Page 3

Chatter – two weeks later.

“Hey, have you seen the activity at the old Ravenberry estate?” Chance asked, approaching Chatter as he replaced his brake pads.

“No? I haven’t ridden that way,” Chatter replied.

“The gates have been restored—and that crumbling wall. Banshee reported tree trimming this morning, too.”

“Is that so? Are you going to reach out and inquire if they’re selling?” Chatter asked.

“Yeah. I’ve contacted the realtor we use, and we’ll see if she can arrive at a deal,” Chance replied. “What’s wrong with the brakes?”

“I noticed a squeak on them, and they didn’t seem to be as sharp yesterday. It does not hurt to replace them.”

There was a crash from inside the clubhouse, and someone yelled Jinx’s name.

“That bloody candidate!” Chance growled.

“Yep. But he is damn keen and doesn’t flinch at hard work,” Chatter replied.

“He’s going to cost me a fortune,” Chance complained.

“Yup, but apart from his curse, he’ll be an ideal prospect. Unlike some of the others,” Chatter pointed out. “Why are you speaking to me?”

Chance threw back his head and laughed. “You’re one surly bastard; I did think you were talking a lot but kept quiet.”

“Asshole.”

“I’m that, brother. I’ll let you be,” Chance said, clapping Chatter on the shoulder and walking off.

Chatter stared after him and wiped his brow. It was a hot August. But Chance was slightly off balance. He had been since the battle. It had affected them all. They’d all seen things they’d never recover from.

Four months.

So much had changed.

Straight after the war, literally two weeks later, Chance promoted all prospects apart from Fanatic.

Because of Fanatic having time out, Chance delayed him gaining full colours. Fanatic hadn’t seemed that bothered by it. A design consumed the kid’s attention, and he ignored everyone.

But Chatter had seen a faraway look in Fanatic’s eyes, and he kept a sharp watch on him.

Fanatic was missing her.

Everyone had guessed but not mentioned Fanatic was in love with her, but she’d loved another.

And Fanatic stuck to his own moral code and hadn’t told her how he felt. Instead, he’d become good friends with them, shoving his personal feelings aside. It had gained Fanatic a lot of respect.

Chance had gone through all apps with a fine-tooth comb and recruited nine.

Chatter wasn’t too sure about some.

Harlequin, Jinx, Dollar, Rascal, and Sailor all seemed to have their heads screwed on right.

Runner, Farm Boy, Clark, and Vampire caused concerns. Especially Vampire, that lazy fuck. That was not his problem. Chance made Sunny responsible, who, in turn, appointed Fanatic. He had been appalled.

In addition to the candidates, all the old ladies apart from Clio were pregnant.

His brothers had been determined to leave a legacy.

Homes were being built on the land they’d set aside for it.

BlackRock construction was making a fortune off Hellfire, Chatter thought as he saw Apache in a hard hat talking to someone with a truckload of wood.

Apache raised his hand, and Chatter offered the same gesture.

Everyone felt a bit lost.

They had lived under Fury’s threat for so long nobody had any idea what to do now he was gone.

Chance had organised several rides, and they did a monthly run with all the allied clubs.

Unwanted Bastards remained absent from their group, however.

Those bonds forged before the war remained unbreakable.

They’d suffered too much together.

But we were still struggling.

Court cases were happening, and people were being wrongly indicted.

Major General Winslow had been taken into custody with a court martial threatening.

And his second-in-command, Captain Fisher, had also been summarily charged.

That blew Phoe’s mind, and she was on a mission. If Winslow hadn’t brought in the National Guard, we’d have lost. Fury’s forces had greatly outnumbered our expectations.

Colonel Jefferson, the commander of Ellsworth Air Force Base, had been arrested and would face a court martial.

Then, Chief of Police Andrew Howser had been relieved of duty and charged.

All this occurred in the first week when we were still reeling and praying for family, friends, and allies to survive.

Clean-up was happening while we were trying to recover from a war that had been fought in our own state.

Phoe went berserk.

She stood live on TV and performed interviews, telling everyone exactly what had happened.

Public opinion, believing the war to be a biker fight, was soon overturned.

The truth came out with messages, memo documents, communications to the White House requesting help countless times.

It was all there, and Phoe blew the President and his version of events apart.

By her side stood the congressman and senator, both going after presidential blood.

People within hours were marching in the streets, protesting.

Hundreds of thousands of citizens had camped outside the White House.

The news kept playing the footage showing civilians defending the city and dying.

A death list ran on new channels and was updated daily. Those who’d been present were inundated with interview requests.

The entire country was aghast that a war had been fought on American soil, which had Americans fighting Americans.

Everyone was of the opinion the Venomous Fangs should have been taken out a lot sooner than they were.

Public anger was so hot that Howser was reinstated two weeks after his suspension.

Nobody in Rapid City, including the RCPD, would heed the idiot, Gates, who’d been brought in to replace him.

The surviving cops ignored all requests and orders from the temporary chief of police and from IA and did as they wanted.

They basically put Ramirez in place and would only listen to him.

Gates, in retaliation, sacked everyone and requested help from surrounding towns and had been denied.

Instead, Ramirez, Ben, and those still functional turned up daily.

Ramirez handed out assignments, and the officers did their jobs.

Even that hit the headlines.

Suspended cops still doing their duty.

Rapid City was in the news for all the right and wrong reasons.

Gates, the president’s patsy, was removed and Howser reinstated.

Immediately, order returned to Rapid City. There had been further deaths. Some died in hospital after operations or failing to make it to life-saving surgeries.

Rage MC’s brother, Wild’s wife, Lynda, had been present and Wild said she had taken some decisions very hard.

As a doctor, Lynda would have wished to save everyone but couldn’t.

Still, Lynda had performed two critical saves.

Chill from Unwanted Bastards and Calamity.

She’d literally walked out of Calamity’s surgery and into Chill’s. Chill’s had been unexpected as he’d been stable on arrival at the hospital.

Wild said Lynda worked for four days straight, grabbing little sleep when it came.

He’d ended up kidnapping her and taking her home to enforce rest on her.

Lynda slept for a solid twenty-four hours before returning to work.

Surrounding towns were helping Rapid City get back on its feet, too.

There was a lingering aura of fear and worry.

Residents were scared, especially with the bullshit court martials.

They felt the President was saying they imagined it all or weren’t worthy to defend.

South Dakota, as a whole, stepped up and sent lots of help. Neighbouring states such as Wyoming and North Dakota also gave support.

Florida was reeling, the Feds had taken charge there, and dirty cops were being ousted all over the state.

The full scale of Fury’s hate and plan was becoming apparent.

We’d worried about an outside foreign attack and not looked at our own people.

Four months ago, it would have been unthinkable for an American to fight another like this.

Now we knew it could happen.

Chatter glanced up with a jump, disturbed from his thoughts by a loud bang, and saw a picnic table had broken in half.

Clio stood nearby, her mouth open.

Her wide eyes took it in.

“Jinx is close, isn’t he?”

“Yup. Cleaning.”

“Holy crap. He’s a menace,” Clio announced with a sigh. “But he’s so adorable.”

“If you say so,” Chatter said and returned to his brake pads.

Clio gingerly opened the clubhouse door and peered inside before entering. Chatter snorted in amusement and finished the task at hand.

Lavender

One thing at a time became my mantra over the last two weeks.

But the list was endless.

The house still pretty much looked the same as when I’d arrived a fortnight ago.

Huge curtains of cobwebs, dust, and debris everywhere—and dolls.

Hundreds upon hundreds of them.

I would call for a dump and throw them all, but some I recognised as highly valuable. Aunt Aggie had always collected dolls.

The entire collection was borderline obsessive, and I’d no doubt that half of these were probably worth money.

As a doll maker and a respected consultant, I knew what I was talking about.

I was the one people called in to value old dolls or to repair them.

But this was beyond me.

Currently, I used a downstairs room as my bedroom as a stopgap until the hoard had been dealt with.

I’d checked the kitchen and ran back out screaming.

The spiders inhabiting it were enormous! I’d lived on takeout for a fortnight but was rapidly becoming fed up with it.

Things had been happening.

I’d had a building company come and repair the walls on the estate boundaries.

The work was progressing slowly, but they were more than halfway done.

A blacksmith from Rapid City was replacing and restoring the wrought-iron railings.

At one point, I thought he’d run off with the gates; he loved them so much.

The gates were currently my pride and joy. The wrought iron had been repainted black with gold tips. Roses were a blood red, and the petals were green. They were a beautiful work of art.

Now, the blacksmith followed the builders around, repairing the railing that enclosed the estate.

In an ode to times past, the walls and railing stood ten feet high.

When Ravenberry had been built, privacy had been a thing, and height restrictions didn’t exist.

The brick walls alone were five feet high, with the railings ending in very sharp points, adding another five feet.

I’d had someone out, and they’d resurfaced the road up to the manor.

That simplified matters considerably, given the heavier traffic.

Today, I expected a cleaning team for the kitchen.

Hell, I was not brave enough to return there.

I also awaited a plumber and electrician.

I suspected the heating and electricity required replacing.

And I’d a construction company sending an expert to investigate damp.

The third floor had been exposed to the elements and needed taking back to the studs and gutting.

I’d not even been in the widow’s tower yet, so that was something needing investigation.

There was a knock, and I glanced at my watch.

That might be one of the teams.

On opening the heavy wooden door—I made a mental note to get someone to look at it today—I found a smartly dressed woman.

Oh no, not you again, I sighed inwardly.

Shaye Terrell.

She’d contacted me a week ago, asking if I was interested in selling. I’d told her no, quite emphatically, but she was a pushy bitch.

“Hi, Lavender, it’s okay if I call you that, isn’t it?” Shaye didn’t give me time to reply before barrelling on. “My client is really quite keen to buy the estate, he’s asked for you to name a price, and he’ll be happy to buy it.”

“What part of ‘I am not interested’ don’t you understand? I’m tired of this harassment by you, Miss Terrell, and no, you can’t call me Lavender. Sheesh, if you contact me once more, I’ll phone the police on you. Let me tell you straight. I am not selling. This is an estate that my family has owned since it was built. No price can be put on that. Now I hope that’s clear,” I snapped.

Miss Terrell’s beautiful face scrunched up, and she hissed at me. “My client is Hellfire MC. One of the heroes of the Rapid City war. They want this, and they’ll get it one way or another. They just fought off thousands of enemies, do you think you can stand against them? Take the offer!”

“Go away,” I yelled, infuriated that she threatened me.

“Sell, Lavender, or be prepared for some very hostile neighbours,” Shaye sneered. “They won’t leave evidence when they bury your body.”

“And yet, I won’t sell, and my will covers the house and land if anything happens to me. Trust me, they still won’t be able to buy it. Now fuck off,” I retorted and stepped back inside. I wished the door moved easier so I could slam it for effect, but alas, no. Shoulder to it, I shoved it shut again and leaned against it, panting.

Deciding that Shaye was unhinged, I called in a report to the police, who said they’d send someone out to take a statement.

Chatter

Coming back from a ride to test his brakes, Chatter saw a black and white pull out of the Ravenberry Manor gates. Chatter had pulled over to admire them and decided to check on their new neighbour. Nobody had seen them or had any idea who they were. It was a time to be curious.

Chatter rode up the newly laid lane, nodding his approval at how smooth it was. The trees had been cut back to form an arch over the road, but they’d also been thinned out. Glimmers of sunlight broke what could have been a daunting atmosphere.

As he rounded the corner, he saw trucks and cars parked up. Under tents, men worked on things, and he stared at the Manor. Despite the bright daylight, the damn thing had a frightening air. It certainly gave off a murderous haunted house vibe.

“Hey, do you know where the owner is?” he asked a workman who was carrying some boards.

“She is up at the Manor. She’s trying to get the front doors to open properly,” the guy replied.

Chatter nodded and headed towards the set of double doors that stood a few steps up from the ground. He jumped up the rickety steps and hit the porch, which looked just as frail.

Chatter knocked and heard cursing as someone struggled to open them.

“Shove from your side,” a woman announced.

The voice felt familiar, yet Chatter couldn’t identify it. He put his shoulder to the door, and it began opening.

“Got it, thanks!” the woman called, and Chatter found himself staring into sea-blue eyes.

“You!” he exclaimed.

“Murderer!” Lavender cried. He was certain her name was Lavender.

“You live here?” Chatter asked, surprised.

“You’re from Hellfire MC?”

“Yeah, what’s that got to do with anything?” Chatter questioned, bemused.

“Wow. You guys act fast. Let me tell you now, I’ve spoken to the police and given a report. Your threats, attempts to intimidate me, and harassment have been noted!”

“What?” Chatter demanded. Was this woman nuts? He eyed her cautiously. Was Lavender still suffering from the head injury she’d suffered? “Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No! Go away. I’m not selling, and I don’t care what scare tactics you want to use!” Lavender hissed.

“What the hell are you talking about? I came to welcome you to the neighbourhood. Not issue threats. Are you insane? Do you need mental help?” Chatter demanded.

“How dare you? You sent Miss Shaye Torrell round, and she’s not stopped harassing me to sell. And this morning, she told me your threats, that you could make me vanish without a trace! Well, I reported it to the cops!”

“Hold on. What? Who’s Shaye Torrell?” Chatter inquired.

Lavender

Chatter, that was what his cut said, looked completely confused and rather adorable as he did.

“You’ve not threatened me? You or your club?” I asked.

“No, why would we do that?”

“Because you want to buy the estate?”

“Yeah, if it’s up for sale. If not, fine. Just beware, our land backs on to yours. We do not tend to use the back area of it, so we shouldn’t disturb you, but sometimes parties might get loud,” Chatter replied.

“Miss Torrell said that if I don’t sell, you’ll become hostile neighbours. And that you always get what you want. And you can hide my body, and nobody will ever find it!” I exclaimed.

“And that cunt is talking out of her ass. Her name’s Torrell?” Chatter snapped.

“Yes,” I answered, watching as he yanked his phone out.

“Hey, brother, I’m standing with the new neighbour, yeah, at the Manor. Seems your realtor has been trying to intimidate her into forcing her to sell to us,” Chatter said.

A loud voice replied, and Chatter hung up.

“Chance, my president is on his way. Hellfire hasn’t made threats, Lavender, nor would we issue them. We’re a clean club. Can I wait for him? I’d love to see the place. Even as a kid, we all wished to see inside,” Chatter asked.

I glanced around and saw people milling about. There was no way he could kill me and hide my body.

“Fine. Be warned, Ravenberry is a bit shameful at the moment. Don’t embarrass her too much,” I explained. I winced after saying it. Would Chatter think I was crazy?

“I’m sure Ravenberry is a grand old dame just waiting to shine again,” Chatter said and stepped inside. His gaze left mine, and he looked around.

A strangled noise echoed in the lofty entrance hall, and Chatter’s eyes rolled up, and he passed out. What the hell?

Chatter

“I swear to God, I did not touch him! Chatter entered and fainted! Don’t kill me, I didn’t harm him!” Lavender babbled in panic.

“Calm down, we know what happened. Is there a room without dolls?” Sunny asked.

“Yes, where I’m sleeping and living at the moment,” Lavender replied.

“I’m awake, but I’m not opening my eyes,” I stammered.

“It is okay, bud. We’ll get you safe. Lady, can you check there are absolutely no dolls in your room? Chatter has one of the most severe cases of pediophobia known to therapists. He’s been a case study for many years,” Chance explained.

“Pediophobia?” Lavender asked.

“Yeah, it’s an intense fear of—”

“Dolls. I’m aware of it. That’s why he beat the crap out of Marybelle?” Lavender said.

“Yeah. Could we get Chatter off the floor, please, Ma’am?” Sunny demanded lightly.

“Yes, two seconds,” Lavender’s voice faded, and she called out a few minutes later. “You can come in now. I closed my work desk, and there’s nothing here to trigger him. Do doll parts also upset him?”

“Yup,” Chance replied.

Chatter felt himself hauled to his feet and then walked slowly into another room.

“You can look, brother, it’s clear,” Sunny said, and Chatter squinted around with one eye. Happy he was safe, he opened both eyes and glanced at Lavender.

“Workspace?”

“I’m a doll maker and restorer,” Lavender announced.

Chatter looked at her in sheer horror. “What?” he whispered.

“Drink this,” Sunny demanded, shoving a can of fizzy pop into his hand. “I’ll replace it, Ma’am.”

“Lavender, please,” she replied, and Sunny grinned at her, making Chatter scowl.

She was insane, but she was his piece of insanity. Chatter blinked. He must have hit his head harder than he thought.

“You make dolls?” Chance asked, amused, eyeing Chatter.

“Yes. And restore them, and I’m a renowned expert at valuing them, too,” Lavender answered.

“Basically, your entire life revolves around dolls?” Chance added.

Every time someone mentioned dolls, Chatter felt sick to his stomach.

“Yes. They’re interesting,” Lavender responded.

Yup, she was my little fucked up lunatic. Stop that! Chatter chided his thoughts. Now who was acting insane?

“What’s the story with Ravenberry Manor? It’s been empty since I was a kid,” Chance asked.

“Actually, it hadn’t. I used to visit as a child, and you’re much older than me,” Lavender said with a laugh.

“That’s true,” Chance agreed.

“My Aunt Aggie owned it. Agatha Bloodsworth.”

“What a fantastic name!” Sunny exclaimed, and Lavender sent him a warm look.

“There’s a story to that, too,” Lavender added.

“I want to hear that,” Chatter interjected.

The story might stop Lavender from thinking of him as a weakling.

“Over four hundred years ago, my family was once called Worthing and immigrated here from England. The founder of our line was a younger duke’s son named Richard and had four older brothers who were fit to inherit the title before him.

“His father wanted him to join the clergy, but he refused, and they fought. Finally, he turned to him and asked what the value of our bloodline was. That’s where our surname came from. Bloodsworth. The worth of our blood. The duke, backed into a corner, gave Richard a small fortune, and Richard left England, never to go back. He bought the land here and built the first house. From then, he invested wisely and made several fortunes. Ravenberry was constantly extended with each generation.

“About one hundred and fifty years ago, an ancestor recognised his son as flighty and knew he’d run through the immense wealth he was to gain. The Trust was devised, and all monies went into that, and the heir received an allowance. He naturally ran through it like his father had imagined and passed youngish. His son, however, was a financial genius and turned his allowance into a second serious fortune.

“Aunt Agatha is actually my great aunt, and she was the eldest of the kids born to that generation. My grandpa was next. He died young, and Aunt Aggie’s children sadly died. She raised my dad, and they were close. But Mom, well, she had grand ideas, and Aunt Aggie did not agree with them. Mom wanted to be a socialite. She also began making changes to the Manor without Aunt Aggie’s agreement, and they fell out.

“Aunt Aggie disowned my dad and willed everything to me. She died soon after my parents cut ties, and I didn’t know. It is so sad; I loved her so much. But my parents spent years in court trying to break the will and Trust. They constantly failed, and six months ago, I discovered the court documents. This secret was beyond shocking. Worse, they’d claimed the allowance in my name.”

“That sounds tragic,” Chatter said.

“Yes, it was,” Lavender agreed. Her parent’s story was shameful. But it was their shame, not hers.