Page 11

Tav

“ Y ou sure you’ve got this?” Tank checks in with me for the third time.

“Brother, we do this shit all the time. Wire and Chewy have already hacked into the funeral home’s security cameras, we just need to investigate the mortuary part. I got this. I was chosen for this specifically because I can handle it. I mean, it’s nice that you’re worried about me, but we’ll be fine.” I slap him on the back and turn, but not before I hear Nitro mumble “You were chosen because of your old ass grandfather.” I choose to ignore that hurtful comment.

“Ready?” Gus asks, glancing between me, Jules and Pops. We all nod, ready to get this show on the road.

We climb into the Tombs Security SUV ready to pull out, Tank and Nitro following behind in a DRMC SUV. For stealth. As much as these guys love riding their bikes, bikes aren’t that covert and that’s what Pres wants. Tank and Nitro need to blend in as they’re our assigned backup. Not that we need it, but I think he just wanted them safe and away from any police poking around. So he’s sent them on perhaps the easiest job my brothers and I have ever been on. Maybe.

It’s around a 30 minute drive to Ironwood, home of the family-owned funeral home Roman likes to use. And also the place where body parts seem to mysteriously go missing. The drive passes with little drama, other than having to listen to Pops regale us with gross stories about how much he loves Debs and trying to give us all pointers on “How to make love right”.

“AND we’re here!” Gus yells over the top of Pops’ story as he parks in the lot. He turns to eyeball me and Pops in the back. “Remember, we are a loving family wanting a tour and information on the best way to say goodbye to a loved one. No need for full theatrics, got it?”

I give Pops the side eye, but he’s already out the door walking to the back of the SUV. “Keep him contained.” Gus gives me the stink eye and I don’t know why. I’m the normal one in this whole damn family.

“Hurry up shitheads, I got a funeral to plan,” Pops yells from his now seated position in the wheelchair he procured from somewhere or other. “We’re burning daylight and I ain’t got many days left!”

He cackles as he wheels himself toward the door, flicking his head at Jules to open it for him. He pushes forward, the rest of us following behind, stepping into a foyer full of marble. Like a ridiculous amount. Marbled floors, walls and table tops, with giant vases full of wedding looking flowers surround us.

“Holy hell! Death must pay well because this garish shit would have cost a bomb,” Pops says. Loudly.

The woman greeter inhales quickly at his comment, looking completely put out. Stepping forward I try to smooth the waters. “Oh, please forgive my grandfather. He’s lost his mind.” Pops makes a choking sound behind me, “He’s not got long to go. His faculties and body are starting to break down at a rapid pace. I’m so sorry,” I give her the big puppy dog eyes and she waves a hand at me with a soft smile.

“Of course, Mr. Tombs, is it?” Her name tag reads “Svetlana” and so does her severe blonde slicked back bob. If I could draw what a “Svetlana” looks like, it’d be this woman.

“Yes. Actually, we all four are Mr. Tombs, so why not call me Tav?”

“Of course. Now, you wanted the full tour and a few options for when your grandfather -” Her eyes flick to Pops who is grinning at her with his finger in his nose, “-leaves this mortal coil?”

“That’s correct. This is Gus,” Gus steps forward, “and our other brother, Jules.” She nods at them both. “Please, if you wouldn’t mind leading the way?”

She takes off at a quick pace, her high heels tap, tap, tapping away on the veined marble. I trail behind Pops, who is wheeling himself surprisingly well.

“Psst, you and I, let’s veer off. I want to see the mortuary,” Pops says with the excitement of a kid at Disneyland.

I want to argue with him, I really do, but I kinda wanna see it too, and we have surveillance we want to get set up. If we get caught I’ll just blame the kook in the wheelchair. We come to the door with ‘Mortuary’ written on it. Gus catches my eye and gives me an imperceptible nod while angling the woman away from us as she explains the virtues of cremation over burial. Focusing on our task I turn the door handle and open the door a crack, listening for an employee on the other side. When I’m satisfied that the coast is clear, I widen the door and shove Pops through.

Pops lets out a low, impressed whistle, “Now THIS is what I’m talking about!” He takes his phone out of his pants pocket and starts taking photos of the layout and setup.

Looking around there are four people laying out on stainless steel tables waiting for whatever farewell their family has decided on. Moving toward the body closest to me, I take a peek under the sheet, noticing immediately the silvery line down one side of his abdomen.

“Pops,” I whisper, breaking him out of his research or whatever the fuck he wants those pictures for, “Check this out,”

He comes to stand beside me, checking out the dead guy’s stomach. He runs his finger along the silvery line, then places his hands on either side, palms flat, and then moves them slowly in opposite directions, observing the skin the whole time. Once he’s satisfied he holds the sheet up higher, taking stock of everything on the body.

“Huh.”

“Huh what?”

“Not sure yet,” he answers, moving to hold the dearly deceased’s eyelid open and peering into the eyes of a dead man. “You get that shit set up and I’ll poke around.”

I nod in reply and head toward the shelves along the back wall. There are two rows of supplies on the shelf, so I set up our tiny spy camera on a tallish bottle at the back that looks like it isn’t used often. Our camera and mic will be able to sit there unnoticed for a good while.

Turning to Pops I see him still poking around the bodies, humming and hawing but not really saying anything. By the time he stands by the last body he looks like he has an inkling as to what’s going on, but before he can confirm the door handle jiggles. Pops dives back into his wheelchair and ends up spinning it, hitting a metal bookshelf and leaving him facing into a corner.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in here?” a male voice with a slight Russian accent demands.

“I’m so sorry! My family is on a tour with Svetlana and we lost my grandpa. I found him in here so I was just collecting him and heading back out.”

I grab the handles of the chair and spin Pops around. Pops, who has a suspicious wet patch and his junk out of the open zipper of his chinos. The mortician guys eyes grow huge as Pops yells about Vietnam and communism.

“I’m sorry, so sorry!” I apologize, through clenched teeth to hold my laughter in. “Come on grandpa, it’s probably time to get you home for supper.”

The Russian guy nods and waves us out, but not before slipping on something wet on the floor. I don’t want to know what that could possibly be so I power walk Pops out of there, running into our group in the hall. Pops still has his dick hanging out, pulling a yelp out of Svetlana.

“Get me outta here! These people are crazy! Blonde scary lady, help me!” Pops pleads with her as she shakes her head in horror, taking two steps back to escape the crazy old man. “I don’t want them to cremate me and grow a tree out of my ass!” He hollers, drawing the attention of a family group and three dodgy looking fucks in cheap suits.

Jules’ lip is starting to tremble and I know we’ve got about 30 seconds before my stoic brother loses it. I start grabbing pamphlets from a wall of information, shoving them onto Pops’ lap while my brothers apologize. I leave them in my dust because I cannot keep this shit in. I run out to the car, pushing Pops in front of me and explode into giggles at the back of the SUV.

“Aaaaaand end scene.”

Tank

“No offense brother, but this feels kinda weird.”

Nitro’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. Thoughts of Mira and our date last night up until I had to drop her home writhing in pain. I turn and take in Nitro’s profile before letting out a sigh. He’s not wrong. Being on a stakeout with him does feel weird. For as long as I’ve been in DRMC, I’ve always partnered with Judge for shit. Work, runs, stakeouts. He’s the same, Fox always has his six. To be sharing an SUV with each other does feel a little off.

“Yeah. I get it.” Pres has us placed as backup to the Tombs’ at Roman’s preferred place of disposal. I can see why Roman chose it. It’s out of the way and looks classy as hell.

“What do you think of Sergeant Davies?” Nitro asks after a beat.

He’s not the usual type of power hungry cop you get out there. The ones that hate MCs and all we stand for even though we keep our noses clean and help the Rose Grove community as much as we can.

“For a cop, he seems like a good guy. I didn’t have any issue with him,”

Nitro grunts in return. “Me neither. Pretty much told me straight up that it was a bullshit charge. Not even a charge, more a complaint that they have to follow through. Fucker even let me sit in the car when he pulled over some kids joy riding. What the fuck kind of cop does that?”

We both share a look. A snort escapes me and I shake my head. I can’t tell if Davies is fucking with us, or Rose Grove’s useless as horseshit sheriff. The sheriff who only cares about rubbing shoulders with the country club assholes.

“Heads up,” Nitro nudges me and points toward the funeral home Tav has just come running out of. “Wait, is Pops in a fucking wheelchair?”

We watch and Pops yells and shakes his fists, Tav shoving him around the back of the SUV and bending over.

“What the fuck?” I’m about to get out of the SUV when Gus and Jules come wandering out, pace slow and steady until they get further from the funeral home entrance when they bolt behind the SUV and join Tav in the same position.

“Are they fucking laughing?” Nitro asks, his voice high pitched, face scrunched in confusion.

Their shoulders shake, and Tav almost falls to his ass. Pops stands calmly, zips up his high as hell chinos and opens the trunk to throw the wheelchair in. Is that a wet patch on the front of his pants?

Gus, Jules and Tav finally get into their fucking SUV and pull out. We follow behind, winding our way back to Rose Grove, pulling over once we get to the diner. We follow the brothers in, taking a seat when the teenage waitress tilts her head to a large table in the back, letting us know she’ll be with us in a minute.

“What the fuck are all those?” Nitro gestures as he sits heavily in the booth next to me.

“These are all the different types of services that families can opt for when they lose a loved one,” Tav answers, flicking through them as if they’re the most interesting things in the world. “Like did you know that place offers to not only cremate your loved one but also send some of the ashes to this lab that can create diamonds out of you.” Gus rolls his eyes as Jules sits deathly still.

We all quieten down as ‘Taylor’ fills our cups with steaming hot coffee. We place orders for a light meal, which apparently means everyone gets the all day breakfast special and we wait for Taylor to wander back to her post.

“Gus, did you find out anything? And why the fuck is the front of Pops’ pants wet?” I turn and ask him. Tav is busy planning to turn Pops into a pimp ring and you get fuck all out of Jules on a good day.

“Yeah. Got the full tour. Security is almost nonexistent apart from the cameras that the team already hacked into. No guards, nothing. Be real fucking easy to acquire things, so to speak.” Gus answers before taking a sip of his black coffee.

“Pops and I found the mortuary and some of the shit there looks less than above board. Pops wet himself to get us out of there.” Tav adds.

“No I fucking didn’t! When I went flying into that shelf and a bottle of embalming fluid fell off and spilled. I was trying to throw him off our scent. Make him think I was an old, crazy, infirm geriatric.”

“So you pulled your dick out of your pants and hollered random shit?” Gus asks.

“Worked, didn’t it, asshole?” Pops fires back.

We all settle down, leaning back to be served our breakfasts, Pops throwing his grandsons stink eyes. We eat in silence, mainly because I don’t want to risk setting off the fucking Tombs’ again. Wishful thinking as with no provocation whatsoever Pops starts bickering with Tav over not wanting to have his ass turned into a diamond.

“Enough!” I throw down some cash and a generous tip. “Let’s get back to the clubhouse and update Pres.”

Hopefully Debs can wrangle Pops, a sane Tombs’ can update the crew and we can start getting some answers. And once all that is taken care of Mira and I can finish what we started last night.

Mira

Ugh. Writer’s block. Writer’s blocky block block and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve tried all the tricks. Having a glass of water. Going for a walk. I’ve fed Mrs. McKenzie (NOT livers) and we’ve played with the laser pointer thingy she likes. I tried writing an alien romance as a palate cleanser and still nothing. Just the incessant flicking of the curser on the bright white page taunting me. On the up side the blood flow to my groin is back in full force and I now have two working legs and the ever present mortification that I had to cut my date short because of a wardrobe malfunction. I bang my head on my desk twice and try to get the ideas flowing.

I thought infiltrating the MC would make this way easier but somehow it’s made it harder. And all because of one man. Tyson. Tank. Wrongly accused hot biker man. I thought he was hot and delicious before I got to know him, but after waking up next to him and how sweet and shy he was when he revealed he likes to write. Then he takes me to the bookstore on our date, pays for the books AND arranges a picnic. Now my panties are constantly on fire for the man. In a good way. Not a diseased way. Ew. Although in order for me to catch a disease I’d have to have had intercourse at some stage in my life and alas, I have not. I’m a fraud. The most fraudulent of frauds, writing spicy romance without ever having reached my peak with another real life human before. But the readers don’t know that, so I’ll keep that little secret between me and Big Ricky.

Not that any readers will notice my lack of love life seeing as there are no words on the page. I let out a long groan and flop forward, my head hitting the table gently, over and over again as I bang it hoping to rattle some ideas around. A rattling sound on the porch draws my attention and I frown. It’s midday and I never get visitors outside of my neighbors but they’re very polite and will always text first. Actually it’s less because they’re polite, and more because they’ve caught me doing some weird stuff for book research so it’s best for all of us if they text first.

Mrs. McKenzie jumps down from her perch and wanders toward the door, stopping halfway to look back at me, as if telling me to get my big behind up and check to see what that noise was. If I’m being honest I’m a little leery about doing what my cat wants me to do, and let’s face it, she only wants me to do that because she’s probably wanting another yummy human liver. I try not to gag as I make my way to the door and peek out the little spy hole thing that Nana insisted on.

Nothing looks amiss. The gnomes are exactly where I left them, even that weird interloper gnome that just appeared one day. The chubby bent ladies are also in place. Humph. It was probably the dreamcatcher brushing up against something. I turn to head back to my little office but something stops me. What if there’s something on my welcome mat? A note, a parcel, a little surprise. Most likely one that I don’t want, but still, if I was writing a scene this is exactly what would happen. I mean, my scene would also probably lead to a kidnapping and definitely don’t want that to be happy. Well, not unless the kidnapper is actually a criminal with a heart of gold who is only kidnapping me for my own safety. He’ll keep me in his beautiful mansion and be harsh and brutal to everyone except me. He’ll also have a scar on his face, maybe even two. His laugh will be rusty from lack of use and oh my god Mira just open the darn door!

Taking a fortifying breath, I unlock the door and slowly inch it open. OK, there isn’t anyone hiding out on my porch, so that’s a good sign. Everything seems ordinary. A breeze brushes over my skin, then something flutters out of the corner of my eye. Tucked into the screen door is a “Sorry we missed you” note. Plucking it out and turning it over to read the back I’m met with friendly, flowery handwriting.

“Your package has been redirected to Devil’s Rose MC.”

Huh? I twist and turn a few times and then drop the card and start flapping. OK, breathe, Mira, breathe. Maybe it’s just a normal package? This is a smallish town, and people gossip, so perhaps the delivery man knows I’m writing at DRMC? Or perhaps the weirdo is messing with you again. Ah cheese and rice. I have to get to the clubhouse.

Rushing around pulling on shoes and throwing my laptop, notebooks, fidget toys and pens into my backpack I stride toward the kitchen door, heading toward my garage where my glorious bike lives. My hand is on the handle when a low, long meow sounds out.

“Aw, Mrs. McKenzie, I know I’ve been away a lot the past few days, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” I give her smooches and turn to head out once more when she moves to stand in front of the door I’m trying to exit and lets out another pitiful cry. I stare at her for a moment before letting out a long sigh.

Dropping my bag on the counter I move efficiently, scooping some food into a little baggy and popping it into my backpack.

“OK, lady, let’s get out of here.”

I heft Mrs. McKenzie’s bulk up into holding her to me with one arm while I use my other hand to open the door and flick the lock before slamming it shut behind me. I hot foot it into my garage, hitting the door opener, the garage door screeching a little before rolling up. Now for the hard part.

“Mrs. McKenzie, I need you to behave alright? We need to get to the clubhouse and remember, you didn’t want to be left at home so you’ll be calm and enjoy the ride.”

I’m certain she rolls her eyes at me and lets out a sigh and I plop her into the very roomy front basket of my bike.

“Good girl,” I coo at her, throw my leg over, sit on the softest bike seat to ever have been invented and set off.

DRMC, here I come.