Down to my Bones (Reapers MC: Ellsberg Chapter Book 1) Page 11

  “No.”

  Grinning at his response, I take a deep breath and add, “If you stay with me, I’ll take good care of you. That’s what you need, Quaid. After having a disinterested mom and a runaway pop and no woman to make you happy. I’ll give you the happy home you never had, and I’ll even live in a square house for you.”

  “A circle house is my dream,” he whispers and kisses my cheek.

  “Then I’m your girl.”

  “Fuck yeah, you are,” he says and leans down to give me a kiss.

  Pop manages to enter the room just in time to ruin my romantic life. He grumbles something profane under his breath, and I immediately laugh. Pop’s rage always gives me the giggles.

  “The cops came early,” he mutters.

  “Make them wait outside.”

  “I already told them you’re eating. They’re waiting at the nurses’ station.”

  “Won’t they see the food enter the room and know you’re lying?” Quaid asks, smirking at the answer of his own question.

  Pop crosses his arms, fighting the urge to relax. He’s in his Reapers president mode, and that motherfucker never jokes around. My stomach growls nearly as loud as my father. I groan from sudden nausea as my body realizes it craves solids.

  “Feed me,” I whimper, and Pop stops acting like a monosyllable caveman.

  He brings me a tray of breakfast food. The eggs make me want to puke, but I like the cinnamon roll and yogurt. Nowhere near as good as Mom’s cooking, but my stomach stops bitching.

  “The cops will use this shooting to shake down everyone in the club along with our suppliers and anyone else they can think of,” Pop says after I take my last bite. “Give them nowhere to look. Fuck, I wish you had a head injury so I could claim you’re suffering from amnesia about the event.”

  “Really, Pop?” I ask, wiping my mouth with my left hand. “A head injury?”

  Feeling like an asshole, he says nothing before opening the door and gesturing for the cops to enter. Quaid moves to a corner, crossing his arms and glowering for extra effect.

  I watch the uniformed officers enter the room. They don’t scare me. In fact, I’ve enjoyed a lifetime of practice for a moment like this one.

  They introduce themselves, but I don’t react to their names. The younger one takes the lead, and I sense he’s very anti-Pop. Clearly, I’ll need to annoy him the most.

  “We need you to tell us what happened?” Officer Moody asks.

  “I was out on Route 79.”

  “I thought it was Route 72.”

  “Oh, yeah. I know it was a Route something. So I had to pee, but there are no bathrooms out there because of how it’s a road and not a store.”

  Closing my mouth, I force Moody to ask me what happened next. No need to make this interrogation easy for him.

  “I peed next to a tree, and then I heard someone walking around. I pulled out my legally registered gun because I was afraid a perverted man wanted to watch me pee. Or take a picture of me peeing and put it on the Internet for other perverts to jack off to. That’s a fetish, you know?”

  Again, I fall into silence and force Moody to ask if I saw the man.

  “I only saw a blur. Then I felt a pain in the arm that’s bandaged now. The pain made me shoot at the blur.”

  “Can you describe the person?”

  “The blur didn’t have any clear features,” I say, staring at the ceiling as if thinking really hard. “No face. I do think it was a man, and he was wearing clothes. Or maybe it was a woman with the build of a man. Yes, it could have been a masculine woman. So, it was either a woman or a man. Either way, I’m fairly certain the person wasn’t naked.”

  Officer Dowdy watches Officer Moody write something in his notebook. Frowning, the second officer focuses on me and asks in a friendly way, “Did you see any vehicles when you arrived at the road?”

  “I saw a truck. It was a light color. Or maybe it was once a dark color but had faded to a light color. I do know for sure it had four tires and it wasn’t yellow.”

  “Was the truck a two-door or did it have four doors?” Moody asks loudly.

  “It was a truck.”

  Moody gives me a nasty look as if I can’t possibly be this dumb. Dowdy—who has probably heard the rumors that I am really this dumb—asks, “Do you remember anything else?”

  “I remembered to turn the safety off my gun to make it work. I sometimes forget to do that part, but Pop always reminds me how it’s important. You can’t shoot the gun if the safety is on. Right, Pop?”

  “That’s right, baby,” Pop says, relaxing as I sell the least helpful story these police officers will likely ever hear.

  Sighing deeply, Moody is so irritated by my lack of help that I suspect he’ll soon end up looking through the employment ads. I can’t imagine he’ll last long in a town like Ellsberg. “Do you remember anything useful about the man who shot you?”

  “Don’t forget it might have been a masculine woman. Or maybe there was more than one. I only saw one blur, but there might have been more blurs I didn’t see,” I say and then point to his notebook. “You should write that down.”

  “Well, if you remember anything else, gives us a call,” Officer Dowdy says and tries to hand me his card.

  Pop grabs it while I only stare at Officer Moody. “Are you going to write that down?”

  “Yeah,” he mutters and storms out of the room.

  “I hope you feel better,” Officer Dowdy says before following after his partner.

  Once the door shuts, Pop turns to me and narrows his eyes. For a moment, he considers whether I’ve been faking this level of dumb with him all of these years. He finally exhales softly, likely resigning himself to the fact that he’ll never know for certain.

  “Did I do good?” I ask.

  “You did good.”

  “I love you, Pop, but go away so I can talk dirty to Quaid.”

  “Screw that shit. He’s coming with me to meet the Roche assholes.”

  Shaking my head, I frown at a silent Quaid. “He doesn’t know them. Take Colton. He used to date that one Roche swamp whore. Jera. No, the whore’s name ends with an ‘E’ sound. Damned if I can’t remember what it is, though.”

  “I’m taking Quaid. Your brother has other obligations today.”

  “If I cry, will you change your mind?”

  “I should go with him,” Quaid says, dumping poop all over my plan to cry my way to success.

  “When will you be back?”

  “We’ll see,” Pop says.

  “No.”

  “Don’t start.”

  “Pop, why you got to cock-block my love life here?”

  “Rando—” Pop pauses before I can correct him with a “no.” “MJ, I’m not in the mood for your silliness. I have to deal with nasty people today.”

  “And you’re going to leave me alone?”

  “No, I’m waiting for Lily and Dylan to arrive. Your sister will hang out with you, and your uncle will keep watch.”

  I glance at Quaid. “Dylan isn’t my real uncle. He’s a club uncle because his woman is close with my mom. That’s how we work in Ellsberg. There’s blood family. Close club family. And the other club people who we care about less.”

  “You care less about them,” Pop corrects.

  “Yes, I do care less about them,” I say and reach out to Quaid. “Will you let me hold your hand until Pop drags you away from me?”

  Shaking his head, my grumpy pop walks outside to wait for backup.

  “He’s in a shit mood,” Quaid says, sitting next to the bed and taking my hand.

  “He prides himself on protecting his family. Yesterday, someone proved him wrong. He needs to make things right. It’s not personal.” I slowly lift my bandaged arm. “It hurts more today, but I’m glad I have fewer meds messing up my brain. I didn’t like feeling defenseless.”

  “I was here.”

  “Yes, sleeping like a baby. You were so adorable when you woke up,” I whisper
and squeeze his hand. “Before my pop comes back in, I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Anything.”

  Smiling at his quick answer, I tighten my grip on his hand. “I worry someone might have shot at me to get Pop where they want him to be. Today, he might walk into a trap. You’ll watch out for him, won’t you?” I ask and my voice breaks. Heat behind my eyes signals tears might be on their way too. When did I get so sensitive? “Pop’s the glue that keeps my family together.”

  “Your father doesn’t need me babysitting him, but I swear I’ll kill anyone who poses a threat.”

  “You’re a good soldier, aren’t you?” I ask as my fingers explore his large, tanned hand.

  “I was, yeah.”

  “When you got hurt, did anyone take care of you like you’re taking care of me?”

  “The nurses and doctors,” he says as if he doesn’t understand how his answer breaks my heart.

  “No family, though.”

  “It was years ago, MJ.”

  “I don’t care when it was. Once I’m better, I plan to baby you like you didn’t get babied back then. I want that for you even if you don’t want it for yourself.”

  Quaid leans forward and kisses me softly. I know he wants to deepen the kiss—how could he not—but we’re not truly alone. Pop is just outside the door, waiting to throw it open and start trouble. In fact, until the shooter is dead, I can’t imagine Pop will settle down. For everyone’s sake, the threat needs killing. I can’t imagine Rudy or his idiot family trying to kill me. Yet I almost hope they did, so Pop and Quaid can sniff out their guilt and snuff out their lives today.

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE OUTSIDER TAKES CHARGE

  THE OUTSIDER

  On the outskirts of Ellsberg, Cooper parks at an abandoned Dairy Queen where his brother, Tucker, along with Vaughn wait for us. I’m so accustomed to my place as the odd man out that I don’t mind the silent gestures between the men.

  Tucker is a slightly less appealing version of his older brother. His hair is a bit thinner, his nose a hint wider, his eyes a tad too close. Tucker’s what Cooper would be like if someone punched him too much and he healed wrong.

  “I don’t think Rudy has the balls to come after MJ,” Cooper says.

  Tucker shakes his head and frowns. “Who?”

  “Miranda wants to be called MJ now.”

  “She’s an odd girl,” Tucker says before flinching at his brother’s punch.

  I scowl at the way the moment passes without comment. Tucker rubs his shoulder while Cooper continues talking about the Roche family.

  “Farah said Rudy had a crush on Lily in high school. Most boys did. Rudy might still think he has a shot. Can’t imagine he’d go after her sister just because this fucker beat his ass.”

  They all frown at me. Ignoring their disapproval, I’m ready to skip to the part where we face off with a meth-dealing white trash family.

  “I don’t feel like this was Rudy or any of the Roche fuckers,” Vaughn says. “The timing feels too coincidental, though. My theory is someone heard about Quaid kicking Rudy’s scrawny ass and got the bright idea to pin the shooting on the Roche clan.”

  Cooper wipes sweat from his tanned forehead. “The obvious choice for someone fucking with the Roche family would be the Mullens.”

  “So why are we meeting with the Roches?” Tucker grumbles.

  “Because I don’t trust Bobby Bo Roche,” Cooper says without looking at his brother. “I can’t have him thinking he’s on good terms with me. After all, Quaid needed to kick Rudy’s ass when the Roche kids ought to know to stay the fuck away from my girls.”

  The possessive way Cooper says “my girls” is as much for my benefit as to make a point about the Roche family. I try not to smile, but I can’t be sure I succeed.

  “Will we talk to the Mullen family too?” Vaughn asks Cooper.

  “Topher’s giving me shit about not needing to meet when he can swear on the life of his dear mother that his family had nothing to do with my baby girl’s unfortunate situation.”

  “It’s him,” Tucker says. “We ought to grab one of his fucking kids and make them talk.”

  “Why would it be him?” I ask.

  “Why’s he here?” Tucker asks Cooper.

  “Why would Mullen go after MJ?” I say, ignoring Tucker in the same way his brother does.

  “Because he’s an asshole,” Tucker answers.

  “What does Mullen get out of trying to kill your daughter?” I ask Cooper.

  The club president throws me a fucking hellish look, but he knows I’m right. These Hatfield and McCoy families might enjoy their never-ending battles. That doesn’t mean they’re suicidal enough to start a war with a biker club.

  “The meeting is in ten minutes. Let’s stop talking mystery bullshit,” Cooper says and then smacks his brother. “You don’t talk. Just be scary with your mouth shut.”

  Tucker flips off his brother who tries to smack him again. I climb back on my Harley and get my head centered. No more thoughts about MJ back at the hospital. I certainly need to avoid thinking of her in a bikini at the river. I’m a soldier on a mission. Blood might be spilled today. I feel nothing beyond my surroundings. I have no past or future. My only concern is the enemy.

  Our four Harleys leave the Dairy Queen and roar down a road where we weave around potholes. Cooper makes a hard left onto a dirt path with a faded sign I can’t read. We ride for another five minutes past woodland, farmland, and dried-up ponds.

  Finally, we arrive in front of the first white farmhouse on a property with four others. I don’t immediately climb off my Harley. My gaze scans the area, finding too many spots a shooter could easily pick us off from.

  On the porch, a skinny man with a mismatched face watches us. His left side looks almost normal, but something fucked up happened to the right part.

  I spot a few men peeking out from behind one of the other houses. They’re tall and ugly like the one on the porch. Rudy Roche wasn’t nearly as ugly, but he’s at least half their ages. I wouldn’t be surprised if he looks a whole lot worse by the time he reaches his fifties.

  Cooper climbs off his Harley first, and Tucker follows. Vaughn remains at his bike. His hands aren’t visible, likely hidden along with his weapons. I decide to climb off my Harley, but I don’t follow the Johansson brothers.

  “Bobby Bo,” Cooper calls out to the ugly fucker on the porch, “think you could come down and talk?”

  The asshole doesn’t move right away. He sizes up the four of us and then glances back to whoever might be hiding on the other side of the screen door. MJ wasn’t kidding about how easily this might be a trap.

  Finally, the man stands and shuffles toward the porch steps. “I don’t like having to state this obvious fucking fact, but none of my kin would be fucking stupid enough to fucking shoot your daughter.”

  Cooper doesn’t miss a beat before responding, “One of your kin was stupid enough to harass her at Pickles in Paradise three fucking days ago.”

  “That fucker jumped us for no reason,” Rudy says, opening the screen door and glaring at me. “We didn’t do nothing besides say hi to Miranda.”

  “Miranda doesn’t want to say hi to you, Rudy,” Cooper says, and I notice the younger man flinch. “Why would you waste her fucking time like that?”

  “I was friendly.”

  “Were you flirting with her?”

  “No.”

  “Did you think she wanted to date you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you think she was the closest you were getting to Lily?”

  “No.”

  “Let it be, Johansson,” Bobby Bo says between clenched teeth. “If anyone ought to be angry, it ought to be me. My boy came home with a busted nose because of that fucker over there. No one knows him, but he wears your club’s patch. That puts his bullshit on you.”

  Cooper never so much as glances at me despite Bobby Bo’s pointed finger. “Your boy started a fight he lost. How is that my problem?
Or your problem for that matter? I don’t clean up my boys’ messes, so why are you expecting me to do that shit for yours?”

  “He sucker punched me,” Rudy hollers before shrinking under his father’s glare. “He was showing off for Rando.”

  I’m uncomfortable with the way things are playing out. We’re sitting ducks. Who knows how many guns are trained on us currently. Now, this idiot wants to play the victim to distract from the trouble he brought on his family.

  “Kid,” I call out, “if you want to make things right between the Reapers and your family, let’s throw down right now in front of everyone. I’ll even stand still while you throw the first punch.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Did you shoot Miranda Johansson?” I ask, stepping closer with my gun at my holster. “Did you get butthurt about the beating I gave you, so you thought you’d make a girl pay? Is that what happened?”

  “Fuck you, fucker,” Rudy hisses, but he stinks of fear.

  “You’re not from here,” Bobby Bo growls to me while stepping down the porch. “You can’t talk to people that way and keep breathing.”

  When Cooper doesn’t interrupt, I take the hint and keep talking. “Do you know something about what your boy did? Is that why you’re so fucking nervous, Roche?”

  Bobby Bo pulls his gun, but mine’s out faster. Around us, weapons are drawn, and everything gets really fucking still. The only noise is a far-off airplane and a dog barking in a yard nearby.

  I hold Bobby Bo’s gaze. He’s a man stuck between proving his mettle and making a move that ends his family. In his gray eyes, I see fear and hate. I wonder what he sees in mine.

  “Your boy doesn’t have it in him to hunt down a little girl,” I whisper in a deadly cold voice. “You know it, and I know it. The question is, are you willing to bleed over someone else’s bullshit? Or will you back down and let us kill the one who started this?”

  “If you know he didn’t do shit then why are you giving me shit?”

  “For shits and giggles,” I say as my gaze traps his. “I’ve got nothing to fucking lose here. How about you, Bobby Bo? My gun’s pointed at you, but I’d guess my club brothers are aiming at your kin. So how many people need to die today for you to save face?”