When Lucky moved to the Outer Banks to work in Thorn and Cain’s surf shop and eventually fell in love with them, Cody lost himself in gambling to dull the ache of missing his best friend. The flashing lights of the casino, the feel of cards beneath his fingers, and the rough-smooth texture of poker chips all served to drag him deeper into an addiction he was slowly giving himself over to. It helps that he works security there, easy access, and an increasing reason not to go back home. The Rollin’ Jokers are family, always would be, but there’s an ache Cody can’t fill with the roar of his machine and the wind in his hair. The best he can hope for is to dull it one bet at a time.
Wreck owes a lot to the Rollin’ Jokers MC, after all, his old man was a founding member. So, when the Joker’s president asked for a favor, no way would he turn him down. Even if the favor meant playing babysitter to Mark’s out-of-control son, Cody, who seemed to get a kick out of pushing buttons Wreck didn’t know he had. Still, he has no intention of letting Mark down, and if that means teaching Cody some discipline, well then, there are plenty of ways he could make it fun…for them both.
Only…Cody’s got different ideas, and issues that are only just being brought to light. Add in bad boy Bellamy, the wandering nomad biker who happens to land on the same road Cody’s cruising down, and Wreck finds his carefully ordered world turned upside-down. Now he’s wrangling kittens, including a human-sized one hell-bent on making a home in Wreck’s lap when he’s not looking to scratch his eyes out…and Bellamy? Let’s just say that’s the mystery element in an equation Wreck’s not certain he can solve.
With the past closing in and the future uncertain, Wreck’s desperate to find a way to protect Cody….from himself, from his demons, and from a past that’s come back to haunt him.
“Come on, don’t need the food getting cold, just set it down
on the tray by the window, going to watch the squirrels argue and see which one
wins today. Personally, I think the two lighter ones are females pissed off at
the gray male for knocking them both up, what with the way they were chattering
at him, chasing him and knocking him off the perch every time he tried to eat.”
Okay, that was funny, and Cody chuckled as he brought
the meal in and sat it where Dawson had indicated. Sure as shit, there was a
confrontation taking place around the bird feeders, and that beleaguered gray
looked like he was absolutely over everyone’s shit as he poofed up and angrily clicked,
barked, and chattered back. The ensuing tussle when the two golden reds leaped
at him sent a spray of birdseed everywhere.
“Better than Saturday morning cartoons,” he declared as he tucked
into his meal.
“Well, you enjoy the show,” Theresa said. “We’ve got a few
more deliveries to make before we’re through.”
“You work too much.”
“Maybe if this one sticks around I can manage some extra
days off.” Theresa fired back, leading Cody from the room.
“So what’s the turnover rate?”
“High. I don’t want to give you an actual number. Was
serious when I said I needed you to stick around so I can get some days off.
Starting to forget what my house looks like.”
“That sucks,” Cody replied. “But you don’t have to worry
about me in that regard. I can’t afford to screw up.”
“I know.”
“Sure as h…heck can’t afford to get fired.”
“Walter told me that too.”
“Walter?”
“I refuse to call him Wreck the way the rest of you do,” she
declared with a laugh.
Stepping into the next room, Cody about lost it completely,
clamping his mouth shut at the sight of a resident peeing into some kind of
plastic urinal. It took him off guard, seeing as how there were bathrooms in
every room. His roommate seemed oblivious, a tiny lamp by his easy chair, a
bible open in his hands. T never blinked, just said hello, and asked if they
needed anything as Cody went back to the cart to bring in the first meal.
He’d realized the first time he’d walked in with his hands
full, that some trays weren’t set up, and some needed them moved and
positioned, even locked into place, before he could put food on them. Two
ladies, almost directly across the hall from one another, ate in their
doorways. Teresa had explained that it was so the CNAs could keep a close eye
on them, encourage them, and help them if they needed it.
“Thank you for waiting,” the man with the bible said as he
tucked the book away and took a moment to clear some writings off his tray.
“I’m Earl. Never put anything on the bible verses, please, the steam ruins the
paper.”
“Yes sir,” Cody replied, scowling a little, something that
got him pulled aside once again when they stepped out of the room.
“What did I tell you about keeping your expressions in
check?” Teressa chided him.
“Sorry, just, bothered me that someone would be so rude as
to make that an instruction he needed to give.”
She smiled at him then and gave a little nod. “Now that is
acceptable. And for the record, that particular staff member didn’t even last a
week.”
“Damn.”
The final room they stepped into was filled with laughter.
Three ladies around a table playing cards and swapping stories, until their
eyes landed on Cody.
“Land sakes T, where have you been hiding this one. You’re
supposed to let the candy out of the kitchen once in a while.”
Stammering, Cody looked around at the three, trying to
figure out who to address first.
“Mrs. Monroe, would you like your meal on a tray, or will
you ladies be dining at the table?” Cody asked.
“Oh, he called us ladies, bless his heart, isn’t he the
cutest thing? If he’d known us in our prime, he wouldn’t call us ladies,” Mrs.
Monroe remarked, drawing giggles from the other ladies. Each pushed the cards
towards the center of the table, making room and answering Cody’s question at
the same time. “And it’s Ramona, please, I haven’t been Mrs. Monroe in fourteen
years, may the old fool rest in peace.”
Cody couldn’t help but laugh with them, it was infectious,
and she reminded him of his grandma. Feisty as hell and unashamed of it. Was
enough to make him wonder what Ramona was doing here. He brought their plates
in one at a time, while Teresa arranged placemats on the table, beautifully
quilted ones that looked like one of the ladies had made them.
“Thank you, dear,” Ramona told Theresa, who’d given each of
them a gentle hug. “Do you think we could get a pot of tea down here?”
“Of course,” she replied. “With yellow sugars and a small
beaker of milk.”
“That would be perfect. My nephew sent me a tin of those
lovely little tea biscuit cookies and we’ve been dying to get into them.”
“Oh now, you can’t be using the word dying so freely in a
place like this,” said the lady to her left, Sophia, he’d heard Teresa call
her.
“Ain’t that the truth,” the third lady remarked as Teresa
waved, heading for the door with Cody, who carried the tray covers from each
plate of food.
“See how easy that was?” Teresa remarked.
Chuckling, Cody nodded. “They seem like awesome ladies.”
“They are. All our residents are awesome in their own ways.
It’s up to you to see that and treat everyone the way you did in there.”
Cody nodded, uncertain if that was a challenge he was up to.
The atmosphere back in the kitchen was as light and
effortless as before. Everyone had a task. Everyone knew which way to move.
Cody knew it would be up to him to find his place in their rhythm so as to not
throw anything off. Good thing Teresa was already focused on prepping for the
next meals.
“Here’s a list of things I need from the pantry, in that
order please,” Teresa said.
“On it,” Cody said, whistling as he headed to the back. He
was still whistling and bringing out some hefty cans of cream of chicken soup
when Wreck stuck his head into the kitchen. It took juggling and hella good
reflexes for none of the cans to hit the floor before he could safely set them
on the counter.
“Good to see the kitchen is still in one piece and not in
flames,” Wreck remarked, locking eyes with Cody for a moment, the intensity of
his stare making Cody gulp and head to the dishwasher to start running racks of
cooking implements and cups through the machine.
“He’s doing just fine,” Teresa said. “The usual first-day
struggles, but he handled them better than most.”
Whatever else they happened to say about him was lost in the
noise of the sprayer and the clanking of the machine, but it felt good to earn
that little bit of praise. He would do better tomorrow, now that the shock of
the first day was through, though he did have twenty minutes left in his shift.
At least the dishwasher did the bulk of the work. All he had to do was restack
everything once it had dried.
“I will see you tomorrow, won’t I?” Teresa asked as
he went to punch out.
“If I wanna keep a roof over my head you will.”
“So if you don’t show, I should assume you’re living in a
tent underneath an overpass somewhere.”
...and now for a special look at things to come!
They took what meant most to him, but they underestimated what he and his club would go through to retrieve the man he loved.
Going legit didn’t mean going soft. Unfortunately, no one informed the rest of the world of that. Factions within their MC had been pushing buttons for months, wanting to pull the club back into ventures they were better off staying out of. Betrayals had been brought to light and swiftly dealt with. Treaties had been forged that were proving to be particularly lucrative. Business was good. They were even learning the ins and outs of diversifying. It wasn’t as profitable as their previously less than legal pursuits, but it kept the cops off their backs, for the most part, and bodies in the clubhouse rather than behind bars.
So then why was Sinn not at his side where the man belonged?
Well, that’s exactly what they were burning up the road trying to discover.
Along the way, loyalties might be tested, lines would certainly be drawn, and blood was sure to be shed, once they discovered who was behind the mysterious disappearance of the man he’d unwaveringly been drawn to.
And if a certain prospect should happen to prove unbelievably desirable in ways that had nothing to do with the road, well than that was just a bonus to Saint’s way of thinking. He was a man who thrived on pleasure and debauchery. What better place to find both than in the arms of men named Night and Sinn?
The next person to offer him food was going to die and he
was gonna choke the shit outta whoever tried to foist a cup of coffee on him.
The shit was starting to make him nauseous, or maybe it was the fact that was
all he’d put in his system for days. The face that stared back at him from the
mirror looked older and far more haggard than it had just three days before.
They’d turned up nothing. Despite how many stones they’d turned over or
outright crushed, it was as if Sinn had vanished into thin air.
Regrouping back at the clubhouse was supposed to breathe new
life into the search, but looking around the room, all he saw was tired,
despondent, and downright vacant stares. Whatever people were thinking, or
feeling, they were keeping that shit to themselves, not wanting to be the one
to say this was a recovery mission now. They were hunting for a body and a
chance to give Sinn a proper burial.
No matter, they didn’t have to say it, Saint knew as well as
anyone that with each hour that passed, the chance of finding him in one piece
grew slimmer and slimmer. He tried not to dwell on what ifs, like if he’d
insisted on escorting Sinn everywhere himself, none of this would have
happened. He tried not to think about the things that had gone unsaid between
them or the collar that he’d been waiting for the so-called perfect time
to place around Sinn’s neck. He’d wanted to do it in front of the club, on dungeon
night, with the full-on collaring ceremony so everyone would know that Sinn
belonged to him.
Now, he’d give anything to find it laying in the weeds along
a backcountry road, as long as it meant he had a trail to follow.
“Saint?”
“Fuck off, I don’t need nuthin’.”
“Uh…okay, but I ain’t got nothin’ for ya, except a
question.”
“Not in the mood for one of those either.”
Saint never looked Night’s way, but he was fully aware of
the dark-haired prospect’s presence, and that he still stood staring over Saint’s
shoulder.
“No disrespect, but how do we know this isn’t the work of
some outfit out of Texas?” Night asked, like Saint hadn’t just told him he
wasn’t interested in hearing anything he had to say….only….
Swiveling the barstool around to face him, Saint looked up
to see concern and determination in Night’s eyes.
“Thought had crossed my mind, but Texas is a giant fuckin’
state with more clubs than I can count. As much as it pains me to say this, we
can’t go busting down the doors of every one of them. We don’t have the
firepower or the numbers. Hell, we don’t even have a place to start. Sinn never
wanted to talk about where he was from. Just said he was club protected but
never allowed to patch.”
“I know people like that,” Night said, shrugging. “Sinn and
I, we’re from similar places. Was talkin’ to him one night, comparing bullshit
and fuckin’ around. If it helps, he’s from Driftwood.”
“Now we have a place to start!” Saint declared, boots
hitting the floor with a heavy thud as he bellowed over the muttered, subdued
conversations. “Kickstands up in twenty. We’re headed to Driftwood.”
Chairs scuffed the floor, shoved back with enough force they
screeched and groaned. Heavy footsteps pounded the wood as Jokers moved to do
as they were told with an efficiency that would have made a team of soldiers
proud.
“What’s this all about?” Mark asked, piercing gaze sweeping
over Sinn and Night.
“Ask him, he’s the one that provided some new intel on
Sinn.”
“Shocked there’s anything any of us could know about Sinn
that you don’t.”
“Yeah, well, it seems like these two got cozy one night and
struck up a conversation.”
Was it his imagination, or did Night’s cheeks pink up at
Saint’s mention of them getting cozy? Well shit, that was interesting, maybe
even something to explore later, once they got Sinn back.
With renewed vigor, Saint pulled on his gloves, certain the
tide was about to turn for them.
“Anything else he happen to tell you besides where he was
from?” Mark asked.
The way Night nodded so eagerly, like a happy puppy certain
he was about to get a treat, clued Saint in on one key element of his
personality. He was a people pleaser, and judging from those wide eyes and
bright grin, likely had a praise kink. Something else to explore, once Sinn was
back safe in his arms, because something told him Sinn had already discovered a
few interesting things about their prospect, especially if he’d been
comfortable enough to open up to him.
“He said the club his family heads is the Disciples of Chaos
and that they are pure one percenters, which meant he grew up being protected
from a number of enemies looking to even the score for something the Disciples’
did.”
Mark’s fingers flew over the screen of his phone while Night
spoke, no doubt relaying the information to Keegan up at the house. Their head
of intel would find out all he could about the Disciples, their enemies, and
their supposed allies, and transmit the information to them while they made the
drive.
“Thank you,” Saint said, gripping Sinn’s shoulder. “You have
no idea how much this means to me.”
Night chuckled, but as Saint walked away, he distinctly
heard him mutter beneath his breath. “Actually, I do.”
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