Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
He rumbles with laughter.
“We basically unloaded a baby store’s worth of stuff on them. I don’t think Grinder knew what half the things were.”
“He’s gonna learn,” he says with a low chuckle.
“Serena’s sweet,” I say, remembering the affectionate way she cradled her bump and spoke about the baby. “I hate that I felt so…jealous. I mean, they haven’t been together that long. I don’t even think they were trying to get pregnant and poof!”
He stares straight ahead. “She’s had a lot of losses too. So, I want to be happy for both of them, but I know what you mean.” He squeezes me tighter and looks down at me. “Hey, you know that idea I had for a new club business?”
“Taking over Cedarwood Funeral Home?” I sit straighter, relieved to occupy my mind with something other than self-pity. “Cementing the club’s foothold in my hometown?”
He frowns slightly. “Does that bother you?”
“Hell no. I love the delicious irony of the Lost Kings running the Wolf Knights’ territory. I wish my uncle was around so you could rub it in his face.”
He shakes with laughter. “I’m sure Merlin knows. He went nomad, not into witness protection.”
“Good.” I laugh. “I hope he’s seething about it up and down the East Coast. Or wherever the hell he’s riding.”
“So vindictive, Sunshine.” He kisses my cheek. “I like it.”
After we stop laughing, he turns serious again. “I’m going to bring it to the table tomorrow. Rock already knows, obviously. I’ll discuss it with him first—”
“Wait, does Murphy know?”
He flinches. “Not yet.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s that hmm for?”
“Nothing.”
He continues staring at me and I relent. “Shouldn’t you talk to him about it too?” I gently suggest. “He’s the VP now.”
“Yeah, but I’m the treasurer. Money stuff is my area.” He shrugs. “He’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I answer with uncertainty.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Teller
“You sure I can bring this to the table today?” I ask Rock over a cup of coffee at his dining table the next morning. I glance at Z, who was already here when I arrived. Most of Downstate came with him and I’m not sure I actually want to discuss my plan in front of our Downstate brothers. But Z was our vice president for years so excluding him feels wrong. And with him sitting right here, I can’t think of a way to explain my reservations to Rock.
“How solid is your plan?” Rock asks.
“Just an idea so far. I have the place in mind. Guy’s mortgaged up to his ears. Business has been in the family for generations. He wants to keep it. Good investment for us.” I lift my chin at Z. “If it works, we can look for another one downstate.”
Z studies the smooth hardwood table in front of him, slowly tapping his fingers over the surface for a second. “I don’t know if I’ve got the bodies. Excuse the pun.” He taps the side of his head. “Or the collective brainpower to run that kind of operation. Rooster’s my brightest bulb, and he’s spread thin as it is. Jigsaw…I think he’d enjoy the job a little too much.”
“Hire someone.” I shrug. “You don’t need to know dick about the business itself. Find someone desperate for cash and willing to look the other way when we need to utilize the facilities.”
Rock sits back and sighs. “It’s not like we’ll be burning bodies every damn day.”
“The need seems to arise more often than I like to think about,” Z says.
“All right.” Rock slaps the table and stands. “Let’s discuss it in church.”
The three of us walk through the woods toward the clubhouse. Rock and Z trade barbs. I hang back, barely listening to their banter.
“Why so quiet?” Z asks, stopping a few paces from the clubhouse steps for me to catch up.
“Didn’t want to get in the way of you insulting each other.”
“Aw.” Z slaps my cheek. “It’s okay. I got insults for you too, little buddy.”
“Get off me.” I swat his hand away. “At least you two balance each other out. Grim Reaper.” I nod at Rock. “And the clown show.” I jerk my thumb toward Z.
Rock snorts.
“Did he just call me a clown?” Z asks with a smirk.
“Indeed,” Rock says.
“Disrespectful little shit,” Z grumbles. “If Rock’s the Grim Reaper, what the fuck does that make Wrath?”
The door to the clubhouse slams.
“The fucking Devil himself,” Wrath shouts before launching himself at Z, landing on his back and riding him like a dragon.
“Fucking hell,” Z yells. “You trying to cripple me?”
Wrath lands on the ground, gravel crunching under his boots. “Where you been?”
“My place,” Rock answers. “I sent you a text.”
Wrath slips his phone out and checks the screen. “Missed it.”
Rock grunts but doesn’t reprimand his SAA. Now, if that were me, I’d get an ass-chewing.
Inside, the clubhouse is quieter than normal.
“They’re in the dining room,” Wrath says, reading Rock’s expression.