Blast, I’d treated him like shit for not having their cuts and pictures on the wall of the clubhouse.

“Can I help you?” a man inquired, and I turned around and saw an older guy, perhaps about sixty.

“No, thank you. I’m visiting my brother,” I replied.

“Which one?”

“Psych.”

“Ah, the VP. Good man, by all accounts. Inglorious talks a lot about him,” the man murmured.

“Who are you?” I demanded, because I didn’t have a clue.

“Name is Hank. I lived in a shack over there. When the club bought Merritt, they could have kicked me out. Inglorious gave me a house and had it restored. Now, I’ve got me a nice little home.

In return, I agreed to tidy things up. Guess you could say I’m the grave keeper.

I clear the weeds away, keep the grass down, and order the flowers, placing them each week.

Hell, I even check no moisture has gotten into those boxes with their cuts in.

” “Hank, you’ve done an amazing job. The cemetery looks wonderful, and it’s very peaceful. ”

“Thank you, Ma’am. Why are you wearing the president cut?” Suspicion was in his voice. “Has that boy topped himself finally?”

“No. But Inglorious has a problem he’s getting help with. Guess I’m the stand-in for now.”

“The drinking. Ain’t never seen so much agony inside a man. Cut him and he’d bleed out before that pain eased. Inglorious getting therapy?” Hank asked.

I shouldn’t be discussing Inglorious with Hank. That was club business, but there was something trustworthy and steady about him.

“Yes. He is,” I replied, though.

“Good. Man needs to ease up on his guilt. From my understanding, he couldn’t have done anything differently. Men are human and fall to human whims.”

Hank turned away, and I suddenly realised he was wearing a cut with the Unwanted Bastards’ patch.

“You’re a brother?” I exclaimed.

“Yeah. I enjoy riding and own an old Indian. Inglorious said I didn’t need to own a Harley to join.

Claimed he didn’t have much of a club, but when he rebuilt, I’d have brothers.

Told Inglorious I prefer being alone and dislike parties and shit.

The man replied that it was fine, but I could ride with him.

That I can do. Not that there have been rides.

I knew some of these; they were good men.

It’s my pleasure to watch over them,” Hank said.

“Sorry, I didn’t know about you.” I felt awful.

Why hadn’t Chill and Razor told me about Hank? Mind you, if Hank wasn’t a regular brother, he’d probably slipped their mind.

“Not surprised. Inglorious agreed I could be alone and join them when I felt like it. That suits me. He also gave me this,” Hank touched his name patch, and I saw it said ‘Gravey.’

“That’s apt, I guess. How are you managing? Do you need money?”

“My percentage goes into the bank automatically, and there’s a separate account for the care of this place. Guess you ain’t got to grips with everything yet,” Gravey replied, and I blushed. Was Gravey chiding me?

“No. Suppose I’d better sit my ass down and study the accounts,” I said.

“Off you go, lass, I’ve got grass to cut.” And with that, Gravey dismissed me and wandered away.

“Well, damn!” I muttered and looked down at Psych’s grave. “Did you see that, Seth?”

Laughing under my breath, I headed back to the clubhouse. Those financial reports that I kept getting interrupted with needed some serious studying.

Inglorious

After unloading on Janet about what a pain Nanci was being, I felt better. We hadn’t discussed my dead brothers, but Janet seemed pleased that I’d opened up at least. She’d helped me sort some of my tangled feelings about Nanci out. I didn’t have clarity yet, but was gaining it slowly.

“Inglorious!” someone called and jolted me from my thoughts. Curiously, I looked up and saw Lindsey heading towards me. Lindsey was Lowrider’s old lady from Rage MC.

“Hey! How are you?” she asked as she approached and hugged me tightly.

In response, I returned Lindsey’s hug and stepped back. Rage MC was highly possessive of its women.

“Good. How are you?”

“We’re fine. I can’t say how wonderful it is to see you,” Lindsey continued. She looked beside herself with glee, to be honest.

“Yeah. How’s the club?” I asked.

“Rage is… recovering,” Lindsey said, and I nodded.

They’d lost Grey, one of their prospects.

The former FBI man had refused to leave when Drake ordered the prospects safe.

Instead, Grey had died saving Serenity, Drake’s daughter.

Willow, Grey’s woman, had fled Rapid City and hadn’t been seen here since.

Even though I’d been drunk, I recently heard a rumour that Fanatic, a Hellfire prospect, was intending to go after Willow. He’d been good friends with both Willow and Grey. By all accounts, Fanatic intended to bring her back.

“Glad to hear,” I replied. Lindsey stared at me.

“Are you honestly okay?”

“Slowly getting there. Healing is a long process, but I’m receiving help and I’m sober.”

Guilt flashed in Lindsey’s eyes, and I guessed that was what she’d been wondering.

“You can ask Lindsey, it’s out there, I’ve spent the last year drunk, and everyone knows it. I’m attending AA and seeing Janet,” I informed her. No doubt that titbit of information would find its way back to Rage.

“Some of Rage are visiting Janet, too, and the other clubs are using her. No shame in that,” Lindsey stated.

“Yeah, however, accepting help is hard. I gotta go. Look after yourself, Lindsey,” I said, not wanting to discuss my mental health in depth. Lindsey meant well, but I knew she’d tell Lowrider she’d seen me.

“Take care!” Lindsey chirped, hugged me again and dropped a peck on my cheek.

I chuckled as I headed towards my Harley and yanked my cell out.

Mischief flooded through me as I texted Lowrider. ‘Just got a kiss off a hot, smoking woman. She needs a new old man.’

My phone pinged moments later. ‘Get your ass out of Rapid City before I cap it,’ Lowrider replied.

‘Might ask if Lindsey wants to take a ride in the Hills with me. She mentioned she’s been lonely,’ I teased.

My phone rang, and I answered it, chuckling.

“Touch my woman and I will fuckin’ bury you where they’ll never find you,” Lowrider roared.

“Nice to hear from you, too,” I responded, and Lowrider audibly ground his teeth.

“You’re gonna die… shit, sorry man.”

“Toughen up, dude,” I said, and Lowrider chuckled.

“Glad to hear you’re better, but that doesn’t mean you can hit on my woman,” he retorted.

“Lindsey’s safe from me. But take her out for a damn meal and spoil her,” I ordered.

“Don’t tell me how to manage my old lady!”

“Snooze and lose, brother,” I taunted, and Lowrider hissed.

“I’ll break every bone in your body!”

“See ya, brother!” I cut the call, laughing. No doubt Lowrider was pulling his hair out right now.