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CHAPTER 3

Michele

T his is going to be one long day. Monday’s typically are, but today is double fold. I fell behind on Friday and didn’t get everything prepped for this week.

My standing order came in Friday, dropped in from the wholesale supplier. It is more cost effective to buy the flowers in bulk boxes, which is what I try to do. Hence, my delivery driver only had to drop the boxes and leave on Friday. I had a wedding scheduled Saturday with a full arch set up. Knowing I had to get all of the reception arrangements done along with the bridal party stuff, I focused on designing Friday rather than processing the flower shipment. I told myself I would get to it. But alas, that was a lie. Saturday after a day outside setting up the arch on site, well, in this Alabama heat, I was wiped out. Hence why the flower boxes I put in my walk-in cooler are still in the boxes they came in. Typically, I would have emptied them into buckets of water at least. I can only hope I don’t regret this decision. Flowers do need water to continue living.

I don’t ever work on Sunday’s. If there is a funeral I will make it and deliver to the funeral home on Saturday. I will not work on Sunday’s. It’s a lesson I had to learn the hard way. Early in opening my shop, I took every order and worked for every call. Quickly the burn out hit and hit hard. In order to be effective for each and every client, I have learned to protect my Sunday’s. I will work Saturday’s for events and funerals, but I don’t accept walk-in or delivery orders for homes like I do Monday through Friday. This keeps things relatively under control giving me another day off on Saturday’s or a partial day if I’m setting up an event.

One thing about having my own business, I’m married to it. The commitment level to keep things afloat is more than any relationship. If anyone ever considers being an entrepreneur, go into eyes wide open, it’s going to be exhausting, yet rewarding. Time is never something anyone has in abundance and owning my business makes that very clear each and every day.

Since I didn’t get to process the flowers Friday, Saturday, and definitely not Sunday, I came in early today. Filling the five gallon buckets with warm water, flower preservatives, and then setting it beside the cutter, I get to work. Box after box, I open them, take out the bundles of flowers, cut each stem, strip the extra greenery, wire the heads for roses, carnations, and de-thorn the roses. There is quite a bit of work behind the scenes long before a stem sees a vase. If people only knew, each and every stem is handled individually. One by one they are cut, set to drink so they can open, and then re-cut before being the flower included in a design. On the chance the bud doesn’t open to a blossom, then the stems have to be cut again and reprocessed until the flower can be used.

After getting the tiger lilies out, I trim the ends, put them in water. As they open, I put on gloves and carefully remove the pollen pods that pop up on the little stems out of the middle of the bloom. While I once used to let lilies leave with this pods, I learned they stain clothing and that little pod is where most of a person’s allergies to flowers come from. Now, I try to remove them before the lilies ever leave my shop or even go in an arrangement. Knowing he will come today, I go ahead and put together the usual wrapped bouquet and put it in my front cooler.

With less than five minutes until I open, I grab the last box. Strangely enough, the bottom of the box isn’t taped like the rest. Moving it, the weight is different than I expect. This should contain a case of eight bundles of Peruvian lilies which aren’t heavy at all. I do find this curious but it doesn’t stop me.

Lifting the lid from the box, imagine my horror when I find a full on decapitated head in my box.

The scream, wail, whatever noise that emits from the very depths of my soul comes out before I can form a thought. Deep, guttural I scream. I can’t even begin to describe the fear that courses through my body. The hairs on my arms and legs stand as goosebumps cover me, my palms sweat as the screams keep coming.

There is a pop sound, glass shattering, and suddenly he’s in front of me.

“Breathe, buttercup,” my customer whispers, but I can’t.

I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t take my eyes off the head in the box in front of me. Hands cup my face, gently. He moves my head to turn to the right him moving to stay in my line of sight.

“Look at me, don’t look at that,” he whispers calmly. “Gotta breathe.”

Suddenly, I gasp sucking in a deep breath.

“Good girl,” he murmurs gently.

Then I begin to hyperventilate.

“Stay with me, focus on me. You gotta inhale through your nose, buttercup,” He instructs and I listen. “Good girl, now exhale out of your mouth for me.”

A few breaths under his instruction and I feel myself coming back to reality. “Oh my God,” I manage to speak.

“Alright, stay with me, don’t look. But I gotta ask some stuff, okay?”

He is calm, soothing. I nod.

“Were you expecting a package?”

“Um,” I hiccup as tears begin to pool in my eyes. “I got it Friday with my flower order.”

How is this happening? What in the world is going on? Who is that person in my box? Why? The walls are closing in. I begin to get dizzy.

“Buttercup, gotta breathe,” he reminds. “Clear your mind. Were you expecting a package?”

But he’s too late. Before I know it, everything goes black as I fall into him. When I come to there is a flurry of activity around me. I blink and my mouth feels dry. It takes me a few moments to get my thoughts together.

“There she is,” he whispers stroking my hair. “Don’t move, buttercup.”

Absently, I observe I’m stretched out on the floor in front of my counter rather than in the back where I was with the box. The biker is sitting leaning up against my counter and has placed my head in his lap.

We aren’t alone though.

There are other men in those same vests scurrying around my shop.

Instantly, I jerk up which makes the room spin in my head again. “Gotta move slow, babe,” he instructs. “Focus on me and we will stand together.”

I do what he says because frankly I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. Once upright, I feel like my legs are jelly. As if reading me, he puts his arm around my waist, steadying me and pulling me against his side.

“Vasovagal reflex,” he explains like I should know this. “Common response when the body system is in overload for fight, flight, freeze mode.”

I feel the cold sweat and the room is still unsteady. I don’t speak because I almost feel like I can’t.

“Gonna get you outta here.”

I nod because I don’t want to be here. The thing is, I don’t think I can drive. I don’t know what I should be doing. I don’t have dead people’s heads around my shop regularly. Thankfully, this man seems to have things under control. Only, I think I need to call the police. That is the right thing to do.

“My brothers are bringing a new glass to install in the door. They’re gonna clean up everything. We’re gonna put up a sign reopen tomorrow. When you come back it will be like nothing happened.”

I open my mouth but close it without speaking. Then finally I compose my thoughts enough, “I think I should call the police.”

He shakes his head. “We’re here. Kings can do more than the cops ever will. I promise you we’ll get this sorted. Right now, I want to get you out of here and let the shock wear off.”

I nod as what else is there to do? While I’m not a local, I have made friends and all of them say the Kings of Carnage MC keep our small town safe in ways the police never would. I assumed it was small town lore, but maybe it’s true.

He takes me by the hand. “Creed, I’ll touch base with a brief in two hours.” The man he was looking at nods. He turns his head to another man, “Tyrant, have a prospect get my bike. I’m gonna drive Michele home in her car.”

I gasp.

He knows my name.

How does he know my name?

Guiding me through my shop, I find myself stopping in place as I see this goliath of a man looming over the box with the head taking pictures like this happens all the time.

“Buttercup, don’t look. Let me get you outta here.” I hear him but the ringing in my ears keep my brain from comprehending him.

With a gentle tug, I seemingly snap out of my trance and move with the man as he hits the back door. My Volkswagen Jetta sits unlocked behind the store. Hesitating, I stop and look around. I don’t know if this is a cruel mistake or somehow I’ve been targeted in something I don’t even know about.

“Gotta get you outta here, babe.”

At his voice, I calm in this weird way. “Um, I don’t typically lock my car. I don’t know if this is safe.”

“Pause and pivot,” he mutters before guiding me around the outside of the building back to the front of my shop.

“Tyrant, taking Michele on my bike. Gonna take her to my place,” my customer explains. “Have Zero check out her car and bring it over later. He needs to grab some groceries and shit too. I got nothing there.”

“You sure you wanna go there?” the man he calls Tyrant asks.

“Got no place else I can trust until we know more.”

Tyrant shrugs, “clubhouse?”

The man smiles, “she fancy, brother. No way she will understand that life.”

I don’t know why this bothers me. I want to argue and tell him, you’d be surprised what I can understand. I’m not fancy. I am normal, casual, basic even. I know wild. Had that life and it didn’t go well for me. That isn’t his business or his companions therefore, I keep my damn mouth shut.

I’m not sure what to think as he calls one man Tyrant, another Creed, and they call him Rogue. I don’t want to be some rebel slave. Why would his friend question where he’s choosing to take me? Is it some dungeon? I’ve read books, does he have some kink room? Suddenly, I’m not sure this is my best path to escape the dead head in my shop.

There isn’t time to think as he guides me back out, pops a helmet on my head before gently walking me through how to get on his bike behind him.

“Sorry babe, don’t usually have passengers. I don’t have a sissy bar, so you just gotta hold onto me, okay?”

I don’t reply as he fires the engine and literally it vibrates my entire body. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around him with my chest pressed to his back, he begins to roll us backwards before then taking us away. My shop is quickly behind us and I can’t even dare to glance back once more. My safe haven is gone.

With every curve I lean into it with him. Closing my eyes, I can almost feel at ease on this monster machine with a man who is practically a stranger. What feels like mere seconds is about twenty minutes we roll up on a small ranch style house down a private driveway that is completely wooded. In fact outside of a small area around the house, it is woods. Talk about seclusion.

Oh my God! Is he the one who sent the head and this is his place to kidnap and keep me? What was I thinking? I’ve watched enough crime shows, I should know better.

The panic builds but I’m taking out of my freak out when he gives my thigh a squeeze.

“Need you to hop off, buttercup.”

“I think I should go back to my shop,” I whisper.

He drops his head in frustration. “I get you don’t know me, Michele. So here is the quick version, I’m Jennings and this is my private home. I don’t live here, I stay at the clubhouse. But you being here, no one will think to look for you because we have zero connection other than my flower order. You don’t have my name on a single piece of paper at your shop so there is no trail. I’m gonna leave you here and get back to my club. We’re gonna sort the head situation and in the meantime, you’re safe here. Code on the door and alarm is 2315. Panic button draws down the shutters to close off the windows. Door doesn’t open without the code. Only three people have that code, two of them are sitting together on a Harley-Davidson right now together, the other one is dead. A prospect is gonna drop groceries on the porch and leave your car out front once we sweep it to know it’s not being tracked. No one even realizes I still have this house outside of looking up the damn taxes. Most criminals won’t go that far.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t know who is in the box back at your shop and why it ended up at your shop. Now, if you have some idea, please feel free to share. Based on your reaction, I don’t think you know much. But, I’ll have that sorted by the end of the day.”

Very awkwardly, I climb off his motorcycle. Thinking he is going to get off too, I wait while taking off the helmet. Handing it to him, I again expect him to get off the bike.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he grabs one of the belt loops on my jeans and pulls me to him. My breasts rub against his shoulder and I feel my core vibrate. It has been too long, is my first thought. I shouldn’t be turned on right now, much less by a biker I don’t know. Reaching around me, he grabs my phone from my back pocket. He holds it to my face to unlock the screen, taps away, and hands it back all while I can’t seem to get my thoughts together.

What is it about this man that leaves me speechless? He’s not that wonderful, right?

“Number is in your phone. You need anything you call or text, it will be here in thirty minutes. I got cameras all around the outside of the house and sensors but no cameras in the house, so you have privacy. No one will come inside that house, if anyone does, there is a nine mil in the top draw of the buffet by the front door. It’s loaded, no safety, and one in the chamber already. You shoot first and ask questions later, got me?”

“What if you come over? It’s your house.”

“I won’t be inside. I’ll touch base when I have more information. I come here, we talk on the porch. You need something, you have my number. Your location has been turned off and locked off. No one can attempt to search it. I don’t know you, so I’m not gonna tell you who to talk to, but wise up we don’t know shit about shit right now. Therefore everyone is the enemy until we clear that they aren’t.”

With my phone gently back in my hands, he gives my ass a pat and points to the front door.

I don’t know what to say. Stupidly, I walk to the door. What else am I supposed to do. Just like he said, I put in the code and the door opened. As soon as I cross the threshold, I head the rumble of his bike as I turn around to see him pulling off. When I shut the door behind me, I look through the peephole, his bike is to me as he raises a hand in the air pressing a button fob of some sort. Instantly I hear the alarm system speak.

SYSTEM ENGAGED. STAY MODE ACTIVE.

Well, he has everything under control while I have lost my damn mind.

With my back to the front door, I slide down it until my ass hits the floor. Dropping my head in my hands I let the tears fall.