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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Coming Soon

About the Author

1st Chapter of Property of Anchor

1st Chapter of Sugar & Ink

Chapter One

Bone

I opened my eyes and stared at the empty spot beside me. Well, not exactly empty.

A piece of white paper sat on the pillow where a woman had been when I fell asleep. A bright red lipstick kiss was stamped on the bottom corner, and a few words were scribbled across the middle.

Last night was amazing. Give me a call. xo

I stared at the note for a few seconds before reaching over and grabbing it. “Yeah. That’s not happening.” I crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it onto the floor beside the bed.

She’d been hanging around the clubhouse for the better part of the night, drinking with everyone before she’d ended up in my bed. I remembered that part just fine.

The rest? Didn’t matter.

Last night had been last night. Today was today.

I dropped back against my pillow and folded my hands behind my head.

I didn’t do attachment. Never had.

Women knew the deal when they came around the Grave Prowlers. At least, they should’ve known it. I wasn’t promising anyone breakfast in the morning or a date the next weekend. I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, an ol’ lady, or whatever the fuck else came along with a woman leaving lipstick notes on my pillow.

I liked women.

I liked sex.

I just didn’t need all the shit that came after it.

My life was already full.

There wasn’t some empty spot beside me that I was waiting for the right woman to fill.

I turned my head and looked at the pillow again. Well, technically there was an empty spot, but I liked it that way.

I chuckled and looked back at the ceiling.

Seven-thirty.

I’d slept later than I normally did, but it was Sunday, and nothing was on fire.

At least, nothing had been on fire when I’d gone to bed.

I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed my phone.

No missed calls.

No emergency texts.

Nothing from Myth telling me I needed to get my ass downstairs.

That was always a good sign.

I dropped the phone onto my chest and started running through what I needed to get done.

First thing was the wood delivery. It was supposed to be here by eight, and I wanted to put eyes on it before it was unloaded. We’d paid a small fucking fortune for this shipment. Black walnut.

Not the shit you bought at a lumberyard to slap together a bookshelf. This was the good stuff. Kiln-dried slabs we’d been waiting months to get our hands on—the kind of wood that would eventually become custom caskets worth more than some people’s cars.

A lot more.

The Grave Prowlers had been building caskets almost as long as we’d been putting people in the ground. It was part of who we were.

The club had started in Virginia back in 1987 with a mortuary and a handful of men who figured out pretty fucking quickly that there was good money to be made in death.

Even better money if you weren’t too concerned about staying on the right side of the law.

Cremations for people who paid enough to guarantee nobody asked questions. Custom coffins. Transportation. Eventually guns.

A coffin was a hell of a good place to move something nobody was supposed to find.

By 1997, the club had grown enough that the original members started spreading out across the country, creating territories that covered two states at a time.

Wisconsin and Minnesota were ours.

Separate chapters. Same club, code, and loyalty.

I was President of Wisconsin.

Shadow had Minnesota.

Neither of us answered to the other, but if one chapter needed the other, we were there.

That was how the Grave Prowlers worked.

Club above everything. The shit wasn’t complicated. People were the ones who liked making things complicated.

I tossed the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed. The crumpled note was on the floor between my feet. Case in point. That note was pure complications.

I kicked it under the bed and stood.

Problem solved.

I grabbed my jeans off the chair in the corner and pulled them on, then headed into the bathroom. A shower would’ve been nice, but the wood was more important. I’d get one after I made sure the delivery wasn’t fucked up.

I turned on the sink and splashed cold water over my face. The man looking back at me in the mirror looked about how I felt. Hair fucked up. Beard needing a trim. Eyes slightly bloodshot.

I grabbed my toothbrush and started brushing. Had the woman from last night been worth losing a little sleep over? Probably not, but whatever.

I stopped brushing and looked down at the running water. What the hell had her name been?

Had it been Ashley? Amanda? Something with an A.

I shook my head and kept brushing. Didn’t matter.

I finished brushing my teeth, ran wet hands through my hair, and went back into the bedroom.

The room wasn’t anything fancy, but it was mine. I’d lived at the clubhouse for years and never saw a reason to change that.

Why the fuck would I? Everything I needed was here.

My brothers, my bike, the casket biz, food, beer, and my bed.

And there was almost always a woman around when I wanted one.

Moving into some house just so I could drive back here every damn day didn’t make any sense.

The clubhouse sat at the end of a long, dead-end road on the outskirts of Marshfield—far enough outside town that nobody gave much of a shit about what we were doing.

Exactly the way we liked it.

The club owned a good chunk of the land around us, which gave us room for the clubhouse and the buildings we used for the casket business. The shop was where the guys did most of the woodworking and custom orders. Beyond that was storage for finished caskets, lumber, equipment, and whatever else we didn’t want sitting out in the open.

Some of it was completely legitimate.

Some of it wasn’t. Again, nobody around here asked many questions.

There weren’t many people close enough to ask them anyway. The road from the clubhouse ran about two miles before you hit the nearest houses.

Two of them sat side by side and one belonged to my mother. The other had been empty for a while.

I didn’t know what was happening with that place. Didn’t particularly care, either. The old woman had died, and I’d stopped paying attention after that.

My concern was the house next door. Ma had lived there for years.

I’d tried more than once to get her to move closer to town and she’d told me to fuck off. Not in those exact words, because she was my mother and liked pretending she didn’t swear, but the message had been clear.

She liked her house. She liked the quiet. She liked having the club close enough that she could call whenever she needed something.

Mostly, she liked having me close enough that she could call whenever she needed something. The fact I was the President of an MC apparently didn’t excuse me from changing lightbulbs and moving shit around her garage.

I pulled a black T-shirt over my head.

Once the lumber was unloaded, I’d head over there. She hadn’t called and asked me to come by, which normally meant one of two things: she didn’t need anything, or she absolutely needed something but had decided she wasn’t going to ask.

I’d learned a long time ago it was easier to stop in than wait for the inevitable phone call where she casually mentioned she’d climbed onto a chair to reach something.

The woman was going to put me in an early grave. At least I knew where I could get a good casket and plot.

I snorted and grabbed my socks.

Peace View Cemetery was on the other side of Marshfield, and the Grave Prowlers had owned it for years.

Owning a cemetery made sense when you were in the death business.

Peace View was legitimate. Completely.

All we really had to do was deal with people buying plots, digging graves, and cutting the grass. Bull, Rowdy, and Dealer handled the cemetery for the most part.

The cemetery didn’t need to be dirty to be useful. Sometimes the best business was the kind nobody had to hide.

I pulled on my boots and stood, grabbing my phone from the bed.

My day was simple. Check the wood. Make sure whoever was unloading it didn’t fuck up slabs we’d waited months for, see if Myth needed anything, and then ride up the road and check on Ma.

After that, I’d come back, shower, eat, and see what the rest of the day brought.

Maybe take the bike out. Maybe drink a beer. Maybe do absolutely fucking nothing.

A deep horn suddenly blasted outside.

I glanced toward the window. “About damn time.”

The lumber truck was here.

I grabbed my cut from where I’d thrown it over the back of the chair the night before and shrugged it on. I ran my hands down the front, smoothing it into place, and caught my reflection in the mirror.

GRAVE PROWLERS MC.

WISCONSIN.

Another blast from the semi horn echoed outside.

“Hold your fucking horses.” I grabbed my keys, opened the door, and headed out. Time to get shit done.

Chapter Two

Hazel

I definitely wasn’t in Ohio anymore.

I stood in the middle of my new living room with my hands planted on my hips and slowly turned in a circle.

Boxes. So many fucking boxes.

Boxes stacked against the wall. Boxes piled beside the front door. Boxes in front of the fireplace I hadn’t even known the house had until yesterday. Boxes labeled KITCHEN, BATHROOM, BEDROOM, and one particularly unhelpful box labeled SHIT I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH.

That one had been packed somewhere around midnight three days ago when I’d officially stopped giving a shit about organization.

I had no idea how one woman had accumulated this much stuff. I was said woman.

My apartment back in Ohio had been small. One bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen barely big enough for two people to stand in without bumping asses, and a living room where I could sit on the couch and almost reach the television with my foot.

Now I had a three-bedroom house.

An actual house. Mine. I still wasn’t quite sure how the hell that had happened.

“Thanks, Aunt Diane,” I muttered.

The empty room didn’t answer. Which was fitting, since Aunt Diane hadn’t exactly been chatty while she was alive either.

Mostly because I’d never met her. Not once. I’d known she existed, technically, but that was about the extent of it.

Diane had been my mother’s older sister. My mother hadn’t talked about her much, and when I’d asked questions as a kid, I’d gotten vague answers that usually ended with some version of families are complicated.

Apparently, complicated meant the two sisters had gone decades without speaking.

My mother had died years ago, and Aunt Diane had remained nothing more than a name I’d heard a handful of times.

Then, three months ago, I’d gotten a phone call from a lawyer in Wisconsin.

Diane was dead and she’d left me her house.

I’d actually laughed right into the phone. Not because it was funny, but because what the hell else was I supposed to do when a lawyer called and told me a woman I’d never met had died and decided I should own her house?

I’d assumed it was a scam.

I’d almost hung up, but the poor man had spent twenty minutes convincing me that, yes, Diane had existed, yes, she really had owned a house outside Marshfield, Wisconsin, and yes, for reasons neither of us understood, she’d named me in her will.

There hadn’t been a fortune waiting for me.

No secret millions. No priceless jewelry. No dramatic letter explaining why she’d disappeared from our lives.

Just the house.

I walked over to the front window and looked outside.

Trees. A whole lot of trees.

That was going to take some getting used to.

My apartment in Ohio had overlooked another apartment building and a parking lot where two people had been fighting over the same parking space for the better part of three years.

Here? Nothing. No traffic or people walking down the sidewalk.

Mostly because there wasn’t a sidewalk. The road stretched in both directions with thick trees and open land surrounding it.

There was one house next door. That was it.

I’d driven farther down the road yesterday out of curiosity and discovered it eventually dead-ended a couple miles away to a gated driveway and some big buildings. Whatever was down there wasn’t any of my business. At least, I hoped it wasn’t.

I wasn’t looking to make anything my business, and that was part of the appeal.

Ohio hadn’t been terrible. I hadn’t fled in the middle of the night with some horrible secret chasing me across state lines.

Nothing dramatic had happened. That was almost the problem.

Nothing happened. Ever.

I’d waitressed at the same restaurant for six years, lived in the same apartment for four, bought groceries at the same store, filled my car at the same gas station, worked with the same people, and saw the same customers every day.

Went home to watch TV, went to bed, got up, and did it all over again.

There hadn’t been anything keeping me in Ohio.

No boyfriend, no kids, and no family. I had friends, but none close enough that moving over six hundred miles away felt like I was ripping out a piece of myself.

When the lawyer told me the house was completely paid off, something inside me had clicked.

Why the hell not? That had been it. That was the grand decision-making process that had brought me to Wisconsin.

Why the hell not?

I wasn’t sure if that made me brave or stupid. Probably a little of both.

I looked around the living room again. The house definitely needed work. A lot of work.

The hardwood floors were scratched but solid. The walls were painted a shade of beige that could only be described as depression with a hint of yellow. The windows were old. The kitchen cabinets had probably been installed sometime around the invention of sliced bread, and one of the upstairs bedroom doors refused to close unless I lifted it slightly while pulling.

But the roof didn’t leak. The furnace worked. The plumbing worked.

And the most beautiful words I’d ever heard: No mortgage.

I’d take ugly cabinets. Hell, I’d hug the ugly cabinets.

I had three bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms, a decent kitchen, a big living room, a basement that I was currently pretending didn’t exist because basements creeped me the hell out, and a backyard that was probably bigger than the entire apartment complex I’d left behind.

It was mine.

For the first time in my thirty-four years, I owned something bigger than my car.

Granted, I was also unemployed. That little detail was going to become important sooner rather than later.

I had some savings, though not enough to sit around for six months discovering myself while I painted walls and learned how to garden.

Enough to get settled. Enough to breathe for a few weeks. After that, I needed a paycheck.

The house might’ve been paid for, but apparently the electric company didn’t give a shit about dead aunts and unexpected inheritances. Neither did the grocery store. Or the gas station. Or the insurance company.

I had bills. They were considerably smaller now that rent wasn’t one of them, but they still existed.

Once I got through the worst of the boxes, I’d head into Marshfield and start looking.

A restaurant.

A bar.

A diner.

I wasn’t picky.

I’d spent most of my adult life waitressing or bartending. I was good at it. I could carry four plates at once, remember twelve drink orders without writing them down, smile through a fifty-cent tip, and tell a drunk man to get his hand off my ass without dropping the tray balanced on my other palm.

Marketable skills.

I was going to be fine.

I took a deep breath. “Okay, Hazel.” Standing around staring at boxes wasn’t going to unpack them. I pointed at the nearest one. “You.” It didn’t move. “Good talk.”

I grabbed the box cutter from the windowsill and attacked the tape.

LIVING ROOM.

Finally. Something useful.

I pulled the flaps apart and immediately found a pair of boots. I frowned. “Why are you in here?”

I pulled them out and tossed them toward the stairs.

Next came two picture frames, a candle, three books, an extension cord, and the throw blanket that had lived on the back of my old couch.

Apparently, my labeling system had fallen apart well before the SHIT I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH box.

I set the frames on the mantel. One was a picture of my mom and me. I was probably nineteen in it, and we’d been laughing at something when whoever had taken the picture snapped it. Neither of us was looking at the camera. I ran my thumb across the edge of the frame. “Well, Mom,” I murmured, “I’m living in your sister’s house.”

That was weird to say out loud.

I wondered what she’d think. I’d wondered that a lot since the lawyer called.

Why hadn’t they spoken? What had happened? And why had Diane left the house to me?

Maybe somewhere in the boxes of things left in the house, I would find some answers. There were a few photo albums. Some papers. A small wooden box I’d found in the back of a closet. Nothing I’d looked through yet.

I set the picture down and grabbed the candle. “You’re easier.”

The candle went on the mantel beside the frame.

I had just started digging through the box again when someone knocked on the front door.

I froze. Nobody knew me. Literally, I’d been in Wisconsin less than forty-eight hours.

The lawyer wasn’t coming. I hadn’t ordered anything.

Another knock sounded.

I looked toward the door. “Well, this is how horror movies start.” I put the extension cord down and walked across the living room.

There was a storm door outside the regular door, which at least gave me something between myself and whoever was standing there.

I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Then blinked.

A woman stood on the other side of the glass.

She wasn’t what I’d expected, though I wasn’t sure what I’d expected.

Mid-fifties, maybe, and she had thick blond hair that fell a little past her shoulders with streaks of pink running through the ends. Not subtle pink, either. Hot pink.

She wore ripped jeans, black ankle boots, a fitted black T-shirt with I’M NOT BOSSY, I’M AGGRESSIVELY HELPFUL written across the front, and enough silver bracelets stacked around one wrist that I could see them through the glass.

Large sunglasses rested on top of her head and her lips were painted bright red. She was holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a casserole dish in the other.

I liked her immediately.

She smiled at me through the glass and I opened the storm door. “Please tell me you’re not here to sell me something.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “I brought wine.”

I looked at the bottle. “You can come in.”

She laughed. “I knew I was going to like you.”

“I have standards. They’re just incredibly low right now.”

“Those are the best kind.” She shifted the casserole dish in her arms and held out her hand.

“I’m Pink.”

I looked at her hand. Then her face. “Pink?”

“That’s what they call me.”

I shook her hand. “Hazel.”

“I know.”

I pulled my hand back. “That’s mildly terrifying.”

Pink laughed again. “Your aunt told me about you.”

That stopped me. “You knew Diane?”

“Of course.” She tipped her head toward the neighboring house. “I’ve lived next door for almost twenty years.”

I looked toward the house and then back at her. “You’re my neighbor.”

“Unless somebody moved my house overnight.”

“I suppose stranger things have happened.”

“Not around here.”

There was something about the way she said it that made me laugh.

Pink held up the wine. “I wasn’t sure if you drank red or white, so I brought red because that’s what I like.”

“That’s incredibly selfish.”

“I know.”

“And I respect it.”

Her grin widened. “Oh, we’re going to get along just fine.”

I stepped back against the doorframe. “What’s in the dish?”

“Lasagna.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Do you have any idea what I’ve eaten today?” I asked.

“No.”

“Half a granola bar and three handfuls of Goldfish crackers.”

Pink’s face twisted. “Jesus Christ.”

“I just moved in,” I explained.

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I don’t own groceries.”

“You own a refrigerator.”

“Technically,” I agreed.

“Then you should put food in it.”

“I’ve been here two days.”

“Two days is plenty of time to buy food.”

“Are you always this judgmental?”

“Only when I’m awake.”

I laughed. God, I liked her. I’d assumed the first few weeks would involve a lot of talking to myself while I figured out where the hell everything was.

Instead, my neighbor had appeared on my doorstep with wine and lasagna. Wisconsin might not be so bad.

Pink leaned slightly to the side and looked past me. “Holy boxes.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you rob a moving truck?”

“That would explain a lot.”

“You’re doing this by yourself?”

I held up my hands and wiggled my fingers. “I’ve got two hands.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Pink’s expression changed slightly. “Well, you’ve got me next door.”

That was surprisingly reassuring. “Good to know.”

“And if you need anything, you come over. Don’t worry about bothering me.”

“Careful. I might actually take you up on that.”

“Good.”

“Even if it’s two in the morning?”

Pink didn’t hesitate. “Especially if it’s two in the morning. Anything happening at two in the morning is either really good or really fucking bad, and I want to know about both.”

A laugh burst out of me. “Okay. You’re definitely my kind of person.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that.”

“You’ve been here five minutes.”

“And look how much progress we’ve made.”

I stepped back and pulled the storm door wider. “Come in.”

Pink lifted the wine. “Thought you’d never ask.”

I laughed and waved her inside.

Chapter Three

Bone

The ride from the clubhouse to Ma’s house wasn’t long enough, but I appreciated any excuse to get on two wheels.

I eased down the long road, not in any hurry.

The sun was bright overhead, warm enough that I’d left my jacket behind and only had my cut over a black T-shirt. My shades kept the glare out of my eyes, and the wind pushed through my hair as I rode. Trees lined both sides of the road, thick enough in spots that the branches nearly reached across the pavement. There wasn’t much traffic out here. There was nowhere for anyone to go unless they were headed to the clubhouse or one of the two houses between us and the main road.

That was exactly why I liked it.

Quiet.

Private.

Nobody up our ass.

I’d spent enough time around people to appreciate when there weren’t any.

The new load of walnut had shown up in good shape. Every slab had been accounted for, and whoever had loaded the truck actually knew what the fuck they were doing. Nothing damaged. Nothing warped. The moisture readings were where they needed to be.

Dealer and Bull were helping get the last of it situated when I left, and Myth had promised to make sure Taco didn’t decide he suddenly knew more about woodworking than the guys who actually built the coffins.

I had my doubts.

There were already a couple of custom orders waiting on the walnut.

One was for some rich bastard whose family wanted to bury him in something nicer than most people’s dining room tables.

Worked for me.

Dead people didn’t give a shit what they were buried in. Their families sure as hell did. And the Grave Prowlers were happy to take their money.

I rolled around the slight bend in the road, and Ma’s house came into view.

So did something that hadn’t been there the last time I’d driven by.

A dark SUV was parked in the driveway next door with a small, enclosed trailer hooked to the back.

I slowed slightly as I passed. Well, shit. Apparently, somebody had moved in.

Ma had mentioned a couple weeks ago that Deedra had died.

I’d known Deedra, though I couldn’t say I’d known her well. She’d lived next to Ma for years but mostly kept to herself. I’d cut her grass a few times when I was already doing Ma’s and shoveled her driveway after a couple of bad snowstorms. Beyond that, our conversations had mostly been waves from across the yard.

I hadn’t even known she was sick.

Ma said she’d found out from somebody in town that Deedra had passed, and after that, I hadn’t thought much about it.

Looked like somebody had gotten the house.

I pulled into Ma’s driveway and parked beside her car. I killed the engine, dropped the kickstand, and climbed off.

“Ma?” I called as I opened the front door. Nothing. I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. “Ma?” Still nothing.

I pushed my sunglasses onto the top of my head and looked around. The living room was empty. TV off. No music coming from the kitchen. No sound upstairs. “What the hell?”

I’d told her I’d stop by today, though I hadn’t given her a time. That usually didn’t matter. Sundays were one of the few days she didn’t have ten different things going on.

I walked into the kitchen. Empty, her purse sitting on the counter with her keys beside it.

I glanced through the window over the sink. Her car was definitely still in the driveway.

“Ma?” No answer.

I opened the refrigerator because I was there and grabbed a bottle of water. Priorities. I twisted off the cap, took a drink, and looked through the back window.

Maybe she was in her garden. The woman could spend half a damn day screwing around with plants and somehow call it relaxing.

I headed for the back door and stepped outside. “Ma?”

Nothing.

I walked across the patio and looked toward the garden. Empty. Her gloves were sitting on the little bench beside the raised beds, but she wasn’t anywhere around them.

I frowned. Where the fuck?

Laughter drifted around the side of the house and then I heard my mother’s voice. I couldn’t make out what she said, but I knew the sound well enough.

I shook my head. Of course, the new neighbor. Ma couldn’t leave well enough alone if her life depended on it.

I headed around the side of the house, bottle of water still in my hand, and I saw Ma first. She was standing near the SUV in the driveway next door, one hand braced on the side of it while she talked.

Then I saw the woman with her and my steps slowed.

Well, hello, neighbor. She had her back partially to me, but I could see more than enough.

Jean shorts. White T-shirt. Black Converse. Nothing special, except somehow it all looked pretty fucking special on her. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot that looked like it was barely hanging on. A few pieces had escaped and hung around her face.

Ma said something.

The woman tipped her head back and laughed.

Not a polite little chuckle. A full laugh. Her eyes closed, mouth open, one hand going to her stomach as if whatever Ma had said was the funniest damn thing she’d heard all day.

I smiled before I realized I was doing it.

Leave it to my mother. The woman couldn’t have been here long enough to figure out where the nearest grocery store was, and Ma had already made a new best friend.

“Ma.”

Both women turned.

Ma smiled and the other woman stopped laughing.

I got my first good look at her.

Dark hair, brown eyes, and a pretty face. Really fucking pretty face.

There wasn’t anything overly done about her. No makeup that I could see beyond maybe some mascara. She looked like she’d spent the day moving, which made sense considering the trailer behind her.

Her gaze traveled over me.

Quick. But not quick enough that I missed it.

Her eyes came back to mine and something passed between us.

Nothing earth-shattering.

I didn’t suddenly hear wedding bells or whatever bullshit people claimed happened when they met someone important. I just noticed her, and judging by the way her eyes lingered on me for half a beat, she’d noticed me too.

“Bone.” Ma waved me over. “Come meet Hazel.”

Hazel. I walked across the strip of grass separating the two properties. “Been looking for you.”

“I’ve been right here.”

“Your car’s at your house. Your purse is at your house. You weren’t,” I pointed out.

“I walked twenty feet, Bone. I didn’t run away.”

“Could’ve said something.”

“To who? The furniture?” she sassed.

The woman, Hazel, pressed her lips together.

I looked at her. “You can laugh.”

That did it. She laughed. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Not really.”

Ma reached over and touched Hazel’s arm. “Hazel, this is my son, Bone.”

Hazel looked at me. Then Ma and then me again. Her eyebrows drew together. “Wait.”

I already knew where this was going.

“Your son’s name is Bone?”

Ma smiled.

I sighed. “Road name.”

“Oh.” Hazel nodded slowly. “Okay. Because I was about to have several questions for you, Pink.”

I looked at Ma. “Pink?”

She lifted her chin. “You know I like when people call me that.”

“Why?”

Hazel answered before Ma could. “Because that’s her name.”

“That’s not her name.”

“It is now.”

I stared at my mother. She had pink streaks in her hair. Her nails were pink. The woman had owned more pink shit in my lifetime than any person reasonably should. Still. “We still doing this?”

“Don’t start,” Ma warned.

Hazel glanced between us. “Do people not call you Pink?”

“They do, but my son, who also picked his name, doesn’t like it.”

I groaned.

Hazel laughed again. I had a feeling that sound was going to become a problem.

“So you’re the new neighbor.” I nodded toward the house.

“That’s me.”

“Just get in?”

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday!” Ma repeated. “And she’s already my favorite.”

I looked at my mother. “She’s been in Wisconsin for a day.”

“And?”

“That’s all it takes to replace me?”

“You’ve had years to secure your position.”

Hazel covered her mouth with her hand.

“Don’t encourage her,” I warned.

“I haven’t said anything.” She raised her hands in surrender.

“You’re laughing.”

“I can’t control that.”

“Sure you can.”

“Nope.”

Ma slipped her arm through Hazel’s. Traitor.

I glanced toward the SUV and trailer. “Still got boxes?”

Hazel shook her head. “Nope.”

“No?”

She hitched her thumb toward the house. “Everything’s inside.”

I looked toward the house and then back at the trailer. “You unloaded by yourself?”

She tipped her head to the side. “What, like it’s hard?”

She went up a huge notch in my book. “I can help if there’s anything left,” I offered.

She smiled. “I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

My gaze moved to the SUV. The trailer wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t one of those little open utility trailers either. “You drive that here yourself?”

Hazel followed my gaze. “The SUV?”

“The SUV with the trailer attached to it.”

“No. I hired a team of highly trained squirrels.”

I looked at her, and her lips curved slightly upward.

“Yes, I drove it.”

“From where?”

“Ohio.”

My eyebrows lifted. She’d hauled that trailer from Ohio by herself? “Not bad.”

“Wow.” Hazel pressed a hand against her chest. “High praise.”

I chuckled. Most people would’ve looked at a long drive with a trailer and decided they needed somebody else to do it. She’d apparently hooked the damn thing up and handled it herself.

“See?” Ma said. “We’ve got everything handled.”

“We?”

“Yes, we.”

I looked between them. “You’ve known each other for what? An hour?”

“Long enough.”

Hazel nodded. “We’re very efficient.”

Ma smiled up at me. “You can get back to your biker thing.”

My jaw tightened. “My biker thing?”

She waved one hand vaguely toward the road. “You know. Whatever it is you boys do down there.”

I knew damn well she knew what I did down there.

Not everything. There were things Ma didn’t need to know, and I planned to keep it that way. But she knew I was President.

She knew the coffin business and she knew the club owned Peace View. She knew being President wasn’t a hobby I fucked around with when I didn’t have anything better to do.

I narrowed my eyes at her.

She smiled sweetly.

I let it slide.

Mostly because Hazel was watching us with open amusement and I wasn’t giving either of them more ammunition. “Actually, that’s why I stopped over.”

Ma’s smile faded a little. “Something wrong?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Just going to be busy the next couple days.”

There were a few things I wanted to make sure were locked down before the next casket shipment left Wisconsin. “I’ll drop by when I can,” I told her.

“You don’t need to check on me every five minutes.”

“Never said I did.”

“You were wandering around my house looking for me five minutes ago.”

“You weren’t answering.”

“I was next door.”

“I know that now.”

She stepped closer and reached up. I knew what was coming and didn’t stop her. Ma put one hand against my cheek, then the other, patting both sides of my face like I was ten years old instead of a grown-ass man who had half a foot and a hell of a lot of weight on her. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

“And now I have Hazel.”

Hazel lifted a hand. “Apparently.”

I glanced at her and she smiled.

Ma gave my cheeks another pat. “Stay safe.”

“Always.”

She gave me a look and we both knew that wasn’t entirely true.

“I mean it,” she said.

“I know.”

She dropped her hands.

I stepped back and pulled my sunglasses off the top of my head.

“Nice meeting you, Hazel.”

“You too, Bone.” The way she said my name caught my attention.

Maybe because she’d questioned it five minutes ago.

Maybe because I liked the way it sounded coming out of her mouth.

Didn’t matter.

I gave her a nod and slid my sunglasses over my eyes. Then I turned and headed back across the grass.

“Ready for some lasagna and wine?” I heard Ma say behind me.

I shook my head. Jesus.

I climbed onto my bike and started it. The engine came to life beneath me, loud enough to drown out whatever the two of them were saying now.

I looked over anyway.

Ma had one hand on Hazel’s arm as they walked toward Hazel’s front door. Hazel said something. Ma laughed. Then Hazel laughed with her.

They disappeared into the house together, talking like they’d known each other for years instead of however many hours they’d actually spent together.

I pulled out of the driveway and headed down the road.

I had shit to do.

The wood was handled, but that was only the first thing on my list. We had a casket to finish, a shipment to prep, paperwork to check, and a run that needed to go exactly the way it was supposed to.

Club business.

That was where my head needed to be.

I twisted the throttle and picked up speed. For some fucking reason, though, a pair of brown eyes, jean shorts, and a smart mouth followed me all the way back to the clubhouse.

Chapter Four

Hazel

I sat in the middle of the couch with one leg tucked under me and looked around the living room.

Boxes were still everywhere. Some were open now, but most weren’t.

I’d managed to get the essentials unpacked, which apparently meant coffee mugs, towels, shampoo, a phone charger, and three different pairs of shoes I absolutely did not need right away.

Priorities.

Pink had gone home a little over an hour ago after staying much longer than either of us probably intended.

We’d eaten half the lasagna and drank most of the wine. Talked about everything and nothing.

She’d told me where the best grocery store was, which restaurants in town were decent, which ones weren’t worth wasting money on, where I could probably find a job, and which neighbor three roads over apparently had a long-running feud with his own mailbox.

I didn’t fully understand that last one. I also didn’t think I needed to.

Pink had a story for everything. And somehow, after knowing her for less than a day, I already felt like I’d known her much longer.

I leaned back against the couch and pulled the throw blanket over my legs. The place still didn’t feel like mine.

Not yet. I figured that would come.

Right now, it still felt like I was borrowing somebody else’s life.

Diane’s house, walls, kitchen, and backyard.

Even though she was gone, there were still little pieces of her everywhere.

A hook by the door. A worn spot on the floor near the kitchen sink. A little ceramic bird sitting on the windowsill that I hadn’t bothered moving.

Signs that someone had lived here before me.

My phone was on the coffee table. I picked it up and checked the time.

Almost ten.

I should probably go upstairs. Take a shower and get some sleep. Tomorrow I needed to start making lists.

Groceries.

Job hunting.

Whatever the hell homeowners were supposed to keep stocked in a house besides toilet paper and batteries.

Probably tools or something. I put the phone down again and my eyes drifted toward the front window.

It was dark out there. Ohio had streetlights. Headlights. People.

Here, there was almost nothing. Pink’s porch light glowed next door and that was about it.

I smiled. At least I had Pink. My new best friend, apparently.

A laugh slipped out of me. Then, for absolutely no useful reason, my brain decided to give me an image of her son.

Bone.

I frowned. “Really?”

Of course my brain didn’t answer.

I leaned my head against the back of the couch.

Bone. That name was ridiculous, but still, it fit him somehow.

I’d seen the patch on his vest. His cut? Whatever bikers called it.

He looked like somebody who belonged on a motorcycle. Tall, broad, beard, and buzz-cut hair.

The kind of man who walked toward you like he expected the space in front of him to clear. I’d noticed that immediately. I’d also noticed his arms because I had functioning eyes.

There was nothing wrong with appreciating scenery. I wasn’t dead.

He’d been attractive. Very attractive.

I’d known plenty of attractive men, though. Most of them became significantly less attractive once they started talking.

Bone had survived the first conversation. He had that whole serious biker thing going on, but there’d been humor underneath it.

I’d seen it when he’d looked at Pink, and when he’d asked if I’d driven the trailer from Ohio. That little flicker of approval in his expression had made me want to laugh. Like I’d passed some test I hadn’t known I was taking.

I shook my head. This was stupid.

I had met the man once, for maybe two minutes.

I stared at the ceiling and then I laughed under my breath. I didn’t think moving across two states would land a biker and his mom right in my lap.

Chapter Five

Bone

“Watch the fucking barrel.”

Munch froze. The rifle in his hands stopped half an inch from the edge of the coffin.

I stared at him.

He stared at me. “Sorry, Prez.”

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t fucking hit it.”

“I didn’t.”

“Because I stopped you,” I growled.

Munch pressed his lips together and nodded. Smart. The kid had only been prospecting for a few months, and he was learning. He worked hard, didn’t complain too damn much, and generally managed to follow directions.

Generally.

I stepped closer and held out my hand. “Give it to me.”

Munch passed me the rifle.

“This isn’t a fucking duffel bag you’re throwing shit into.” I turned it slightly and lowered it into the compartment built into the bottom of the coffin. “Everything has a place. You start tossing shit in however you want, it doesn’t fit right, it shifts during transport, and that’s when we’ve got a problem.”

“Got it.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then show me.” I handed him the next rifle.

Munch took his time with this one. He lowered it into the hidden compartment, lined it up beside the others, and made sure it was secured before looking at me. “Better?”

“Good.”

The coffin sitting in front of us looked like any other custom casket Grave Casket Co. built.

That was the point.

Solid oak. Hand-finished. Polished hardware. Cream-colored interior. Every inch of it built right here on Grave Prowlers property.

What nobody looking at it would know was that the bottom sat several inches higher than it needed to.

Plenty of room beneath it.

We didn’t use every coffin for transport. Hell, most of the caskets leaving the shop were exactly what they appeared to be. Somebody ordered one. We built it. It got shipped. Eventually somebody dead went inside.

Simple.

The ones with extras were different. Those were built specifically for runs.

Guns went into the false bottom, the compartment was sealed, and the interior fit over it. Unless somebody knew exactly what they were looking for, they’d never know the difference.

That was the way the Grave Prowlers had been doing business for decades, and it fucking worked.

Munch reached for the panel.

“Hold up.”

He stopped.

I leaned over and checked the weapons one more time.

Everything was secured. Nothing shifted. Nothing was touching anything it shouldn’t. “Now.”

Munch lowered the hidden panel into place.

I pressed down on one corner until it locked, then worked my way around it. Once the interior went over the top, there’d be nothing to see. “That’s how you do it.”

“Got it, Prez.”

“You said that before.”

He grinned. “Really got it this time.”

“Better.”

“Truck!” Bull shouted from across the warehouse. “Box truck’s rolling in!”

I straightened. The Grave Casket warehouse was built for exactly this kind of work.

Big. Private. And nowhere near prying eyes.

There were oversized garage doors on opposite ends of the building, high and wide enough that semis and box trucks could drive straight through. A truck entered on one side, got loaded or unloaded inside, then pulled out through the other.

Nobody had to back in.

Nobody had to turn around.

More importantly, nobody driving down the road could see what the fuck we were doing.

There wasn’t much traffic this far down anyway, but we’d been in business too long to rely on nobody happening by at the wrong time. The Grave Prowlers didn’t survive by being careless.

A diesel engine rumbled outside before the box truck slowly rolled through the open door.

Taco stepped into the aisle and started waving it forward. “Come on. Come on. Keep coming.” The truck crawled toward us. “Little more.”

The driver leaned out his window. “I know how to fucking drive, Taco.”

Taco grinned. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Keep coming.”

The truck rolled another few feet.

“Good!” Taco slapped the side twice.

The truck stopped and I looked back at Munch. “Finish this.”

“On it.”

“Dealer, check the other two,” I ordered.

Dealer nodded from beside the next coffin.

I walked toward the truck as the driver’s door opened and Jackson climbed down.

“Hey, Jackson.”

He looked over. “Bone.”

I held out my hand. He clasped it, and we pulled each other in for a quick slap on the back. “How’s it going?”

“Can’t complain.”

“That’d be a fucking first,” Taco called.

Jackson flipped him off. “Nobody asked you.”

Taco pressed a hand to his chest. “And yet I still contribute.”

“That’s one word for it,” Dealer muttered.

Jackson laughed.

He’d been driving for us for years.

Not patched. Not a prospect. Just a guy who knew enough to do his job and not ask questions he didn’t need answers to. He handled legitimate Grave Casket loads along with some of the special ones.

Jackson knew there were things about certain shipments he didn’t need to understand. He got paid well for that lack of curiosity.

“How was Milwaukee?” I asked.

“Traffic sucked.”

“Always does.”

“Loading dock was backed up too. Took me damn near an hour to get out.”

“Anything we need to know about?”

“Nah.” He hooked his thumbs into his pockets. “Got your paperwork up front. Three going out.”

“That’s right.”

“And one coming back.”

I stopped. “Coming back?”

Jackson nodded. “Yeah.”

My eyes moved to Myth.

He’d been standing a few feet away, talking to Breaker. His attention immediately shifted to us.

“You know about a return?” I asked.

Myth shook his head. “No.”

I looked back at Jackson. “What return?”

“Casket from Milwaukee.”

“Why?”

“They said damaged.”

“Who said?”

“The guys at the loading dock.”

I frowned. Grave Casket didn’t get many returns. Not because we were fucking perfect, though we were pretty damn close. If something left our shop damaged, somebody knew about it before it came back.

A funeral home called. The transfer dock called. Somebody called. Nobody just tossed one of our caskets onto a truck and sent it home without a word.

“Nobody contacted us.”

Jackson shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you. It was sitting there when I got in. Guy told me it was coming back here.”

I looked toward Bull. “Anything come through?”

Bull shook his head. “No calls. No emails. Nothing about a return.”

I glanced at Myth again.

He was frowning now too. “Weird,” he muttered.

“Yeah.”

Not necessarily bad, but weird. Somebody could’ve dropped the ball. Wouldn’t be the first time.

The transfer yard in Milwaukee dealt with a shitload of freight every day. Caskets came through from us and plenty of other companies. One employee forgetting to send an email wasn’t exactly enough for me to sound an alarm.

I still didn’t like it, though.

“Let’s see it.”

Jackson walked to the back of the truck.

Myth and I followed.

Taco, naturally, followed us because he couldn’t stand knowing something was happening without being part of it.

Jackson grabbed the latch and opened the back. He rolled the door up, and the returned coffin sat closest to us.

I frowned. “Where’s the damage?”

Jackson shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

From where I stood, it looked fine.

Dark, polished wood with no obvious cracks. No smashed corner and nothing broken.

Myth stepped up beside me. “That’s not one with extras.”

I glanced at him. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Remember this one. Standard order.” That took one concern off my list. Whatever the hell had happened, at least we didn’t have a loaded coffin unexpectedly coming back.

“We’ll figure out where it came from and get it squared away,” Myth said.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

There’d be a serial number on it because every custom coffin we built was tracked. We’d figure out who ordered it, where it was supposed to go, and why the hell it ended up back here.

“Munch,” I called.

He came jogging over. “Yeah, Prez?”

“Grab a cart.”

“Got it.”

Bull climbed into the truck with Jackson while Munch rolled one of the heavy-duty carts over.

The four of them carefully worked the coffin out and lowered it onto the cart.

I walked around it once and still didn’t see anything.

“No scratches,” Taco said.

“Maybe it’s underneath,” Bull suggested.

“Or inside.” Taco leaned closer. “Could be the lining.”

Dealer walked over. “Who the hell cares? We’ll check the number later. Let’s get the other coffins loaded.”

“Give me ten seconds.”

“Taco.”

“Ten fucking seconds.”

Dealer rolled his eyes.

Taco reached for the lid. “Maybe somebody ripped—” He flipped it open and stopped. His whole body went still and his eyes bugged out.

I waited. “Taco?”

The fucker went pale and Munch leaned around him. “Oh, fuck,” he gasped. He immediately stumbled backward, clapped a hand over his mouth, and gagged.

I frowned. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Munch waved his free hand frantically in front of his face. “Oh my fucking God.”

“What?”

“The smell.”

Taco still hadn’t moved.

Myth walked toward them. “What the fuck are you two going on about?”

He reached the coffin and looked inside. “Jesus fucking Christ. What the fucking fuck?”

That got me moving. “What?”

Myth looked at me, then back into the coffin. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

I stepped beside him and the smell hit me first.

Jesus.

Rotten didn’t begin to describe it. It was thick. Sweet and sour at the same time. The kind of smell that seemed to coat the inside of my nose the second I breathed it in.

I pulled my shirt over my nose and looked inside. “Fuck me.”

There was a body in the coffin. A man. Or what was left of one.

He was lying on his back with his arms down at his sides. His skin had changed color in patches, darkening in some places while taking on a sick, gray-green cast in others. His face was swollen enough that I wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a lineup if somebody had shown me a picture of him alive. His stomach was bloated and his clothes were stained.

The smell rolling out of the coffin was enough to make my eyes water.

Behind me, Munch gagged again.

Taco turned his head. “If you fucking puke on me, I’ll kill you.”

“I’m trying not to,” Munch wheezed.

“Try harder,” Taco growled.

Munch closed his eyes. “I can taste the smell.”

“Why the fuck would you say that?” Bull demanded.

Munch gagged again, and now Bull looked like he might puke. “Jesus Christ, prospect.”

Humpty walked over, took one look inside, then turned toward Jackson. “The fuck, man? You brought us a coffin with the damn customer still in it?”

Jackson stared at him. “What?”

Humpty pointed. “Return to fucking sender.”

Jackson stepped forward. The second he saw inside, his face changed. “Holy shit.” He stumbled back. “What the fuck?”

“Good question,” I said.

“No.” He shook his head. “No fucking way.”

“You drove it here,” Dealer said.

“I didn’t know there was somebody in it!” Jackson insisted.

“How the fuck did you not smell him?” I asked.

“The truck’s closed up, Bone. I was in the fucking cab!”

“Nobody checked it before loading it?” Taco wondered.

Jackson held up his hands. “I didn’t. Why the fuck would I? They told me it was a damaged casket coming back to Grave Casket.”

Hose pushed through the guys. “Move.”

Munch immediately moved. Probably the fastest he’d followed an order since he’d started prospecting.

Hose pulled a pair of gloves from his back pocket.

I looked at him. “You just carry those around?”

“I’m surrounded by you assholes.”

Fair enough.

He snapped them on and moved closer to the coffin. The rest of us instinctively moved farther away. Hose didn’t seem bothered by the smell, or he was better at pretending.

He leaned over the body. “Male.”

“We got that far, Doc,” Taco muttered.

“Shut up.” Hose looked over the man’s face and neck without touching him at first. “Bloating’s pretty advanced. Skin’s slipping in places.”

Munch made a strangled sound.

Hose looked over his shoulder. “You want to go outside?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Hose turned back.

Munch immediately stepped behind Bull.

I would’ve laughed if there wasn’t a dead fucking man decomposing inside one of my coffins.

“How long?” I asked.

Hose studied him. “Hard to be exact without knowing where he’s been kept. Temperature changes everything.”

“Guess.”

“Four days. Five maybe. Could be more if he was kept cold part of the time.”

Jackson dragged both hands over his face. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

I watched him. He looked genuinely shaken, but that didn’t mean shit. People could fake being surprised. They could fake panic. They could fake just about anything when they knew someone was watching.

“Tell me exactly what happened at the yard,” I ordered.

Jackson looked at me. “I already did.”

“Do it again.”

He swallowed. “I pulled into Milwaukee. They unloaded what I brought. I was waiting on the paperwork when one of the dock guys came over and said they had a Grave Casket return.”

“Name?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“You’ve seen him before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“There are a lot of guys working that place, Bone,” he wailed.

“What’d he look like?”

Jackson blinked. “Uh...white guy. Maybe forty. Brown hair. Had a beard.”

“That narrows it the fuck down.”

“I wasn’t memorizing his face. I thought he was giving me a goddamn coffin.”

“He was.”

Jackson looked into the casket. “With a fucking dead guy in it.”

“Everybody back up,” I ordered.

Nobody argued.

I looked at Hose. “Get him into the back room.”

Hose nodded. “Don’t touch anything you don’t have to. I want to know who he is, how he died, and anything else you can figure out.”

“I’m a medic, Bone, not a fucking medical examiner.”

“Today you’re both.”

“Great,” Hose grunted.

“Humpty, help him.”

Humpty sighed. “Why me?”

“Because I said so.”

“Good reason,” he chuckled.

“Bull, Munch, Taco, Dealer. You four get the new coffins loaded.”

Munch stared at me. “Can I get some air first?”

“No.”

He swallowed hard. “Yep. Okay.”

Taco slapped him on the back. “Don’t breathe through your mouth.”

Munch glared at him. “Fuck you.”

Dealer grabbed one end of the cart holding the first outgoing coffin. “Move.”

The guys got to work.

Myth stepped beside me. “I’ll ride back to Milwaukee with Jackson.”

I looked at him. “Good.”

“We’ll find out who put that coffin on his truck, and who signed off on it,” he offered.

“Yeah.”

Jackson shook his head. “I’m telling you, I didn’t fucking know.”

“I heard you.” But I didn’t know if I believed him yet.

“You think I would’ve driven a dead body straight to your fucking door if I knew it was back there?”

“I don’t know what you’d do, Jackson.”

His jaw tightened.

I’d known him for years. Trusted him enough to haul for us, but trust wasn’t blind. Not in my world.

Myth clapped Jackson on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go figure out what the hell happened.”

Jackson looked at the coffin one more time. “Jesus.”

Myth would get him calmed down. He’d also pay attention to every word Jackson said on the drive back to Milwaukee.

If the story changed, I’d know.

Behind me, Humpty and Hose started rolling the coffin toward the back of the warehouse.

The smell followed it. Munch gagged again, and Dealer shouted at him to get his shit together.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cigarettes. I stuck one between my lips, flicked my lighter, and drew the smoke deep into my lungs. Didn’t do shit for the smell.

I stood there watching Hose and Humpty wheel the dead man away.

Three days ago, everything had been running exactly the way it was supposed to. Now somebody had sent a rotting corpse into my warehouse inside one of our coffins.

I took another drag from my cigarette. What the fuck was going on?

Chapter Six

Hazel

I was halfway through pulling a stubborn weed from the flower bed along the side of the house when I heard a car door slam.

“Hazel!”

I looked up. Pink had just pulled into her driveway and was waving at me over the roof of her car.

I pushed a loose strand of hair off my face with the back of my wrist and waved back. “Hey!”

She grabbed her purse from the passenger seat, shut the door, and started across her yard toward me.

Then the sound hit.

Not one motorcycle. A lot of them. The roar rolled down the road hard enough that I straightened and looked toward the trees.

A line of bikes came into view around the bend.

One after another. Then another. Then another.

I blinked. “Well, shit.”

The motorcycles slowed as they reached the houses and spread across the road enough that, for a few seconds, they pretty much took over the whole damn thing.

I knew Bone was in a motorcycle club, but knowing a man belonged to a motorcycle club and seeing what looked like half an army of motorcycles show up outside his mother’s house were apparently two very different things.

Pink stopped walking toward me and turned. “Give me one second!” she called.

I nodded even though I wasn’t sure she was looking.

The bikes idled for a moment and Bone got off his first.

I recognized him immediately.

Dark shirt. Cut. Sunglasses. That same solid build I remembered from the other day.

Two men climbed off bikes near him. I didn’t know either of them.

One was bigger through the shoulders, with dark hair and a beard. The other looked leaner and had the kind of face that made me think he didn’t smile much.

The rest of the bikes stayed where they were.

Bone walked toward Pink and she met him halfway. I couldn’t hear everything they said, but I could tell something was off.

Pink crossed her arms and Bone said something. She shook her head. He leaned closer.

One of the other guys looked down the road while the second kept scanning around like he was checking the houses.

My eyebrows pulled together. Okay. That was weird.

Bone looked different too.

The first time I met him, he’d been serious, but there’d been something under it. Patience. Maybe even a little amusement.

Now? Nothing. He looked like stone.

Closed off. Like every part of him had clicked into place and there wasn’t room for anything else.

Then I heard Pink clearly. “You could at least say hi to Hazel.”

Bone turned toward me. I couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but I felt the look anyway.

It was strange. Like he was seeing me but not really seeing me. Or maybe he was too distracted to care.

I lifted a hand. “Hey.”

He gave me a single nod. That was it.

The two men beside him looked at me too. Neither nodded.

Friendly bunch.

Bone said a few more words to Pink. She touched his arm, then he leaned down and kissed her cheek. Something about that softened the whole picture for about two seconds.

Then Bone stepped away and the three men headed back to their bikes.

One by one, they pulled away from the houses and headed back down the road in the direction of the dead end.

I stood there watching until the last bike disappeared around the bend.

Then I looked at Pink.

She was still standing near her driveway, watching too. Her shoulders were lower than they had been before. I had only known her a few days, but Pink wasn’t hard to read.

She was warm. Open. Loud in the best way and smiled easily. Laughed even easier. The woman carried herself like sunshine with hot pink streaks in her hair.

Right now, there was a cloud over her.

Pink finally turned. The second she saw me looking, she smiled.

I brushed the dirt off my knees and stood. “What was all that?”

Pink walked toward me. “What was what?”

I stared at her and she kept coming. “The small motorcycle invasion.”

“Oh.” She waved a hand. “That was just Bone and his friends.”

I looked past her toward the empty road. “Friends?”

“Yes.”

“Pink.”

“What?”

“That was at least ten motorcycles.”

She smiled. “Probably.”

“And you’re calling that friends?”

“What else would I call them?”

“A motorcycle club?”

She laughed. “There’s that too.”

I folded my arms. “You really undersold this whole thing.”

“I told you Bone was in the Grave Prowlers.”

“You make it sound like it was Bone and a couple guys.”

Pink laughed harder. “So maybe I didn’t give you an exact number of friends he had.”

I shook my head.

She was impossible.

“That normal?” I asked.

“What?”

“All of them showing up?”

“Oh.” She glanced back toward the road. “Bone mostly comes by himself. Couple times a week, usually. He normally doesn’t have everyone with him, but I’m sure it’s nothing.”

I looked back at her. “You okay?”

Pink’s smile faltered for half a second. Then it came back. “I’m fine.”

That wasn’t exactly convincing, but I hadn’t known her long enough to push, so I didn’t.

She clapped her hands once. “What are you doing for dinner?”

Subject officially changed.

I glanced at the dirt on my knees. “Big plans.”

“Oh?”

“Hot date with a TV dinner and reruns of Family Matters.”

Pink put a hand over her heart. “Steve Urkel?”

“The man himself.”

“Sexy.”

“Very.”

She nodded seriously. “I can do you one better.”

“I doubt that.”

“Dinner at my house.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Golden Girls.”

I stared at her.

She stared back.

“Okay,” I said. “You win.”

“I know.”

“Are you always this competitive?”

“Yes.”

“At least you’re honest.”

Pink pointed toward me. “One hour.”

“Bossy.”

“Aggressively helpful.”

I shook my head, remembering her shirt from the other day. “Right.”

She started backing toward her house. “I’m serious. One hour.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I have wine.”

“Now you’re just showing off.”

Pink grinned and turned away.

I watched her go, then crouched back down beside the flower bed and reached for another weed.

Whatever Bone had going on, he could handle it.

I had dirt under my nails, dinner with Pink in an hour, and an entire house still waiting for me to get my shit together.

That was enough for now.

Chapter Seven

Bone

I needed to ride.

There wasn’t anything I needed to pick up. Nowhere I needed to be. No one waiting for me on the other end.

I just needed the road.

Sometimes that was the only way I could get my head straight.

There was always something happening at the clubhouse. Somebody asking a question. A phone ringing. A problem that needed solving. Guys talking shit. Orders coming in for Grave Casket. Paperwork that needed to be checked. Something happening at Peace View.

Most days, I liked it. Hell, I’d chosen it. But when too much shit started piling up in my head, there was only one place I could sort through it.

When an unknown dead body showed up, I needed space.

On my bike.

I stepped out of the clubhouse and slid my sunglasses over my eyes.

My bike was parked where I’d left it, and I didn’t bother grabbing anything besides my cigarettes and phone.

“Going somewhere?”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Myth coming through the door.

“Ride.”

He nodded toward his bike. “I’ll come with.”

I shook my head. “Stay here. Hold things down.”

Myth studied me for a second. He knew me well enough to understand what that meant.

I didn’t need backup. Didn’t need company. Didn’t need to talk. I needed to fucking think.

“All right.” He nodded. “I got it.”

“Call if anything comes up.”

“Always do.”

I swung my leg over the bike. Myth headed back inside as I turned the key and fired up the engine. The familiar rumble settled through me.

Better already.

I backed out, turned toward the road, and took off. The clubhouse disappeared behind me. Trees blurred on either side as I picked up speed, the wind pushing against my chest and pulling at my shirt beneath my cut.

This was where I could breathe.

Where I could think.

Nobody talking.

Nobody asking me what the fuck we were going to do. Nobody looking at me because I was supposed to have the answer.

It was about the closest I ever got to completely shutting my mind off.

I passed Ma’s place.

Her car was parked out front and my eyes automatically moved to the house next door.

No SUV. Hazel wasn’t home. I kept going because that shouldn’t matter to me.

A few minutes later, I turned onto the main road toward Marshfield.

The dead man immediately came back to the front of my mind. Two fucking days and we knew almost exactly as much as we had when Taco opened the coffin.

A dead man had been delivered to our warehouse.

That was about it.

Hose had done what he could, but there were limits to what a club medic could tell us by looking at a decomposing body.

Male. Probably somewhere between forty and fifty. Dead four or five days, give or take. No wallet. No identification. Nothing in his pockets.

The condition of the body made it hard for Hose to tell exactly what had killed him, though he was pretty fucking confident the guy hadn’t died naturally.

Helpful.

Myth had gone straight back to Milwaukee with Jackson, and that hadn’t gotten us shit either. Nobody at the transfer dock knew what the hell he was talking about. Or claimed they didn’t.

The office had no record of a Grave Casket return. None.

No damaged coffin had been entered into the system. No return paperwork. No request from a funeral home. No customer complaint.

Nothing.

The casket might as well have appeared out of thin fucking air.

The guy Jackson described hadn’t been working the dock by the time Myth got there.

Nobody admitted knowing who he was, though that didn’t mean much.

A forty-something white guy with brown hair and a beard wasn’t exactly a unique description in Wisconsin. Half the fucking state fit it.

Jackson hadn’t remembered anything else useful.

He’d been told there was a return going back to Grave Casket, he’d accepted it, and he’d driven it to us.

Simple.

Except there wasn’t a damn thing simple about a dead man being delivered.

I rolled into Marshfield and stopped at a red light.

I planted one boot on the pavement and reached into the inside pocket of my cut to pull out a cigarette. I pulled one out, stuck it between my lips, and lit it.

The first drag burned into my lungs, and I blew the smoke toward the side of the road.

Whoever had sent that coffin had gone through a lot of fucking trouble. They wanted us to find him.

I just didn’t know why.

The light turned green and I took off.

Marshfield moved around me as I rode.

Restaurants.

Gas stations.

Stores.

People going about their day like there wasn’t a rotting corpse sitting in a back room on Grave Prowlers property.

Normal shit.

My eyes moved automatically as I went.

Cars. People. Parking lots. Side streets. I wasn’t looking for anything specific. It was a habit. You spent enough years in my world; you learned to pay attention.

I passed a couple restaurants, then Bing’s Billiards and Bar came into view.

The place had been there forever. Pool tables, cheap beer, and decent burgers. A crowd that could be perfectly fine at five in the afternoon and turn into a bunch of drunk assholes by midnight.

I was almost past it when the front door opened and a woman stepped out.

Hazel.

Well, fuck. She walked across the parking lot toward the SUV I’d noticed missing from her driveway. I kept riding for about three seconds and then I slowed.

What the fuck was she doing at Bing’s in the middle of the afternoon? Not my business.

I reached the next crossroad and slowed. Then I turned around.

I didn’t even think about it until I was already heading back. “The fuck am I doing?”

Apparently, I was going to find out what Hazel was doing at Bing’s. Made perfect fucking sense.

I pulled into the parking lot just as she reached her SUV.

Hazel heard the bike and turned. She stopped with her hand on the driver’s door. I rolled in behind her SUV and parked close enough that she wasn’t going anywhere unless I moved.

The engine died and Hazel stared at me.

I took another drag from my cigarette.

She put one hand on her hip, then lifted the other over her eyes to block the sun.

Even with my sunglasses between us, there was something about the way she looked at me that hit low in my stomach.

Interested. Maybe a little amused.

I liked it.

“What are you doing?” she called.

I took the cigarette from my mouth. “What are you doing?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “I asked first.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m answering first.”

She shook her head. “I was looking for a job.”

My eyes moved to Bing’s. Then back to her. “Here?”

“That was my answer.” She pointed at me. “Now what about you?”

“Riding.”

“Riding,” she parroted.

“Yeah, needed to clear my head.”

She looked at my bike, then at the way it was parked directly behind her SUV. “Does clearing your head usually involve blocking random women into parking spaces?”

I glanced at her SUV as if I hadn’t noticed. “You’re not random.”

“No?”

“You’re Ma’s neighbor.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Of course. Very important distinction.”

I chuckled and took another drag. “Besides, seeing you was a bonus.”

The words were out before I thought much about them.

Hazel went still for half a second, then a small smile pulled at her lips.

I liked making her smile. Didn’t need to examine why.

“Smooth,” she said.

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“That’s what makes it worse.”

I grinned.

Her eyes dropped briefly to my mouth.

That I noticed too. Fuck.

I flicked ash onto the pavement. “You really thinking about working at Bing’s?”

Hazel glanced over her shoulder at the building. “Maybe. Why? Should I not?”

I shrugged. “Can get rough.”

“So can every bar.”

“Bing’s gets a little rougher than most.”

She didn’t look worried. “Are the tips good?”

“Usually.”

“Then I can handle rough.”

I believed her. Didn’t mean I particularly liked the idea of her behind that bar dealing with some of the assholes who came through here. Also didn’t mean I got a fucking vote. “You apply anywhere else?”

“Three other bars.”

“Which ones?”

Hazel laughed.

“What?”

“Are you going to give me a Yelp review on every place I apply?”

“Maybe.”

“Good to know.” She leaned against the side of her SUV. “Three bars and the family restaurant on the other side of town.”

I knew the place.

Quiet. Busy. Mostly families and old people. For some reason, I liked that option better. “The restaurant’s decent.”

“That means I should work there?”

“Means it’s decent.”

“Very helpful.”

“You’re welcome.”

She smiled again.

I took the last drag from my cigarette. Neither of us said anything for a few seconds. It should’ve been awkward, but it wasn’t.

Hazel looked toward the road, then back at Bing’s. She sighed. “I should probably keep going.”

I should too. That had been the whole fucking point of leaving the clubhouse.

Ride and clear my head. Not sit in a parking lot talking to my mother’s new neighbor. “Guess I’ll let you get back to it.”

Hazel nodded. “Guess so.”

I didn’t move.

Neither did she.

What the fuck? I’d stopped to see what she was doing. She’d told me, so now the conversation was over. There wasn’t any reason to stay. Except some part of me didn’t particularly want to leave yet.

That shit made no sense, because I barely knew her.

She was a pretty woman. Funny. Independent enough to drag a trailer from Ohio by herself.

None of those things explained why I’d turned my fucking bike around.

I tossed my cigarette onto the pavement and ground it out beneath my boot.

Enough.

I fired up the bike and Hazel straightened away from her SUV. “I’ll see you around, Hazel,” I called over the engine.

She smiled and gave me a little wave. “See you around, Bone.”

I backed out enough to clear her SUV, turned, and headed for the road.

A few seconds later, Bing’s disappeared behind me.

I opened the bike up as I left town, letting the engine thunder beneath me while the wind hit harder. This was supposed to clear my head.

Instead, I’d somehow managed to add Hazel to everything already bouncing around inside it.

Chapter Eight

Hazel

My phone started ringing just as I managed to get the lid off a can of paint. “Of course.”

I’d been carrying the damn thing around with me all morning because I’d put in enough job applications over the last two days that I didn’t want to miss a call. The one time I left it in another room, someone called.

I set the screwdriver I’d used to pry the lid off on the floor and hurried through the living room. The kitchen was slowly becoming my favorite room in the house, and it was slowly starting to look like mine.

There was food in the refrigerator now. My coffee maker was on the counter, and my bright red toaster had taken its place of honor.

My phone was vibrating across the kitchen table when I grabbed it.

A local number and I immediately straightened. Only four places had my number.

“Hello?”

“Is this Hazel?”

“It is.”

“Hey, Hazel. This is CL from Bing’s.”

I smiled. Well, damn. “Hey.”

“You got a minute?”

“I’ve got several.”

He chuckled. “Good. I wanted to give you a call before I got tied up over here. I talked to the owner this morning, and we’d like to bring you on.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“That’s great.”

Relief hit me harder than I’d expected.

I hadn’t been panicking yet.

I’d had money.

Not a lot, but enough that I wasn’t going to be eating crackers and ketchup packets by the end of the week. Still, watching money go out without any coming in wasn’t exactly relaxing.

A job fixed that.

“We need someone behind the bar who can pick up serving shifts when we’re short,” CL continued. “You said you’ve done both?”

“Years of both.”

“Good. That’s what we need.”

“Then I’m your girl.”

“When can you start?”

I glanced around my kitchen as if the answer might be written on one of the walls. “When do you need me?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow works.”

“Four o’clock?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Great. Come in fifteen minutes early so we can get your paperwork squared away.”

“Will do.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Hazel.”

“Thanks, CL.”

I ended the call and stared at my phone. Then I lifted both arms into the air. “Yes!” My voice echoed through the kitchen.

I laughed and dropped my arms.

One more thing checked off the list.

House.

Utilities.

Groceries.

Job.

I was practically a functioning Wisconsin resident.

I set my phone on the table and headed back toward the living room. I’d made it three steps when I changed direction.

Pink.

She’d probably want to know. Actually, knowing Pink, she’d be offended if I waited longer than five minutes to tell her.

I slipped my feet into the sandals by the back door and stepped outside.

Then stopped.

I had on a pair of old black shorts and a tank top I’d owned since approximately the beginning of time. My hair was clipped on top of my head, and I had a streak of pale green paint on my forearm from testing three different colors on the living room wall.

I looked down at myself. “Good enough.” It was just Pink. She’d seen me worse.

I headed across the yard and I hadn’t even made it halfway when her back door opened.

Pink stepped out holding a glass of iced tea. “Where are you going?”

“Your house.”

“Why?”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re weird.”

“So are you.”

“True.”

She walked down the steps. “What happened?”

“Why does something have to have happened?”

“Because you’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you’re about to tell me something.”

I planted my hands on my hips. “I got a job.”

Pink’s face lit up. “You did!”

“I did.”

She set her glass down on the patio table and hugged me. I laughed and hugged her back. “Look at you!” she said as she released me. “You’ve been here less than a week.”

“I have bills.”

“Nothing like electricity to motivate a woman.”

“Exactly.”

“Where?”

“Bing’s.”

Pink’s smile changed. Barely, but I caught it. “Oh.”

I pointed at her. “That.”

“What?”

“That face.”

“I didn’t make a face.”

“You absolutely made a face.”

“I said oh.”

“You said it with a face.”

Pink picked up her iced tea. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Why does everyone do that when I mention Bing’s?”

She stopped with the glass halfway to her mouth. “Everyone?”

Shit. I should’ve known she’d catch that.

Pink slowly lowered her glass. “Who else made a face?”

“Nobody.”

“Hazel.”

“It wasn’t important.”

“Who?”

I sighed. “Bone.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Bone?”

There was way too much interest packed into one word.

I immediately regretted saying anything. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Whatever you’re about to do.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’ve got a look.”

Pink pressed her lips together. “Where did you talk to Bone?”

“Bing’s.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

Her eyebrows climbed even higher. “Bone was at Bing’s?”

“No.”

Pink stared at me.

I stared back.

“Then how did you talk to him at Bing’s?”

“He was riding by.”

“And he stopped?”

“Technically, he turned around.”

Pink blinked. Why did that sound more significant when I said it out loud? “He turned around?”

“Yes.”

“For you?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t conduct an investigation.”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know.”

Pink was looking at me like I’d just handed her the first clue in a murder mystery.

I pointed at her. “Stop.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re doing a lot without saying a word.”

She smiled.

I groaned.

“He saw me coming out of Bing’s, turned around, and pulled into the parking lot.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t ‘uh-huh’ me.”

“I said two syllables.”

“They were loaded syllables.”

Pink laughed.

“He blocked my car in,” I added.

That stopped her laughter. “He did what?”

“With his motorcycle. Not like he was holding me hostage.”

Pink’s smile came back. Bigger. “Oh.”

“There’s that face again.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked what I was doing there.”

“And?”

“I told him I was looking for a job.”

“And?”

“He told me Bing’s can get rough.”

Pink nodded. “It can.”

“Apparently, everybody in Marshfield thinks I can’t handle a bar.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Bone seemed to.”

Pink’s eyebrows pulled together. “Did he tell you not to work there?”

“No.”

“Did he tell you to stay away from it?”

“No.”

“Then Bone wasn’t telling you that you couldn’t handle it.”

I crossed my arms. “What was he doing?”

“Looking out for you.”

I laughed. “He doesn’t know me.”

“Exactly.”

There was something in the way she said it.

I narrowed my eyes.

Pink sipped her tea.

“No.”

She lowered the glass. “What?”

“You’re matchmaking.”

“I am absolutely not.”

“Good.”

“But—”

“No ‘but,’” I insisted.

She laughed. “I’m just saying Bone doesn’t normally turn his motorcycle around to check where random women are applying for jobs.”

“Maybe he’s extremely invested in the local hospitality industry.”

Pink almost choked on her tea.

I grinned. “Did you ever think of that?”

“No. Shockingly, I didn’t.”

“Well, there you go.”

She shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And employed.”

“At Bing’s.”

I sighed. “We’re back to that?”

“It’s not a bad place.”

“But?”

“No ‘but.’”

“Bone said the crowd gets rough.”

“It can.”

“So he was right.”

She wagged her finger at me. “Don’t ever tell him that. It’ll go straight to his head.”

I laughed. “Noted.”

Pink leaned against the patio table. “How much bartending experience do you have?”

“A lot.”

“Then you’ll be fine.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You know how to handle drunk assholes?”

“I spent four years working at a sports bar across from a college campus.”

Pink nodded solemnly. “My condolences.”

“Thank you. It was a difficult time.”

She laughed.

“I can handle Bing’s.”

“I believe you.”

“And if I hate it, I’ll quit.”

“Exactly.”

That was one of the things I was determined to do differently here.

I wasn’t going to get stuck. Not in a job. Not in a routine. Not in anything just because it was easier to stay than leave.

I’d already proven I could pack up my life and move to another state. Quitting a shitty bartending job wasn’t going to scare me.

“Tomorrow at four,” I told her.

“Look at you.”

“I know.”

“First Wisconsin job.”

“First and hopefully last for a while.”

“That’s less adventurous.”

“I need money more than adventure.”

Pink lifted her glass toward me. “Fair.”

I looked back toward my house. The open front window gave me a perfect view of the living room wall I’d been working on. “I should probably get back to painting.”

“What color?”

“Green.”

Pink made a face.

“Not ugly green.”

“That’s subjective.”

“Show me.”

“You can see it when I’m done.”

“Why?”

“Because if you hate it, you’ll spend the next three hours trying to convince me to change it.”

“I would never.”

“You absolutely would.”

“Fine.” She sighed dramatically. “I’ll wait.”

I started backing toward my yard. “Thank you.”

“Hazel?”

“What?”

Pink smiled. “I’m happy you’re here.”

That caught me off guard.

My smile softened. “I’m happy I’m here too.”

And I meant it.

I turned toward my house, but Pink called, “Wait.”

I glanced back.

Pink was still watching me.

“What now?”

“Did Bone say anything else?”

I groaned. “Oh my God.”

“I’m curious!”

“Nothing important.”

“Did he flirt with you?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Hazel!”

I kept walking.

“He did, didn’t he?”

I lifted my hand over my head and flipped her off. Pink’s laughter followed me across the yard. I was smiling when I reached my back door.

Bone had flirted with me. A little.

I’d flirted back. Also a little.

That didn’t mean anything.

He was attractive. I was single. We’d crossed paths. End of story.

Except the memory of him sitting on that motorcycle, cigarette between his fingers and that little grin on his face, popped into my head again.

Seeing you was a bonus.

I opened the door and let it bang shut behind me.

I had a house to paint.

And tomorrow, I had my first shift at Bing’s.

Bone could stay exactly where he belonged.

Somewhere down the road.

Chapter Nine

Bone

My phone buzzed against the table.

I glanced down from the paperwork spread in front of me. It was Ma.

Come eat.

That was it. No hello. No question about whether I was busy. No mention of what she’d made. Just an order.

I looked at the time and saw it was almost seven.

Shit. I’d been sitting in the office for close to three hours.

The cigarette burning between my fingers had gone down almost to the filter, and the cup of coffee beside me had probably been cold for at least two of those hours.

I picked up my phone and typed back, Busy.

The three little dots appeared immediately. Of course they did. Too busy to eat?

I took the last drag off my cigarette and crushed it into the ashtray. No.

Her reply was again instant. Good. Come eat.

I stared at the screen. Then another message came through. Pot roast.

Well, fuck. She knew exactly what she was doing.

I shoved the paperwork away and stood.

We still didn’t know who the dead guy was. Didn’t know who had sent him. Didn’t know how the coffin had ended up at the Milwaukee transfer dock. And after spending the last two days digging into every fucking angle we could think of, we weren’t much closer to knowing any of it.

The casket itself had given us something, but not enough.

Bull had tracked the serial number. It had been one of ours, built almost eight months ago and shipped to a funeral home outside Madison. Everything about that order checked out.

Except the funeral home didn’t have it anymore.

They’d sold it to another funeral home after a family changed their mind on the finish.

That place had supposedly sent it somewhere else.

We were still working our way down the fucking chain.

I hated loose ends. Right now, I had enough of them to tie a goddamn net.

“Where you going?” Myth asked when I walked out of the office.

“Ma’s.”

He looked at the clock behind the bar. “Everything okay?”

“She made pot roast.”

Myth nodded. “Understandable.”

I grabbed my keys. “Call me if anything comes up.”

“You’ll be two miles away.”

“Still call.”

“I know how phones work, Bone.”

I flipped him off and headed outside. The sun was getting lower, but there was plenty of daylight left. I climbed onto my bike and started it.

Two minutes later, I was heading up the road. I’d been thinking about riding again anyway.

Yesterday hadn’t exactly done what I’d wanted it to.

I’d left the clubhouse to clear my head; instead, I’d found Hazel.

Or she’d found me. No. I’d definitely fucking found her.

I’d been the idiot who’d turned around.

I pulled into Ma’s driveway and killed the engine. The smell hit me before I even reached the front door.

Pot roast.

I opened the door. “Ma?”

“In here.”

I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. “Smells good.”

“It better. It’s been cooking all day.”

I walked toward the kitchen. “I would’ve come sooner if you’d led with pot roast.”

“I shouldn’t have to bribe my own son into eating dinner with me.”

“You weren’t bribing me.”

“No?”

“No. You were manipulating me.”

“Whatever works.”

I stepped into the kitchen and stopped.

Hazel was sitting at the table with a glass of wine in one hand and a smile on her face.

Of fucking course she was there.

She looked different than she had the other times I’d seen her. Her hair was down tonight.

Dark waves fell over her shoulders, and she had on a blue shirt that dipped low enough in the front that my eyes went there before I could stop them.

Hazel’s smile grew. “Oh, look.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

“The parking lot stalker.”

I pulled out the chair across from Hazel and sat.

Hazel took another sip of wine, and I watched her.

She lowered the glass. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring,” she pointed out.

“I’m sitting across from you. Hard not to look at you,” I defended myself.

“Those aren’t the same thing.”

“Could move if it bothers you.”

“It doesn’t.”

There it was again.

That fucking spark.

Small, but definitely there.

My cock apparently noticed it too. Great. Exactly what I needed.

I looked away.

“Bone, get the rolls,” Ma ordered.

“Where?”

“Counter.”

I stood. “You invited me here to eat, not help.”

“Same thing,” she sassed and threw a wink at Hazel. Hazel leaned toward Ma. “He’s difficult.”

“Always has been,” Mom whispered loudly.

“I’m standing right here.”

“We know,” they said at the same time.

I stared at both of them. “This was a mistake.”

“What was?” Hazel asked.

“You two getting together.” I grabbed the basket of rolls. “This is what happens when you make friends with strangers.”

Hazel pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m not a stranger anymore.”

“Barely,” I muttered. I put the rolls on the table.

“Sit down,” Ma ordered.

I sat.

She brought the roast over and put it in the middle of the table before taking the chair at the end.

For the next few minutes, the only thing that mattered was food.

Ma’s pot roast had been one of my favorites since I was a kid. Beef, carrots, potatoes, onions, gravy thick enough to drown everything in.

I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the first bite hit my mouth.

Hazel made a noise from across the table. A soft little moan.

My fork stopped halfway to my plate. Fuck me.

She closed her eyes. “Pink.”

“What?”

“This is amazing.”

Ma beamed. “I told you.”

Hazel opened her eyes and caught me looking at her.

Her eyebrows lifted and I put the fork in my mouth.

Nothing to see here.

She smiled.

I chewed.

This dinner was going to be a fucking problem.

“So,” Ma said, “Hazel got a job.”

I looked at Hazel.

She immediately groaned. “Pink.”

“What?”

“You couldn’t wait?”

“I’m proud. Some people these days don’t want to work, and you managed to get a job barely a week after you got here.”

“Where?” I asked even though I already knew the answer.

Hazel looked at me. “Bing’s.”

“You took it?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t aware I needed your approval.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“You said it like you did.”

“I asked a question.”

“With a tone.”

“What tone?”

“That one.”

I looked at Ma. “Does she always do this?”

Ma shrugged and took a sip of her wine. “I’ve known her a week.”

“Yes,” Hazel answered for her.

Ma nodded. “Yes.”

I shook my head and went back to my food. “When do you start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Serving?”

“Mostly. Bartending if they need me.”

I nodded. “CL hire you?”

“You know CL?”

“I know everybody at Bing’s.”

“That’s not concerning at all,” she muttered.

“I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“So you’re not secretly stalking everyone?”

“Not yet.”

Hazel smiled. “Good. I like feeling special.”

Ma snorted.

I pointed my fork at her. “Stay out of this.”

“I’m eating.”

“You’re listening.”

“I’m sitting three feet away. How could I not listen?”

Hazel laughed.

I stared at her and she stared right back.

Ma took a bite of potato. “You two are exhausting.”

“We’re not doing anything,” Hazel said.

“Uh-huh.”

I hid my grin behind my glass.

Maybe dinner wasn’t so bad.

“Pink said you make caskets,” Hazel said.

My eyes moved to Ma.

She shrugged. “It’s not a secret.”

It wasn’t. Grave Casket Co. was completely legitimate. Part of it, anyway. “What about them?” I asked.

“Nothing. I just didn’t expect that.”

“What’d you expect?”

Hazel tilted her head. “I don’t know. Motorcycle repair shop?”

“Taco would bankrupt us.”

She laughed. “Bar?”

“Too much work.”

“Strip club?”

Ma slapped a hand against the table. “Hazel!”

“What?” Hazel laughed. “It’s a motorcycle club.”

“We do not own a strip club.”

“Good to know.”

“Why?” I asked. Her eyes moved back to mine. “Looking for another job?”

Hazel almost spit out her wine.

Ma gasped, then started laughing.

Hazel set her glass down. “Wow.”

“You opened that door.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“You asked.”

“I said strip club.”

“And I asked if you wanted a job.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you picturing me working at a strip club, Bone?”

Fuck.

That question landed directly where she intended it to. I leaned back and our eyes locked. “Didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“Do you want me to?”

Hazel’s lips parted.

Ma slammed her fork onto her plate. “Is this not the best pot roast you have ever had?”

Hazel dissolved into laughter. I laughed too.

Ma looked between us. “I think we should talk about the pot roast. That seems safer.”

“You raised me,” I reminded her.

“I did better than this.”

“Debatable.”

Hazel wiped beneath her eyes.

“Sorry, Pink.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No.” She took a breath. “I’m really not.”

I liked her laugh. I’d already figured that out. I liked her mouth too. Also already knew that. The problem was I was starting to like the shit that came out of it.

“So how’d you end up making caskets?” Hazel asked.

“Family business.”

Hazel raised her eyebrow. “Your family?”

“Club family.”

She nodded. “How long?”

“Grave Prowlers started doing it before I was born.”

“Seriously?” she asked.

“Virginia chapter started the business back in the eighties. The club expanded later. Wisconsin eventually started making our own. I became Prez a few years back,” I said proudly.

“And people actually order custom coffins?” she asked.

“More than you’d think.”

“What makes one custom?”

“Anything somebody wants. Wood. Finish. Interior. Carving. Handles. We’ve done logos, military insignias, family crests.”

“That’s kind of cool.”

“Yeah.”

“Morbid,” she muttered, “but cool.”

“Also yeah,” I chuckled.

“Do you make them?”

“I just said we did, babe.”

She shook her head. “No, I mean you, personally making the caskets.”

“Yeah.”

That seemed to surprise her. “You actually build caskets?”

“I know how.”

“Why does that surprise you?” Ma asked.

Hazel glanced at her. “I don’t know.”

I rested my forearms on the table. “What’d you think I did all day?”

Her eyes moved over me. Slowly. Definitely intentionally this time. “Should I answer that with your mother sitting here?”

Ma choked on her water.

I stared at Hazel and she smiled sweetly.

Fuck, I liked her. That realization came fast enough that I immediately pushed it away.

Attracted. I was attracted to her.

Different thing. Very fucking different.

“What about you?” I asked.

“Me?”

“Why Wisconsin?”

Hazel’s expression changed. “The house.”

“I know that.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“You could’ve sold it.”

She looked down at her plate. “I thought about it.”

Ma stayed quiet.

Hazel shrugged. “There wasn’t much keeping me in Ohio.”

“Family?”

“Not anymore.”

I didn’t ask. Something in the way she said it told me not to. “Boyfriend?”

Her eyes came back to mine. “No.”

Good. The thought came immediately. I ignored it. “Job?”

“Waitressing.”

“So you just packed everything and left?”

“Pretty much.”

“Just like that?”

Hazel laughed softly. “It wasn’t quite that dramatic. I gave notice.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

She picked up her wine. “I don’t know. When the lawyer called and told me Diane, who I had never met, had left me the house, it seemed stupid not to at least try.”

“Who is Diane?”

Hazel frowned. “Diane? The woman who lived in the house I now live in.”

Mom looked at me. “You knew Diane.”

I looked between them. “What? That wasn’t her name.”

“Her name was Diane,” Ma said.

“No, it wasn’t,” I insisted.

“Yes, it was.”

“I’ve called her Deedra for twenty fucking years.”

Ma stared at me. “Yes.”

Hazel’s mouth dropped open. “Wait.”

I looked at her. “Don’t.”

“How did you think her name was Deedra?” Hazel asked.

“Because that is what I thought,” I growled.

“For years?” she whispered.

“She never corrected me.” Her damn name was Deedra. I think…

Hazel put both hands over her mouth and her shoulders started shaking.

“Don’t fucking laugh.”

That made it worse.

She bent forward and now Ma was laughing too.

I looked between them. “This isn’t that funny.”

“It really is,” Hazel managed.

“She answered to Deedra,” I insisted. I couldn’t even count how many times I had said, “Hey, Deedra.”

“Maybe she was afraid of you!” Hazel giggled.

“Why the fuck would she be afraid of me?”

Hazel gestured at all of me. “Bone.”

“What?” That didn’t explain a damn thing.

“Your name is Bone,” she laughed.

“Road name.” I had heard a hell of a lot weirder names than Bone for road names. We had a fucking Humpty in the Wisconsin chapter, and his brother, Dumpty, was in Minnesota.

“You’re covered in tattoos.”

“So?”

“You’re the president of a motorcycle club,” Mom added.

“And?”

“You make coffins,” Hazel almost shouted.

I stared at her and Hazel lost it again.

Even I couldn’t hold it anymore.

A laugh broke loose. “Fuck you.”

“Poor Diane,” Hazel sighed.

“Or Deedra,” Ma added.

“Don’t you fucking start,” I grumbled.

Ma laughed harder.

Jesus Christ.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat at this table and laughed this much.

Eventually, Hazel got herself under control. She wiped beneath her eyes. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

She laughed again. “Not even a little.”

And there it was again. That pull.

Only now it wasn’t just because she was pretty. That would’ve been easier.

“So,” I said, “you inherited Diane’s house.”

“Yes. Diane.”

“Got it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t push it.”

Her smile widened.

“And you just decided to stay.”

“I figured, why not?”

That didn’t make any fucking sense to me.

Not because it was stupid. Because I couldn’t imagine doing it. Picking up my life and leaving everything. Starting somewhere I didn’t know anyone. Every part of my life was here.

Ma.

The club.

My brothers.

Grave Casket.

Peace View.

This road.

This town.

I’d spent years building roots so deep I didn’t know where I ended and the Grave Prowlers began.

Hazel had looked at everything she’d known and decided she could leave. “Doesn’t that scare you?” I asked.

She thought about it. “A little.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“Being scared doesn’t mean I can’t do something.”

I held her gaze.

No joke this time. No smartass comment. Just Hazel looking at me like what she’d said was the most obvious thing in the world. Something about that lodged in my head.

Ma stood. “Who’s ready for pie?”

Hazel immediately raised her hand. “Me.”

I looked at her. “You just ate half a roast.”

“I have a separate stomach for dessert.”

“That’s not how stomachs work.”

“Prove it.”

I shook my head.

Ma carried plates toward the counter and Hazel started to stand. “I’ll help.”

“Sit,” Ma ordered.

“But—”

“I invited you.”

“You invited me too,” I pointed out.

Ma looked over her shoulder. “Exactly. Bring me those plates.”

Hazel laughed.

I stared at Ma. “You like her better than me.”

“She doesn’t argue as much.”

I gathered the plates and when I reached for Hazel’s, she moved her hand at the same time.

Our fingers brushed. Nothing. Barely fucking anything.

Still, both of us stopped. Her eyes lifted and mine met them. Her hand stayed there for a second longer than it needed to.

Heat sparked up my arm.

Hazel slowly pulled her fingers away. “Sorry.”

“You’re good.” My voice came out rougher than I’d intended.

I picked up her plate, then I got the hell away from that table before I did something stupid.

Like touch her again just to see if it felt the same.

I carried the dishes to the sink, set the plates down, and braced my hands against the counter for a second. I’d come over for pot roast.

That was it.

Eat.

Check on Ma.

Go back to the clubhouse.

Instead, I was standing in my mother’s kitchen wondering what Hazel’s mouth would taste like.

I glanced over my shoulder at her and knew this woman was going to be a problem.

Chapter Ten

Bone

Three days after dinner at Ma’s, I was sitting at the clubhouse bar, staring at a laptop screen while Taco argued with Dealer about whether a taco technically counted as a sandwich.

This was my life.

“It’s folded,” Taco said.

Dealer stared at him from the other side of the bar. “That doesn’t make it a sandwich.”

“Bread. Meat. Toppings.”

“It’s a tortilla.”

“Which is basically flat bread.”

Humpty took a drink of coffee. “By that logic, a burrito is a sandwich.”

Taco pointed at him. “Exactly.”

“That wasn’t agreement,” Humpty replied.

“It sounded like agreement.”

Humpty shook his head. “It wasn’t.”

Dealer looked at me. “Prez.”

I didn’t take my eyes off the laptop. “I’m not getting involved.”

“You’re supposed to settle disputes,” he insisted.

“Not stupid ones,” I muttered.

“This isn’t stupid,” Taco argued.

“It’s about a taco being a sandwich,” I pointed out.

“Exactly.”

I finally looked up. Taco was dead serious. Dealer looked like he wanted to punch him. Munch was sitting at the end of the bar, eating cereal straight out of a mixing bowl and watching the argument like it was premium entertainment.

Bull had a stack of paperwork in front of him that he’d been pretending to work on for the last fifteen minutes. Breaker was at the other end of the bar with a calculator, ignoring all of us.

Hose had his boots propped on the stool beside him. And Myth sat next to me, waiting for something to happen.

Normal morning at the Wisconsin Grave Prowlers clubhouse.

“Ask Google,” I told Taco.

“That’s cheating,” he cried.

“How the fuck is that cheating?” Dealer asked.

“Because Google has opinions.”

Dealer slowly turned toward him. “Google doesn’t have opinions.”

“You don’t know that.”

Dealer pushed away from the bar.

Taco immediately held up both hands. “Violence because you lost an argument is childish.”

“You haven’t won shit,” Dealer scoffed.

“Agree to disagree.”

“Sit the fuck down,” I muttered.

Taco sat. Dealer stayed standing for another second before dropping back onto his stool. Munch spooned another mouthful of cereal into his mouth.

“You got any more of that?” Rowdy asked as he walked in.

Munch looked down into his bowl. “No.”

“You’ve got half a box right next to you,” Rowdy pointed out.

“But this is mine.”

Rowdy grabbed the cereal box off the counter behind him.

Munch twisted on his stool. “Hey.”

“Club above everything,” Rowdy threw in his face.

Munch glared at Rowdy. “That doesn’t apply to my fucking Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”

“Pretty sure it does.”

Munch looked at me.

I stared back. “You’re on your own.”

He shoveled another spoonful into his mouth. “Leadership around here is bullshit.”

Humpty cuffed him across the back of the head.

Munch nearly dropped his spoon. “The fuck?”

“Prospects don’t criticize leadership,” he grunted.

“I was joking,” Munch insisted.

“Joke quieter,” Myth told him.

I shook my head and looked back at the laptop.

The club could be dealing with a decomposing corpse mysteriously delivered to our warehouse, and these assholes would still find time to fight over cereal.

Maybe that was why we worked.

Bad shit happened, then life kept moving.

Nobody sat around wringing their hands and asking how everyone felt about it. We figured out the problem. We handled it. Then Taco said something stupid and Dealer threatened to kill him.

Balance.

The laptop chimed.

Myth leaned forward. “Finally.”

I clicked the call.

Shadow’s face filled the screen.

“About fucking time,” I said.

Shadow frowned. “Good morning to you too.”

“You said nine.”

“It’s nine-oh-seven.”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus, Bone,” he grumbled.

Another face appeared beside his. Dave. Minnesota’s tech guy and the closest thing the Grave Prowlers had to a computer genius.

Dave looked like the least likely man in the club to be called Dave.

Big beard. Tattoos crawling up both sides of his neck. One eyebrow pierced. Built like he spent considerably more time lifting shit than sitting in front of computers.

Still just Dave.

I’d asked him years ago why everybody had road names and he was simply Dave. He’d told me to mind my fucking business.

I had.

“You find him?” I asked.

Dave nodded. “Pretty sure.”

The chatter behind me died immediately.

I picked up the laptop and carried it from the bar to one of the tables.

Myth followed. So did everyone else. Even Breaker left his calculator behind.

Within seconds, I had the Wisconsin chapter crowded around me.

Shadow looked at the screen. “You fuckers throwing a party?”

“Taco thinks a taco is a sandwich,” Dealer said.

Shadow stared at us, then looked at Taco. “It’s not.”

Dealer pointed at the laptop. “Thank you.”

Taco threw both hands up. “This is fucking bullshit.”

“Can we talk about the dead guy?” I asked.

Taco muttered something under his breath and shut up.

Dave leaned toward his camera. “Hose sent me everything he had. Photos. Approximate age. Height. Old scars. Tattoos. Anything we could use.”

Hose crossed his arms. “And?”

“The condition of the face made normal image matching pretty useless.”

“Figured,” Hose said.

Dave nodded. “But you got a decent picture of the tattoo on his left shoulder.”

I remembered it. Nothing particularly memorable. Some kind of compass with coordinates underneath it.

“Coordinates helped,” Dave continued. “They pointed to a little park outside Waukesha.”

Bull leaned closer. “That’s what those numbers were?”

“Yeah. From there, I started looking through missing-person reports and public posts from the last couple weeks.”

I didn’t ask exactly what else Dave had looked through. There were places he could get into that the rest of us had no business knowing about. Better that way.

“You got a match?” I asked.

Dave tapped something offscreen. A photograph appeared. Alive, the dead guy looked completely ordinary. Brown hair beginning to gray at the temples. Clean-shaven. Average build.

The kind of man I could’ve passed in a grocery store and forgotten five seconds later.

“Name is Owen Mercer,” Dave said. “Forty-four. Lives in Waukesha. Married. Two kids.”

The room got quiet. That wasn’t what I’d expected.

I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Gang member? Dealer? Some asshole with a mile-long criminal record who’d pissed off the wrong person.

Not somebody’s husband with a normal family picture.

“When was he reported missing?” Myth asked.

“Eight days ago. Wife filed it after he didn’t come home from work. Apparently, that wasn’t something he did.”

“Criminal record?” I asked.

“Nothing worth mentioning. Speeding ticket. One disorderly conduct charge in his twenties that got tossed.”

Taco frowned. “So why the fuck was Mr. Suburban Dad decomposing in one of our coffins?”

“That,” Dave said, “is where it gets interesting.”

I leaned closer. “What’d you find?”

“Owen worked for Northline Security Systems.”

I waited. Dave apparently wanted us to ask.

Dealer did. “What the fuck is Northline Security Systems?”

“Commercial security company,” Dave said. “Cameras, access controls, alarm systems. Warehouses. Distribution centers. Office buildings.”

Something started moving in the back of my head. “Freight yards?”

Dave pointed at the camera. “Exactly.”

Myth looked at me. “Milwaukee.”

“Yeah.”

Dave clicked again. A company page appeared. “I found service records showing Northline does contract work at the Milwaukee transfer facility.”

Nobody said anything for a second.

Then Bull muttered, “Well, shit.”

“When was Mercer there?” I asked.

“Eight days before his wife reported him missing.”

My jaw tightened. “Doing what?”

“Work order says camera maintenance and access-control inspection.”

“Which cameras?” I asked.

“Doesn’t say.”

“Can you find out?”

“Working on it.”

I sat back.

That was something.

Not enough, but something.

Owen Mercer had been at the exact freight yard where our coffin supposedly appeared.

A week later, he was missing, then his body showed up inside one of our caskets.

Coincidence wasn’t a word I used often. Mostly because I didn’t believe in it.

“Did his job bring him there regularly?” Myth asked.

“Looks like it,” Dave answered. “Northline has had the service contract for about eighteen months. Mercer worked multiple calls there.”

“So he knew the place,” I said.

“Probably pretty well,” Shadow agreed.

“Could he access surveillance?”

Dave shrugged. “He serviced it. Doesn’t automatically mean he could pull stored video whenever he wanted, but he’d know the system.”

Hose leaned against the table. “You think he saw whoever put him in the coffin?”

“Hard to see shit after you’re dead,” Taco muttered.

Hose stared at him.

Taco frowned.

“You know what I meant.”

“No one did,” Taco grinned.

“I mean before he died,” Hose corrected.

Taco pointed at Hose. “Thank you for clarifying.”

I rubbed a hand over my beard. “Who was his last call at the yard for?”

Dave shook his head. “That’s where I’m stuck. I’ve got the service date, but not the internal details.”

“Get them.”

“Already trying.”

Shadow leaned closer to his camera. “What about whoever loaded the coffin onto Jackson’s truck?”

“Myth and I went through that,” I said. “No dock employee admits knowing anything. No return entered in the system. No paperwork.”

Shadow frowned. “So somebody walks a coffin with a corpse into a busy transfer facility, and nobody sees shit?”

“That about sums it up.”

“Bullshit,” Shadow scoffed.

“Yeah.”

Dave glanced toward Shadow. “I’m trying to pull archived yard information from the days around Mercer’s service call. Might give us something.”

Shadow looked back at me. “You want us down there?”

“Not yet.”

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yeah. Keep Minnesota running. If this touches your side, I want you there.”

His face hardened. “If it touches Minnesota, you’ll know.”

“I know.” That was the thing about Shadow. We didn’t always agree. Didn’t always handle shit the same way. But if I called and told him I needed Minnesota in Wisconsin tonight, they’d be on the road before I hung up.

Same went the other direction.

Separate chapters. Same patch.

“Send me everything you have on Mercer,” I told Dave.

“Already did.”

“And keep digging into Northline.”

“Yep.”

“I want to know who he worked with, who assigned him that job, and whether anybody else from that company was at the transfer yard around the time our coffin showed up.”

Dave nodded. “On it.”

Shadow lifted his chin. “Call me when you’ve got something.”

“Same.”

The call ended.

For a few seconds, nobody moved.

Then Taco spoke. “So.”

I closed my eyes. I already knew whatever came next wasn’t going to improve the situation. “What?”

“Are tacos sandwiches?”

Dealer lunged and Taco shoved back from the table laughing. “Jesus Christ!”

Dealer caught him by the back of his cut before he got two steps.

“No grabbing the cut!” Taco yelled.

“Then stop running,” Dealer jeered.

“I wasn’t running. Strategic retreat.”

Rowdy nearly doubled over laughing.

Munch abandoned his cereal to get a better view.

I stayed in my chair. “Break his nose and you’re both cleaning the shop.”

Dealer released Taco immediately.

Taco straightened his cut. “You see that? Abuse of power.”

“You’re still talking,” Dealer warned.

Myth dropped into the chair beside me. “Mercer being at that transfer yard isn’t nothing.”

“No.”

“Could’ve seen something.”

“Could’ve.”

“Could’ve been involved.”

“Could’ve,” I agreed.

Myth looked at me. “You’re conversational today.”

“We don’t know enough.” That was the problem. Every answer opened another fucking door.

We knew the body. Great.

Now we had to figure out why a security technician from Waukesha had ended up dead in a Grave Casket coffin.

Had he seen something? Done something? Helped whoever was behind this and gotten cleaned up afterward? Maybe the man had nothing to do with us beyond being unlucky enough to work at the wrong place.

This was about the Grave Prowlers.

I just didn’t know how yet.

“Hey, Prez.”

I looked over.

Rowdy had finally stopped laughing.

“What?”

“What are we doing Friday?” he asked. He spread his hands. “It’s Friday. Couple of us were talking about going out.”

Taco immediately forgot Dealer had almost punched him. “Bing’s.”

My attention shifted too quickly.

Taco leaned against the table. “Bing’s first, then maybe O’Malley’s.”

“Bing’s smells like piss,” Dealer said.

“It does not.”

“The bathroom does,” Dealer grimaced.

“All bar bathrooms smell like piss,” Humpty pointed out.

“That doesn’t help your argument.”

Rowdy pointed toward Taco. “I vote Bing’s.”

Munch raised his hand.

“You don’t get a vote,” Humpty said.

“I wasn’t voting.”

“What were you doing?”

“Can prospects go?”

The entire room answered at once. “No.”

Munch stared at us. “That felt personal.”

“It was,” Taco said.

“Asshole.”

“You’ve got prospect shit to do,” Taco replied.

“What prospect shit?” Taco asked.

Taco looked around. “You guys got anything?”

Breaker came over from the bar. “My underwear needs washing.”

Munch’s face fell.

“There.”

Taco slapped him on the shoulder. “Purpose.”

Munch looked at me.

I shrugged.

He’d learn.

Rowdy pulled his phone from his pocket. “Bing’s around eight?”

Bull nodded. “Works.”

Hose pointed at him. “I’m not driving any of you assholes home.”

“You’re the medic,” Taco said.

“Not an Uber,” Hose insisted.

“Similar skill set,” Dealer shrugged.

The conversation moved on without me.

Friday. Bing’s.

Being Prez didn’t mean I needed to sit at the clubhouse every night like a fucking guard dog, but the second Taco said Bing’s, one person had popped into my head.

Hazel.

Myth bumped his shoulder against mine.

I looked at him.

He didn’t say anything.

Just had that look on his face. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then quit looking at me.”

“Didn’t realize looking required permission,” he chuckled.

“It does when you look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve got something to say.”

Myth smiled. “I don’t.”

Bull called from across the room, “Bone, you coming Friday?”

Every head turned toward me.

I looked around at my brothers.

Taco. Rowdy. Dealer. Humpty. Hose. Bull. Breaker. Munch, who apparently still hadn’t accepted he wasn’t invited.

Then I thought about everything sitting on my plate.

Owen Mercer. Northline. The Milwaukee dock.

Friday was still two days away. “I’ll decide Friday.”

Taco nodded. “That’s Prez speak for yes.”

Dealer leaned toward him. “You ever shut the fuck up?”

“Nope.”

I leaned back in my chair and listened to them start another argument.

I looked toward the laptop again.

Owen Mercer’s picture was still on the screen.

Whatever happened Friday didn’t matter yet.

Right now, I had a dead man, a security company, and a transfer yard that had suddenly become a hell of a lot more interesting.

Chapter Eleven

Hazel

Four nights at Bing’s had taught me exactly three things.

CL made a damn good margarita.

Crystal could carry nine beers at once without using a tray, which I considered some kind of witchcraft.

And Kori had absolutely no filter. None.

“What?” Kori asked.

I shook my head as I punched an order into the computer. “Nothing.”

“You’re looking at me.”

“Because you just told table twelve that if he snapped his fingers at you one more time, you were going to break them.”

“He stopped.” She shrugged.

“He did.”

“So I solved the problem.”

Crystal leaned around me to grab a stack of napkins. “She’s very anti-customer-service oriented.”

“Thank you.” Kori smiled.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I took it as one.”

I laughed and hit send on my order.

Somehow, in four days, the three of us had fallen into an easy rhythm.

Crystal had been at Bing’s for almost three years. She was blond, sarcastic, and somehow managed to look put together even after running around the bar for six hours. Kori had dark red hair, a loud laugh, and the ability to make friends with pretty much anyone who sat in her section.

Then there was me. The new girl from Ohio. Except I didn’t really feel like the new girl anymore.

Not with them.

The first night had been slow enough that Crystal and Kori had shown me everything without us getting slammed. The second and third nights had picked up a little, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

Tonight? Different story.

I glanced at the clock. Eight fifty-three.

Bing’s was packed.

Apparently, Friday night in Marshfield meant everybody and their brother descended on the same bar.

Almost every stool along the long bar was taken. The pool tables were surrounded by people waiting to play. Music blasted from the jukebox, and the small dance floor on the other side of the room was full.

Every table in my section was occupied except two.

And I was pretty sure those weren’t going to stay empty long.

I grabbed a tray from beneath the counter. “CL, I need two Bud Lights, a Miller Lite, one whiskey Coke, and a vodka cranberry.”

CL didn’t look up from the drink he was making. “Ticket in?”

“Just sent it.”

“Then stop talking to me.”

I gasped. “Rude.”

“Busy,” he corrected.

“I thought bartenders were supposed to be friendly.”

“Not this one.”

Kori slid past me. “He loves you.”

CL pointed at her without looking. “You too, shut it.”

“See?” Kori grinned. “Love.”

I laughed and headed toward my tables.

I dropped a check at one table, grabbed two empty bottles from another, and was halfway back toward the bar when the front doors opened.

I didn’t pay attention at first.

People had been coming in steadily all night.

Then I heard Kori. “Oh, hell yes.”

I stopped.

She was standing beside me with a tray balanced against her hip, staring toward the entrance.

“What?”

She nodded.

I followed her gaze.

Motorcycle cuts. A lot of them.

Eight men walked through the door like they owned the place.

Not because they were pushing people aside or making some big entrance. They just had that kind of presence.

I recognized the patches immediately.

GRAVE PROWLERS MC. WISCONSIN.

And walking near the front was Bone.

My stomach did a stupid little flip.

I ignored it. Or tried to.

He wore jeans, boots, a black T-shirt, and his cut. His dark hair looked slightly windblown, and his eyes moved around the bar as he walked in.

Then they landed on me and stopped.

Well, hello.

I was suddenly very aware of what I was wearing. Bing’s uniform wasn’t exactly a uniform. Black shorts or jeans and a fitted black T-shirt with the bar logo over the left side.

I’d gone with shorts tonight.

Bone noticed.

His gaze dropped, and when his eyes came back to my face, something had changed in his expression.

Heat crawled up my neck.

“God, I love when these guys come in,” Kori announced.

I tore my eyes away from Bone. “What?”

“The Prowlers.”

“I gathered that,” I laughed, “from their name being plastered on their back.”

“They tip big.”

Crystal appeared on my other side. “Very big.”

Kori nodded. “Like stupid big.”

Crystal reached across the bar just as CL set three bottles down. She grabbed all three. “This is going to be a good tip-out tonight.”

I glanced back toward the guys.

Four had moved toward one of the pool tables. The other four were heading directly toward the two empty tables in my section.

Of course they were.

Crystal noticed too. “I’ll take the guys at the pool table.”

“Thanks.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

There was something about her smile I didn’t trust. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why is everyone around here always saying nothing when they clearly mean something?”

Kori looked at me. “Because it’s fun.”

I rolled my eyes, then I pasted on my work smile.

Not that I needed to.

I knew one of the men sitting at that table—apparently a little too well, considering my body had noticed Bone before the rest of me had.

I grabbed four cocktail napkins and headed over. Bone had taken the chair that put his back toward the wall.

The other three men were talking when I reached them.

“Hey, guys.”

Three faces turned toward me.

Bone was already looking.

I smiled. “Welcome to Bing’s. What can I get you?”

One of the men leaned back in his chair.

He had TACO on his cut. His eyes moved over me. “Jesus. When did Bing’s hire you?”

I laughed. “Four days ago.”

“Best decision this place ever made.”

Bone’s head turned. “Taco.” One word. That was it.

Taco looked at him, and Bone stared back. Something passed between them that I couldn’t read.

Taco’s eyebrows lifted slightly, then his mouth curved into a grin. “I’m complimenting the waitress,” Taco said.

“I heard you.”

“Wasn’t disrespectful.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

Taco stared at him for another second and then looked at me. His grin got bigger, but something had changed. Whatever interest had been in his expression a second ago was gone. Or at least tucked away. “Beer,” he said.

I glanced at Bone. He was looking at me again, not Taco.

Me.

I had absolutely no idea what had just happened. Maybe motorcycle club guys communicated telepathically.

“What kind?” I asked Taco.

“Whatever’s cold.”

“That narrows it down to almost everything.”

“Dealer?” Taco asked.

The man next to him leaned forward.

“Same. CL will know.”

I looked at the third guy with ROWDY on his chest. “Same.”

“And you?” My eyes landed on Bone.

“Same.”

“Four beers that only CL will know what kind. Easy enough.”

Taco put a hand over his heart. “I like easy.” Bone looked at him and Taco immediately lifted both hands. “Talking about beer.”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

Bone caught it. “You can laugh.”

That was what he’d told me the first time we’d met, so I did. “Be right back.”

I turned toward the bar, and I could feel him watching me.

I knew how that sounded, but I’d worked around men for years and I knew the difference between some asshole staring at my ass and someone simply paying attention to me.

Bone was paying attention. A lot of it.

I didn’t hate it.

That might’ve been the problem.

I reached the bar.

“Four beers.”

CL opened the cooler and stared at me. “You know there’s an ordering system, right?”

I held up my hands. “I don’t know how to put in the system, ‘four beers of whatever kind you think the four guys from the Grave Prowlers will drink.’” I tipped my head to the side. “Is there a button for that?”

He shook his head and put four bottles on my tray. “Go away.”

I carried the beers back.

Taco and Rowdy had disappeared. I spotted them at the jukebox, arguing over the screen. Dealer was gone too.

That left Bone and one other man at the table. I recognized him from the day all the motorcycles had stopped at Pink’s house. His cut said MYTH.

I set a beer in front of him. “Myth?”

He looked at his patch. “Good guess.”

“I’m very observant.”

“I’ve heard.”

I glanced at Bone. His eyes narrowed slightly. “What does that mean?”

Myth reached for a beer. “Nothing.”

I laughed. “See? There it is again.”

“What?”

“Everyone says ‘nothing’ around you when they clearly mean something.”

Bone looked at Myth. Myth took a long drink of beer. “Don’t drag me into whatever this is.”

“What is this?” Bone asked.

“No idea.”

“You started it and now I’m ending it.” I slid Bone’s beer toward him.

His fingers closed around the bottle. “How’s the job?”

I blinked. The question was simple, and it still surprised me. “Good.”

“You like it?”

“So far.”

“Crowd hasn’t scared you off?”

I put a hand on my hip and shook my head. “Disappointed?”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “No.”

“Because you seemed pretty convinced I couldn’t handle Bing’s.”

“Never said that.”

“You implied it,” I laughed.

“I told you it gets rough.”

“And?”

“And I was right.”

I looked around. “Looks fine to me.”

“It’s nine o’clock.”

“Is there a magical transformation at midnight?”

“Sometimes.”

I laughed.

Bone took a drink. “You making decent money?”

There it was again, actual interest.

Not flirting. Not some throwaway question because I happened to be standing beside him. He wanted to know.

“Pretty good so far. Tonight should be better.”

“Fridays usually are.”

“You really do know everything about this place.”

“Been coming here a long time.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“Probably.”

I smiled and his eyes dropped to my mouth. That little rush went through me again.

A phone started ringing and Myth pulled his from his pocket. He glanced at the screen. “Fuck.”

Bone’s attention shifted immediately. “What?”

Myth shook his head. “Probably nothing.” He stood. “I gotta take this.”

Bone nodded and Myth moved away from the table.

Bone leaned back in his chair. “You look different.”

I glanced down at myself. “It’s the incredibly fashionable Bing’s T-shirt.”

“Not the shirt.”

My eyes came back to his. “What is it?”

He took a slow drink from his beer. “I don’t know.”

“Very helpful.”

“Hair, maybe.”

I reached up. I’d left it down tonight, though it was already starting to annoy me enough that I’d probably have it tied back within an hour. “You’ve seen my hair down.”

“At dinner.”

“So that can’t be it.”

“No.”

His eyes moved over my face, then lower. Slow enough that I caught it.

My stomach tightened.

“Maybe it’s the shorts.”

There was no missing the meaning in that.

I looked down, then back at him. “You like my shorts?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

His mouth twitched. “Careful, Hazel.”

“With?”

“Putting words in my mouth.”

My eyes dropped to his mouth before I could stop myself. “I can think of other things to put there.”

Oh.

My.

God.

Had I actually said that?

Bone went completely still.

His eyes darkened and his tongue slowly dragged across his bottom lip.

Heat shot straight through me.

“Hazel!” The shout broke whatever the hell had just happened.

I turned and a table of four men in work shirts was waving me over. I’d served them two rounds already. Mechanics from one of the shops in town, if the names stitched over their pockets and grease still staining a couple of their hands were anything to go by.

I looked back at Bone. He hadn’t moved.

“If you need anything, holler at me.”

His gaze held mine. “I will.”

Jesus.

I turned away before I did something stupid, like continue that conversation.

“Another round?” I asked as I reached the mechanics.

“Finally,” one of them said.

I smiled, barely. “I was gone three minutes.”

“Felt like twenty.”

“I’m sure it was traumatic,” I mumbled.

His friends laughed.

The loudest one leaned back in his chair. “Four more.”

“You got it.”

“And shots,” he added.

“What kind?”

He shrugged. “Surprise us.”

“That’s dangerous,” I tried to joke.

“So are we.”

I looked at him and he grinned. I did not. Men who had to announce they were dangerous usually weren’t.

“Four beers. Four shots.”

I turned and a hand caught my wrist. I stopped, looked down, and then at the man holding me. “Let go.”

He smiled. “Relax.”

“I’m relaxed.” I looked pointedly at his hand. “You’ve got about two seconds before you’re not.”

His friends got quieter.

The man laughed. “Just trying to get your attention.”

“You had it when I took your order.” His grip loosened and I pulled my wrist free. “Don’t touch me again.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” he tried to coo.

“Nope.”

“What?”

“No, sweetheart.” I did not take bullshit names from half-drunks.

His friends started laughing and his face reddened. “Jesus. You’re uptight.”

“And you’re thirsty. Do you want the beers or not?”

One of his buddies slapped the table. “Just shut the fuck up, Eric.”

Eric glared at him.

I smiled. “See? Eric’s friend gets it.”

The table erupted. Even Eric cracked a reluctant smile.

“Four beers,” he muttered.

“Four beers,” I echoed.

“And the shots.”

“I’ll surprise you.” I turned and then stopped.

Bone was watching me.

He hadn’t gotten out of his chair. Hadn’t come charging across the room. Hadn’t done anything, but the easy expression he’d had while talking to me was gone. Completely.

His beer sat untouched in front of him, his jaw was tight, and his eyes weren’t on me anymore.

They were on Eric. Something about the look made a little shiver run down my spine.

I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and Bone’s gaze moved back to me. I gave him a small smile and his jaw relaxed.

“CL, four beers and four shots of something that’ll make them regret asking me to choose,” I rattled off when I got to the bar.

“Malort.”

I stopped. “What’s Malort?”

He looked at me. “You’re new here.”

“Obviously.”

He reached for a bottle, and I glanced over my shoulder.

Myth was back by Bone, and they were talking intently to each other. Maybe that phone call Myth had gotten wasn’t good.

I faced the bar and told myself I needed to stop checking on Bone.

Four days ago, I hadn’t known whether I’d even like working here.

Now I had friends, good tips, and a kickass next-door neighbor.

I grabbed the beers CL set down and put them on my tray.

I absolutely was not going to spend the rest of my shift checking where Bone was. Absolutely not.

Chapter Twelve

Bone

I’d been watching Hazel for the past hour.

Not constantly. At least, that was what I told myself.

I’d played two games of pool with Dealer. Lost one because Taco wouldn’t shut the fuck up behind me. Won the second because I’d threatened to break the cue over his head if he kept trying to give me advice.

I’d had three beers.

Talked to Myth.

Listened to Rowdy tell some story about a woman he’d met last weekend that I was pretty sure got more exaggerated every time he told it.

Normal Friday night.

Except no matter what the fuck I was doing, I knew where Hazel was. Every damn minute.

She’d come by the table twice to drop off another round.

The first time, Taco had been sitting with me and immediately shut his mouth when she walked up. That was suspicious enough. Taco never shut his mouth.

The second time, it had been me, Myth, and Bull.

She’d set my beer down in front of me, smiled, and asked if I needed anything else.

I’d almost told her exactly what I needed.

Her.

Instead, I’d said I was good, like an idiot.

Now she was across the bar carrying a tray loaded with empty bottles.

“You’re doing it again.”

I kept my eyes on Hazel. “Doing what?”

Myth chuckled beside me. “Nothing.”

“Then shut the fuck up.”

“Won’t say anything more.”

“You were about to.”

“I said you’re doing it again. Just making an observation.”

“Doing what?”

He took a drink. “Nothing.”

I finally looked at him and he was grinning. I didn’t like that grin. “You’re annoying.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’m just seeing something I never thought I would see.”

“You got a point?”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

I looked away, back to Hazel. Fuck. Hazel disappeared behind the bar and I took a drink.

She came back a minute later and stopped next to Crystal. The two of them talked, then Hazel reached behind her and untied the black apron around her waist.

My attention sharpened. She folded it and put it under the counter, then she headed toward the back of the bar.

I watched her push through the door.

Where the fuck was she going?

Bathroom was the other direction. Kitchen too.

The back door was through there.

I took another drink and I was out of my chair before I’d finished swallowing.

Myth didn’t say shit. Smart man.

The place was even more packed than it had been an hour ago. I moved around a group near the jukebox, stepped past a couple making out like they were the only two people in the place, and headed down the short hallway.

The back door had a faded red EXIT sign above it.

I pushed it open and cool night air hit me.

Hazel jumped. “Jesus!” She had one hand pressed to her chest and her eyes were wide.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” I chuckled.

“Maybe don’t come bursting through doors behind women in dark alleys.”

I looked around. The back of Bing’s wasn’t exactly an alley. More of a narrow strip of pavement between the building and the employee parking lot. One security light hung above the door, and another was mounted near the dumpster farther down. “Not an alley.”

Hazel stared at me. “That’s your takeaway?”

I shrugged.

She laughed.

There wasn’t an ounce of fear in it.

Good, I hadn’t wanted to scare her. I just hadn’t thought much beyond seeing her leave and deciding I wanted to know where she’d gone.

Which seemed to be becoming a habit where Hazel was concerned.

I let the door swing shut behind me and the music from inside dropped to a muffled thump.

“You’re following me again,” she said.

“Seems that way.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Are you?”

Hazel looked me over. “No.”

Fuck if I didn’t like that answer.

I walked over and leaned against the brick wall beside her. I reached into my cut for my cigarettes. “Break?”

“Ten minutes of freedom.”

“Only ten?”

“Friday night. I’m thankful to get that with how busy it is in there.”

I stuck a cigarette between my lips and Hazel watched me flick the lighter. I inhaled and the end glowed orange before I lowered the cigarette. “Want one?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Good.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Good?”

“Bad habit.”

She glanced at the cigarette between my fingers. “That you’re currently doing.”

“Never said I was smart.”

“I think you probably think you’re very smart.”

I laughed. “That so?”

“You have a certain confidence.”

“Certain confidence?”

She turned so her shoulder rested against the brick, facing me. “You’re Bone.”

“Last I checked.”

“President of a motorcycle club.”

“Yeah.”

“You walk around like you know exactly what’s going to happen before it happens.”

I took another drag. “Usually do.”

“See?”

“See what?”

“That.”

I blew the smoke away from her. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Hazel smiled. “It means you’re very sure of yourself.”

“You don’t like that?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sounded like you didn’t.”

“No.” Her eyes moved over me again. “I think I like it.”

I turned my head and Hazel held my gaze.

She wasn’t shy. I’d figured that out fast.

She didn’t look away when I caught her staring. Didn’t blush and pretend she hadn’t said something when she knew damn well what she was doing.

She gave it right back. I liked that about her.

“You’re trouble,” I muttered.

She laughed softly. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re the biker following women into dark alleys.”

“Still not an alley.”

“Oh my God.”

I grinned.

She shook her head.

“Besides, I didn’t follow women.”

“No?”

“Followed you.”

Hazel went quiet.

My eyes dropped to her mouth. Fuck, I wanted it. I’d wanted it at Ma’s dinner table. Wanted it earlier tonight when she’d stood beside me in those little black shorts and asked if I liked them. And I’d sure as hell wanted it when she’d made that comment about putting something in my mouth.

I’d spent the last hour trying not to think about what else that smart mouth of hers could do.

Hazel wet her lips. “Why?” she asked.

I dragged my eyes back to hers. “Why what?”

“Why did you follow me?”

I could’ve given her some bullshit.

Wanted a cigarette. Needed air. Had to take a piss and got lost.

Instead, I shrugged. “Saw you leave.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Wanted to know where you were going.”

“Why?”

“Lot of questions.”

She smiled, “But you don’t have a lot of answers.”

“I’ve got answers.”

“Let’s hear one.”

I took another drag. “Maybe I wanted to talk to you without seven assholes listening.”

Hazel smiled. “Your friends?”

“Brothers,” I corrected her.

“Right.”

She’d seen the club. She knew what we were.

“Do you guys always travel in packs?”

There was that smart mouth again. “Not always.”

“Because every time I see more than one of you, there are suddenly motorcycles everywhere.”

“There’s eight of us tonight.”

“I counted.”

I grinned. “You keeping track of me again?”

“I was keeping track of the motorcycles.”

“Sure.”

“You’re very full of yourself.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Probably a lot.”

“Mostly by you.”

Hazel laughed. She tipped her head back against the brick. “Remind me again—how long have you been president?”

“Few years.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah.”

“No hesitation.”

“Why would there be?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Seems like a lot.”

“It is.”

“Everybody looking at you for answers?”

“Sometimes.”

“Making decisions?”

“All the time.”

“Keeping Taco under control?”

I laughed. “Nobody can do that.”

“That’s comforting.”

“He bother you?”

The question came out sharper than I’d intended.

Hazel noticed and her eyebrows rose. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“He was checking you out.”

Her eyebrow raised. “So were you.”

That should have shut me the fuck up. “Was I?”

“Oh, please.”

I looked down at her legs, then slowly brought my gaze back up. No point pretending now. “I was.”

Hazel’s lips parted.

There, I liked that. I’d managed to knock her off balance for once.

“Good to know,” she said.

“Thought you already knew.”

“I had a suspicion.”

“You knew.”

“Fine.” She smiled. “I knew.”

I flicked ash onto the pavement. “Didn’t seem to bother you.”

“It didn’t.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

I turned toward her a little more. “Because I don’t plan on stopping.”

The air changed.

No joke.

No laughing.

Hazel’s eyes stayed on mine, and we were close enough now that I could smell whatever she had on.

Something light. Sweet.

I wanted to move closer. Find out if that smart mouth shut up when I kissed it.

Hazel drew in a slow breath. “You always this direct?”

“When I want something.”

“And what do you want?”

My cock answered that question before my mouth could.

I shifted my weight and Hazel’s eyes dropped. Not low enough to be obvious, but still fucking obvious.

I almost laughed. “You really want me to answer that?”

Her eyes came back to mine. “Maybe.”

The back door opened and we both turned.

Kori stuck her head outside. “Oh.” She looked at me, then Hazel. Her smile spread.

Hazel groaned. “What?”

“Nothing.” Kori’s smile got bigger. “CL said you’ve got two minutes.”

“I know.”

“Just helping.” Kori disappeared and the door shut.

Hazel covered her face. “She’s going to be unbearable.”

“About?”

She lowered her hands. “This.”

I looked between us. “We’re talking.”

“Sure.”

“What does she think we’re doing?” Hazel stared at me and I grinned. “Okay.”

“Exactly.” She laughed.

I took the last drag off my cigarette and dropped it to the pavement. “Ever been on a bike?”

Hazel blinked at the change in subject. “A motorcycle?”

“No, Hazel. A bicycle.”

She rolled her eyes. “No.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

I pushed away from the wall. “Come with me sometime.”

Hazel looked at me. “Where?”

“Ride.”

“With you?”

“That’s generally how it’d work. I guess you could run alongside if you want, but I don’t think that would be very fun for you.”

She glanced toward the parking lot as if my bike might somehow be visible through the building. “I don’t know.”

“You scared?”

Her head snapped toward me. “No.”

I smiled. Wrong thing to say to Hazel. “Then come.”

“When?”

“Whenever.”

“That’s vague.”

“Next time the weather’s good and I’m heading out.”

She studied me. “Is this how you lure women onto your motorcycle?”

“Don’t have to lure them.”

“There’s that confidence again.”

“Is that a yes?”

Hazel smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

Not a no. I’d take it.

The door opened again, and this time Crystal stuck her head out. “Hazel.”

“I know!”

Crystal looked at me. “Hi, Bone.”

“Crystal.”

She smiled. “Your break is over.”

“I’m coming.”

“Uh-huh.” The door shut.

Hazel sighed. “Duty calls.”

She pushed away from the wall, and we were closer now. Her face was tilted up toward mine and all I’d have to do was lean down.

One fucking move.

I could kiss her.

She’d let me, I knew she would. Hell, I was pretty sure she wanted me to.

“Good night, Bone.”

I blinked, frozen. “Night?”

She moved to the door and looked over her shoulder. “My break is over.”

“Didn’t say I was leaving.”

Her smile came back. “Then I guess I’ll see you inside.”

She opened the door; music poured into the alley, and then she was gone.

I stood there for a second and my eyes stayed on the closed door.

Fuck, I wanted her. There wasn’t any point pretending otherwise. I’d wanted women before. Plenty of them, so wanting Hazel shouldn’t have been any different.

I wanted Hazel, so I would have her. When I did, I’d finally get her out of my fucking system.

Chapter Thirteen

Hazel

By Monday night, I was officially out of things to unpack.

There were still two boxes shoved into the corner of the spare bedroom, but I’d decided those didn’t count. One was full of winter clothes, and considering it had been hotter than hell all day, I wasn’t touching anything involving sweaters.

The other was labeled MISC. That box could stay closed forever.

If I hadn’t needed anything inside it after almost two weeks, whatever was in there clearly wasn’t important.

I stood in the kitchen with my hands braced against the edge of the sink and looked around. Everything finally had a place.

Yesterday and today had been my first two days off since starting at Bing’s, and I’d spent most of them puttering around the house.

There really wasn’t another word for it. I’d moved things, then moved them again.

Hung pictures. Decided one was crooked. Fixed it, then decided it had looked better crooked.

Put a little table beside the front door. Moved the little table because I immediately started running into it every time I walked past.

I’d gone grocery shopping. Done laundry. Cleaned the bathroom even though I’d cleaned it four days ago.

I was officially becoming a homeowner. Apparently, it involved a lot of wiping things down.

I pulled the plug from the kitchen sink and watched the water drain. Dinner had been a grilled chicken breast, salad, and a baked potato. Nothing exciting, but I’d cooked it in my kitchen and eaten it at my table, so that counted for something.

I grabbed the dish towel and dried my hands.

The window over the sink was open, but there wasn’t much of a breeze coming through.

Wisconsin was supposed to be cold.

That was what everyone said.

Snow. Freezing temperatures. People driving on lakes like that was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

Nobody had warned me that summer apparently showed up pissed off.

I’d spent most of the day in a pair of short denim shorts and a thin tank top that barely reached the waistband. Anything more would’ve been unnecessary.

I tossed the towel onto the counter and opened the refrigerator.

A wine cooler sat on the top shelf waiting for me. I grabbed it and twisted off the cap.

There wasn’t much left to do tonight. Nothing I wanted to do, anyway.

I could watch television, read, go to bed ridiculously early, or sit outside for a while.

Outside won.

I walked through the living room and pushed open the front door. The heat hadn’t completely disappeared, but it was better than it had been a couple hours ago.

I stepped onto the porch. Quiet.

I sank into the chair I’d put on the porch a few days ago and stretched my legs out in front of me. The sun was dropping behind the trees and I took a drink. “Not bad.”

No one answered, which was probably good.

If the trees started talking back, I’d officially been alone too long.

I smiled and settled deeper into the chair.

This was nice.

I’d spent the last nights at Bing’s surrounded by people, music, beer bottles, orders being shouted across the bar, and Kori and Crystal talking nonstop.

I’d liked it. Loved it, actually, but this was nice too.

Nothing needed me. Nobody wanted another round. Nobody needed their check split four different ways after they’d spent two hours ordering everything together.

Just me, my house, a cold drink, and a sunset.

Pink’s screen door slammed.

I turned my head. “Hey, Pi—” The rest died.

It wasn’t Pink because Bone stepped out onto her porch.

Oh.

Well.

Hello.

He pulled the door shut behind him and headed down the steps.

Jeans. Black T-shirt. Boots. No cut tonight.

His hair looked like he’d run his hands through it, and the setting sun caught the tattoos running down his arms.

He reached the bottom step, then turned his head toward me.

He stopped.

I stopped, not that I’d been moving.

I suddenly became very aware of the fact that I was wearing about six inches of denim and a tank top that had never been intended for public viewing.

It was a house shirt. An I’m not seeing anybody tonight shirt. Apparently the universe hadn’t gotten the memo.

His gaze came back to my face.

This was ridiculous.

We’d talked plenty. Flirted. Spent ten minutes alone behind Bing’s Friday night practically daring each other to do something. Yet somehow seeing him standing in Pink’s yard while I sat on my porch half-dressed had apparently robbed both of us of our ability to speak.

I broke first. “Can I get that ride tonight?” The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to grab them out of the air.

What the hell? That had sounded a lot more eager than I’d intended.

Bone’s mouth slowly curved. Not a smile.

That damn smirk.

The one that immediately made me remember standing against the brick wall behind Bing’s. His eyes dipped over me again. “Tonight?”

I lifted one shoulder. “You said sometime.”

“I did.”

“And I’m not doing anything.”

Bone looked toward his motorcycle parked in Pink’s driveway. For one stupid second, I thought he was going to say yes.

I was already imagining going inside to put on actual pants, then his eyes came back to me. “Gonna have to take a raincheck.”

Oh. “Okay.”

“I’ve got plans tonight.”

“Sure.” I took another drink. Why did my face suddenly feel approximately eight thousand degrees? It shouldn’t have been embarrassing.

It felt like I’d raised my hand and announced to the entire state of Wisconsin that I wanted to spend time with Bone and he’d responded with a polite, no thanks.

Wonderful.

“Working tomorrow?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“What time?”

“Until close.”

He nodded once. “All right.”

That was apparently it.

I waited. Bone didn’t say anything else. Neither did I because I’d officially reached my embarrassment limit for the evening.

He started toward his bike. “I’ll see you around, Hazel.”

“Yep.” Yep? That was what I came up with? Yep. Excellent work.

Bone walked to his motorcycle and I took another drink, pretending I was extremely interested in the trees across the road.

The bike started. Bone backed out of Pink’s driveway, and for a second, I thought he might look over again.

He didn’t. He turned toward the dead end and headed down the road.

The sound of the engine followed him until eventually it faded into the distance.

I stared after him and then I let my head fall back against the chair.

“Stupid.” I closed my eyes.

Why had I asked?

I could’ve said hello. Asked how he was. Made some stupid joke. Anything.

Instead, I’d practically jumped off the porch yelling, “Take me now, Bone.”

Okay. Maybe it hadn’t been that bad, but it felt that bad.

I lifted the wine cooler and took a longer drink.

Friday night had seemed pretty clear. At least I’d thought it had.

Bone had followed me outside.

He’d admitted he’d wanted to talk to me alone. He’d told me he was checking me out. He’d said he didn’t plan on stopping. Then he’d invited me to go for a ride.

I’d thought we’d been... What?

Flirting? Obviously.

Interested? I’d thought so.

There had definitely been a pull between us. I could feel it every time he looked at me. Hell, I’d felt it the first day I’d met him.

Not some ridiculous love-at-first-sight thing. Nothing like that.

Bone was just a man I noticed. A lot.

When he was around, I knew where he was. When he looked at me, I felt it. When he got close, I wanted him closer.

Maybe I’d read more into Friday night than I should have. Maybe Bone was just like that.

Flirty.

Confident.

The kind of man who could stand six inches away from a woman, look at her mouth, and make her think he was about to kiss her without having any intention of actually doing it.

He probably had plenty of practice.

I’d seen him at Bing’s. Women noticed him.

Hell, women noticed all the Grave Prowlers. Eight bikers walking into a crowded bar wasn’t exactly subtle.

Bone probably never had to work very hard to get a woman’s attention. Maybe flirting with me didn’t mean shit.

That possibility shouldn’t have bothered me. We barely knew each other. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend.

I’d moved here to start over, not immediately attach myself to the first attractive man I met.

Especially not one named Bone who happened to be the president of a motorcycle club. That sounded like the beginning of several questionable decisions.

I smiled despite myself. Still, I’d thought he wanted me.

Whatever. I wasn’t going to sit here dissecting every conversation we’d had.

If Bone wanted something, he could make that clear. If he didn’t, that was fine too.

I took another drink and stretched my legs out.

I wasn’t chasing him.

Chapter Fourteen

Bone

It was eleven-thirty at night and I was on my bike with no fucking reason to be riding into Marshfield.

At least, that was what I told myself. I knew where I was going.

I’d known when I walked out of the clubhouse and climbed onto my bike. I’d known when I turned toward town instead of taking one of the back roads I usually rode when I needed to clear my head.

I damn sure knew when Bing’s came into view.

I just wasn’t admitting it.

Hazel had been on my mind too fucking much.

All day. Yesterday too.

Since Friday, if I wanted to be completely fucking accurate.

Her standing against the brick wall behind Bing’s. Her smart mouth. Her eyes dropping to mine. Her asking me for that ride last night.

I’d wanted to say yes. That was the fucked-up part.

When I’d walked out of Ma’s house and seen Hazel sitting on her porch in those tiny fucking shorts and that scrap of a tank top, I’d almost forgotten the plans I’d already made.

Almost, but I’d had shit to handle. Club shit.

Plans I couldn’t blow off because the woman next door was sitting on her porch looking like every dirty thought I’d had about her over the last week.

So I’d told her I needed a raincheck. The disappointment that flashed across her face had stuck with me.

I wasn’t responsible for Hazel’s feelings. Hell, there weren’t any feelings between us to be responsible for.

There was attraction. A lot of it.

I was tired of walking around hard every time I thought about what would’ve happened if Kori hadn’t opened that back door Friday night.

I needed Hazel off my mind.

More like I needed to get off.

That would solve the problem.

I turned into Bing’s parking lot and circled around the building.

The employee lot was in back, and I’d noticed where Hazel parked Friday night. I pulled into the space beside her SUV and killed the engine.

Silence settled around me.

I stayed on the bike, looked at her SUV, and then shook my head. “What the fuck are you doing?”

No answer. Probably because there wasn’t a good one.

I didn’t chase women. Never had.

Yet here I fucking was.

Eleven-thirty on a Tuesday night sitting outside Hazel’s job. That looked a hell of a lot like chasing.

I reached into my cut and pulled out my cigarettes. I lit one and inhaled, the smoke filled my lungs as I stared at her SUV.

I wasn’t chasing Hazel. I was finishing something we’d already started.

That was different.

Friday night had been leading somewhere.

We both knew it.

Last night, she’d asked for the ride.

She wanted to spend time with me. I wanted to spend time with her.

And if that time ended with Hazel underneath me? Even fucking better.

I finished half the cigarette before I decided sitting in a parking lot arguing with myself was fucking pathetic.

I dropped it, crushed it beneath my boot, and headed for the back door. The same door I’d followed Hazel through Friday night.

I pulled it open and the music hit me.

Nothing like Friday.

Bing’s wasn’t dead, but it wasn’t packed either.

One pool table had a game going. Maybe ten people were scattered along the bar. A couple sat at one of the high-top tables near the dance floor.

Nobody was dancing.

Nobody was yelling.

I scanned the bar for Hazel, but I didn’t see her.

I knew she was here. Her SUV was outside.

I headed toward the bar and a couple guys looked over when they noticed my cut.

One nodded.

I nodded back, then I took the stool at the far end, away from everyone else.

CL spotted me. He finished pouring a drink and walked over. “Bone.”

“CL.”

“What’re you drinking?”

“Usual.”

He nodded. Didn’t ask what I was doing there alone on a Tuesday night. Another reason I liked him.

He went for the cooler, and I rested my forearms on the bar and looked toward the swinging door leading into the back.

The door swung open and Hazel walked through.

There she was.

Black shorts. Bing’s shirt. Hair pulled up tonight with pieces falling loose around her face. She had a plastic tub filled with clean glasses balanced against her hip.

Her eyes were down as she pushed through the door and then she looked up.

Surprise flashed across her face, but I could tell she was glad to see me.

Fuck.

She handed the tub to CL. “Can you—” Her eyes came back to me.

CL took it. “I got it.”

She headed straight to me. That shouldn’t have pleased me as much as it did, but it fucking did. She stopped on the other side of the bar. “Well.”

I leaned back slightly. “Well?”

Her eyes moved past me. She looked toward the pool tables, then the front door, then around the rest of the bar.

“What’re you looking for?”

“The invasion.”

I almost smiled. “What invasion?”

“Your motorcycle army.”

“Not here.”

She looked behind me again. “None of them?”

“Just me.”

Her gaze settled on mine.

“Disappointed?” I asked.

Hazel rested both hands on the bar. “I’m sure Crystal will be.”

“Crystal?”

“She was very excited about the tips Friday night.”

I chuckled. “The guys tend to tip well.”

“Yeah, Kori and Crystal made out good.”

“Did you?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Did you what?”

“Tip out well?”

Hazel thought about it. “Decent.”

I stared at her. “Decent?”

“I tipped you fifty bucks,” I chuckled.

“Exactly.”

“On what? Four beers?”

“Five.”

“Still.”

She smiled. “I said it was decent.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“A little.”

I laughed. CL appeared and set a beer in front of me. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

He glanced between Hazel and me. “You got everything you want?”

I wrapped my hand around the bottle. Hazel was still standing directly across from me.

Watching.

Waiting.

I should’ve said yes. Instead, my eyes stayed on hers. “Beer’ll do for now.”

Hazel’s lips twitched. “For now?”

CL looked between us again.

Then apparently decided he didn’t want any part of whatever was happening. “I’m going down there.”

Neither of us answered him.

He walked away and Hazel leaned a little closer over the bar. “You came to Bing’s at almost midnight on a Tuesday for a beer?”

“Looks that way.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you.”

I lifted the bottle and took a drink. “Don’t?”

“Nope.”

“What do you think I’m doing here?”

Hazel’s eyes stayed on mine and I set the beer down. The bar between us was probably a good thing, because if it hadn’t been there, I would’ve been standing a hell of a lot closer.

“I’m here for something else.”

Hazel went still.

The teasing expression didn’t disappear.

It changed.

Her eyes dropped to my mouth, then lifted again. “Something else?”

“Yeah.”

She wet her lips. Fuck me. I wasn’t imagining this and hadn’t been Friday night either. Whatever was pulling me toward Hazel was pulling her right back.

“Are you finally ready to cash in that raincheck?” she asked.

My mouth curved. “Yeah.”

Her eyes widened slightly. Maybe she’d expected me to dance around it. Not my style.

“Tonight?” she asked.

“That’s why I’m here.”

Hazel glanced toward the clock behind the bar.

“When do you get off?”

“One.”

I nodded. An hour and a half. I could wait. Hell, I’d already spent days waiting.

She looked at my beer and then back at me. “That’s a long time to sit by yourself.”

“I’ll manage.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

Hazel studied me for a second, then that smile came back. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I get off at one.”

“I heard you.”

“And you’re really going to sit there until then?”

I picked up my beer. “Yep. I’ll be here.”

Chapter Fifteen

Hazel

By one fifteen in the morning, I was standing in the back parking lot of Bing’s, wondering if I’d lost my mind.

Probably.

Bone was leaning against his motorcycle like this was a completely normal way to spend a Tuesday night.

He’d waited the entire time.

Every time I’d walked past the end of the bar, he’d been there. Sometimes talking to CL. Sometimes looking at his phone. Sometimes drinking his beer. And sometimes watching me.

He’d only had two beers the whole time, switching to water after the second one. I’d noticed that too.

By twelve thirty, Crystal had figured out exactly what was happening.

By twelve forty-five, Kori knew.

By twelve fifty, both of them were insufferable.

I’d refused to answer any questions, finished closing my section, counted out my money, grabbed my purse, and escaped through the back door before either one of them could follow me.

Now it was just me and Bone.

And his motorcycle.

I stared at it.

Bone stared at me. “Well?” he asked.

I looked at him. “Well what?”

“You gonna get on?”

“I thought there’d be instructions.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Instructions?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a motorcycle, Hazel. Not heavy machinery.”

“Pretty sure it qualifies as machinery.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. This is my first time.”

Bone went completely still, then his mouth twitched.

I pointed at him. “Don’t.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

I narrowed my eyes and his grin finally broke free.

“Jesus Christ, you’re twelve,” I laughed.

“You told me it was your first time.”

“On a motorcycle,” I stressed and slapped his arm.

He laughed.

Actually laughed. Not the low chuckle I normally got out of him.

A real laugh.

I stared at him.

“What?”

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

His expression flattened. “There he is.”

“Get on the fucking bike, Hazel.”

I laughed and looked at the motorcycle again. “How?”

“You’re making this way harder than it needs to be.”

“Again, first time.”

“Keep saying that and we’re never leaving this parking lot.”

I shook my head. “You’re disgusting.”

“You started it.”

“I absolutely did not.”

Bone pushed away from the bike. “Come here.”

The laughter faded a little.

There was something about Bone saying come here that made my stomach do a stupid little flip.

I walked closer. Bone grabbed the helmet resting on the seat and held it out.

“Put this on.”

I took it. “What about you?”

“I’m good.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“I’ve been riding most of my life.”

“And your skull is somehow stronger because of that?”

His mouth twitched. “Put the helmet on.”

“Bossy.”

“Hazel.”

“Fine.” I pulled it over my head. Bone reached beneath my chin and adjusted the strap.

His fingers brushed my skin and that tiny touch was enough to shut me up.

His eyes lifted to mine. “Too tight?”

I swallowed. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

His fingers lingered another second before he dropped his hand. “All right.”

He swung his leg over the bike and settled onto the seat.

God, apparently Bone getting on a motorcycle was something I needed to add to the growing list of shit I found hot about him.

He looked over his shoulder. “Get on.”

I carefully climbed on behind him. “Now what?”

“Feet there.” He pointed. I did what he said. “And hold on.”

“To what?”

Bone turned his head enough to look at me. “Me.”

Oh.

Right.

Obviously.

I slid my arms around his waist and my entire front pressed against his back.

That was... nice.

Really nice.

Bone’s hands closed around the handlebars. “Good?”

“Yep.”

“You nervous?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m sitting on a motorcycle behind a man named Bone at one in the morning. I’m allowed a little nervousness.”

“Fair.”

I smiled, then realized something. “Where are we going?”

Bone looked back at me. “Nowhere.”

I frowned.

“And anywhere.”

“That clears it right up,” I laughed.

“Just hold on.” The motorcycle roared to life beneath us and I jumped.

Bone’s hand came off the handlebar and landed over mine where it rested against his stomach.

Just for a second, then he pulled away.

My heart started beating faster before we’d even moved.

A minute later, we were on the road.

And holy shit, I’d been wrong. Completely wrong.

I’d thought riding on the back of Bone’s motorcycle would be fun.

This was better. So much better.

The air rushed around us as Bone picked up speed. The lights of Marshfield slipped past, becoming fewer and farther between as we left town behind.

I tightened my arms around him.

Not because I was scared, but because I could.

Because for the first time since I’d met Bone, I had an excuse to put my hands on him and keep them there.

His body was warm beneath my arms. Solid. I could feel the movement of his muscles every time he shifted.

There wasn’t any conversation. The motorcycle was too loud, and the wind would’ve stolen most of the words anyway.

Strangely, I didn’t miss talking.

Bone took me through town first.

Then out on country roads. Long stretches with nothing but fields and trees. A few houses tucked back from the road with the moon overhead.

Every once in a while, we’d slow as we passed through a small town, then Bone would open the bike up again once we were back on empty roads.

I had no clue where we were. I didn’t care.

He’d said nowhere and anywhere. Apparently, he’d meant it.

At some point, I stopped thinking about where we were going altogether and I just held on.

The farther we rode, the more comfortable I got.

I leaned when Bone leaned. Relaxed against his back and let myself enjoy it.

I understood now why he liked this.

I smiled inside the helmet. Maybe Wisconsin wasn’t so bad.

We’d been riding for what had to be close to an hour when Bone slowed for a curve and his left hand left the handlebar.

I assumed he was going to adjust something. Instead, he reached back, and his hand landed on my knee.

I froze.

There was no reason for it. He didn’t need to steady me. Didn’t need to tell me anything.

My arms tightened around his waist and his thumb moved once against the inside of my knee.

Barely anything, but my breath caught anyway.

Then his hand disappeared.

Both of his hands returned to the handlebars, and the motorcycle accelerated.

I stared at the back of his head.

Yeah, I’d definitely felt that, and there was no way in hell I’d imagined what it meant.

Eventually, I started recognizing things. A turn. A stretch of road. Trees I’d stared at from my front porch. Then Pink’s house appeared with mine right beside it.

He pulled into my driveway and killed the engine.

Silence rushed in, and for a second, neither of us moved.

“Wow,” I breathed.

Bone looked over his shoulder. “Good?”

“Good?” I laughed. “That was amazing.”

His mouth curved. “Told you.”

“You didn’t tell me anything.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

I reluctantly loosened my arms from around him. “Absolutely.”

I carefully climbed off the bike, and the second my feet hit the driveway, I felt like I was going to tumble over.

Oh God.

I managed to steady myself and pulled the helmet off. My hair had been tied back when we’d left Bing’s, but over the past hour, it had escaped my hair tie and was now a rat’s nest. I ran both hands over it, trying to tame it. “Don’t look at me.”

Bone turned. “What?”

“I probably look insane.”

His gaze traveled over me. Slowly. “You still look good.”

I stared at him.

Bone rested his forearms against the handlebars.

“After an hour on the back of that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Going how fast?”

He shrugged. “I saw eighty.”

“I look like I’ve been hanging out a car window on the interstate.”

“You don’t.”

I smoothed my hair again.

Bone’s eyes stayed on me. “You look good, Hazel.”

The way he said my name did something to me. God, this man.

I dropped my hands. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime.”

Neither of us moved.

I should’ve gone inside. It was after two in the morning. I had nowhere to be tomorrow morning, but that didn’t mean I needed to stand in my driveway until sunrise. Still, I didn’t want the night to end. And I didn’t want to keep pretending there wasn’t something happening between us.

Apparently, my mouth decided it was tired of waiting for the rest of me to figure that out. “Do you want to come inside?”

Bone didn’t answer.

My stomach dropped. Oh no, not again. Why did I keep doing this to myself?

Last night, I’d asked him for a ride, and he’d turned me down. Tonight, obviously, I hadn’t learned a damn thing.

I could’ve smiled, said good night, and walked inside with whatever dignity I had left. Instead, I stood there waiting.

Bone stared at me, and my heart thudded.

“Or not,” I added. “I just thought—”

He got off the motorcycle and I stopped talking. Bone took two steps toward me. Then another. I tipped my head back, standing my ground.

He was so damn big up close. Broad shoulders. Tattooed arms. Dark beard. Hard lines. Everything about Bone screamed that he wasn’t a man who did anything halfway.

His hands settled around my waist.

Oh.

My palms landed against his chest, and Bone pulled me against him. His body was hard against mine, and his eyes dropped to my mouth.

“Bone.”

His hand came up, and the backs of his fingers moved slowly down my cheek.

My breath caught as his eyes dropped to my mouth.

Oh yeah. I hadn’t imagined a damn thing.

“Tell me no,” he said.

I shook my head. “No.”

His brow furrowed.

I almost laughed. “That came out wrong.”

His mouth twitched.

“I mean, I don’t want you to stop.” That was clearly all he needed.

Bone kissed me. There was nothing hesitant about it.

His mouth came down on mine, and I grabbed the front of his shirt. Bone’s arm locked around my waist and hauled me tighter against him.

His other hand slid into my hair and I opened for him. His tongue swept against mine, and a sound escaped me before I could stop it.

Bone answered with a rough groan that I felt as much as heard.

Jesus.

I’d wondered more than once what kissing Bone would be like. My imagination hadn’t come close.

His beard scraped against my skin as he changed the angle of his mouth. My fingers curled tighter into his shirt, and I pushed up onto my toes because apparently being plastered against him wasn’t close enough.

His hand tightened in my hair and the kiss deepened. I curled my fingers harder into his shirt, barely noticing the motorcycle cooling behind us or how quiet the road had become. And the very obvious evidence that I wasn’t the only one getting worked up.

We finally broke apart. Barely.

His forehead rested against mine and both of us were breathing hard. “Still want me inside?” he asked.

I stared at him. “That is a very stupid question.”

He grinned. “Keys.”

“Right.” I dug into my purse and my hands were shaking. I found the keys and hurried toward the porch.

Bone followed.

I reached the door and attempted to put the key into the lock.

Missed.

“Shit.”

Bone moved in behind me and his hands landed on my hips.

I missed again.

“You’re not helping,” I muttered.

“Not trying to.”

His mouth touched the side of my neck.

I sucked in a breath. “Bone.”

“Door, Hazel.”

“I’m trying.”

He kissed the spot beneath my ear.

“You are absolutely doing that on purpose,” I breathed out.

“Open the door.”

I finally got the key into the lock. “Ha.”

Bone laughed against my neck.

I shoved the door open and we stumbled inside. I barely had time to toss my purse toward the little table before Bone kicked the door shut behind us.

Then his hands were on me again.

His mouth found mine and I wrapped my arms around his neck.

We bumped into the wall, and I laughed against his mouth. “Ow.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“I’m not.” He kissed me again.

Bone’s cut came off and landed over the back of a chair as we passed. He handled that one with considerably more care than we’d shown anything else, then his mouth was on mine again.

My fingers found the bottom of his shirt, and I tugged. Bone pulled back long enough to drag it over his head.

My brain stalled. Holy hell.

I’d known he was built. There was no hiding that under a T-shirt. Seeing it, though, was something else.

Broad chest. Hard stomach. Ink everywhere.

I reached for him, but Bone caught my wrist. For half a second, I thought he was stopping me.

Then he pressed my palm flat against his chest.

His eyes stayed on mine and I ran my hand down. His stomach tightened beneath my fingers.

“Bedroom,” he said.

“That way.”

We made it about three steps, then Bone kissed me again.

I laughed when we bumped into the hallway wall. “At this rate, we’re never making it.”

“Quit distracting me.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“You’re the one who keeps kissing me,” I pointed out.

“Exactly.”

That didn’t make any sense. I didn’t care.

My shirt disappeared somewhere in the hallway. I wasn’t sure who took it off. Maybe me. Maybe Bone.

My shoes went next.

We finally stumbled through my bedroom doorway.

No lights, only moonlight coming through the window.

Bone’s hands closed around my waist.

“What are you—” He lifted me, and I let out a squeal. “Bone!”

He tossed me onto the mattress and I bounced once, then twice. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Really?”

He stood at the foot of my bed. “Problem?”

“No.” Definitely no problem.

Bone bent and pulled off one boot. Then the other.

I stopped laughing.

His hands went to his belt.

I shoved myself up and quickly worked my jeans and underwear down my legs, kicking them toward the floor. Then I wiggled out of my bra. There was no need for any clothes. By the time I settled back on my elbows, Bone had his belt undone.

His chest and arms were covered in tattoos, the ink wrapping over thick muscle and disappearing around his shoulders. His beard made the hard lines of his face look even rougher in the low light.

Then his jeans and underwear dropped. My mouth went dry.

Bone stepped out of them.

He looked exactly like what he was. A man who worked with his hands. Rode motorcycles, built coffins, ran a motorcycle club, and clearly knew exactly what he was doing to me because his eyes tracked over my face and that damn smirk appeared.

“What?” he asked.

I slowly shook my head. “Nothing.”

Bone dropped onto the bed with a heavy exhale that rattled the lamp on my nightstand. He propped himself up on an elbow, running a hand along the edge of my jaw, his thumb tracing the place where my skin had flushed so red I felt like I might combust. I stared at the veins in his forearm, thick ropes running under ink.

He was silent, eyes glinting in dim light, and I waited, not sure if he expected me to move first. I didn’t need to wait long.

Bone wrapped his hand around my throat. Not tight, but enough that my breath caught. Then his mouth was on mine again, his beard scraping my skin as I grabbed onto him.

He rolled, pulling me with him so I landed straddling his hips. The comforter bunched under my knees. He was already hard, pressing up hot against me where my thighs bracketed him. I slid my fingers through the scruff on his face. He caught my wrists, pushed them up above my head, and just held me there.

A shiver ran through me when he held my wrists over my head, and Bone watched me under his heavy lids. He didn’t say anything, just studied me.

He rolled his hips beneath me and I sucked in a breath, as my thighs tightened around him. Bone’s mouth curled at the edges, and he let go of one of my wrists to drag his callused palm down between my breasts, lingering at my ribs.

His lips moved over my throat before his tongue traced my collarbone and I ground down against him. I needed him now.

He flipped me, manhandling me so I was face down on the bed. I gasped at the sudden stretch of empty space under me, but Bone’s hand was already flattening into the small of my back, and his other hand urging me up onto my knees.

I pressed my face into the pillow, breathing in the scent of clean cotton. Bone’s hand stayed firm against my back, not pushing, just there. “Okay?” he asked, and I loved that he asked, loved that his voice had gone rough but not cruel.

“Yeah,” I whispered, and I was surprised by how true it felt. “I’m okay.”

His hand moved slowly down my spine before settling on my hip. I felt the shift of the mattress as he moved behind me, felt the heat of him radiating close, closer. My heart hammered against my ribs, but it wasn’t fear.

When he entered me, it was gradual. A steady pressure that built and built until I had to remember to breathe. I gripped the sheets, knuckles white, and he paused, trembling with the effort of holding back.

“Hazel.” My name came out broken. “Tell me—”

“Don’t stop,” I said, and I meant it.

He didn’t. He started slow, giving me time to adjust before his thrusts grew harder. I gripped the sheets as a moan slipped out of me. The angle had him hitting a spot that made my legs shake.

Bone’s hand slid from my hip to my stomach, pulling me up until my back arched against his chest. He was everywhere then, surrounding me, his mouth finding the curve of my shoulder, my neck. His other hand moved between my legs, and I cried out at the sudden spark of pleasure, sharp and unexpected.

“That’s it,” he murmured against my skin. “Let go for me, sweetheart.”

I didn’t know I was close until I was there, until my whole body tightened around him. He groaned, actually groaned, his rhythm faltering before he found it again, harder now, chasing his own release.

When Bone came, he buried his face against my neck and groaned my name. His arms tightened around me while we both tried to catch our breath.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. Then he eased us down onto the bed, still tangled together, and pulled the blanket over us with his free hand.

“You good?” he asked again, quieter now.

I turned my body to face him. His eyes soft in a way I hadn’t seen before.

“Yeah,” I said, and smiled. “I’m good.”

He traced my jaw with one finger, then he kissed my forehead, gentle, and pulled me closer.

I sank into the mattress and listened to the big, ragged drag of his breath.

I waited for him to move. For the mood to change. For him to suddenly remember this was supposed to be casual.

He didn’t.

Instead, his hand moved slowly over my back. “You sure you’re good?” he asked.

I nodded against his chest. “Yeah.”

“Sure?”

I lifted my head. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

“No.”

“Because you seem very concerned about your performance.”

His hand landed on my ass.

I squealed. “Bone!”

“Keep talking.”

I laughed and dropped my head back.

His hand moved away from my ass eventually, but his palm stayed draped over my side like he didn’t trust me not to roll off the bed.

I wondered if he could feel how fast my pulse was still racing beneath my skin. I knew I had to look like a complete mess.

I let out a shaky breath and sank deeper into the mattress.

I expected him to move. To roll away, grab his clothes, and turn what had just happened into exactly what it was supposed to be, a hot night between two people who wanted each other.

Except Bone didn’t move.

If anything, his arm tightened around me. I stared into the darkness, trying not to smile.

Interesting.

Chapter Sixteen

Bone

I woke up staring at a ceiling that wasn’t mine.

For a few seconds, I didn’t move. I knew exactly where the fuck I was.

Hazel’s bed. Hazel’s house.

Morning light came through the gap in the curtains, cutting across the bedroom and landing right over the foot of the bed. My clothes were scattered across the floor, one boot lying on its side near the dresser and the other somewhere closer to the doorway.

I was naked beneath Hazel’s sheets.

Alone.

That part was different.

Normally, I was the one gone first.

If I ended up at a woman’s place, I woke up, got dressed, and left. If she ended up in my room at the clubhouse, I made it pretty fucking clear the night before that she wasn’t staying for breakfast.

There wasn’t any awkward morning after.

No coffee. No lying around talking about what happened. No wondering when we’d see each other again.

We both got what we wanted, and then we went back to our lives.

Except apparently sometime between walking into Hazel’s house last night and right fucking now, I’d forgotten how I operated, because I’d stayed all fucking night.

I rubbed a hand over my face. “What the fuck?”

The room didn’t answer.

The last thing I needed was Hazel hearing me talking to myself. I turned my head toward her side of the bed. The pillow was dented where she’d slept, and the sheet had been pushed back.

I listened and heard water run somewhere down the hallway.

I stared at the ceiling again and couldn’t believe that she’d gotten out of bed before me.

Why the hell did that bother me?

I threw the sheet back and knew I needed to get the fuck out of here. That was what I’d needed to do probably three hours ago.

I sat on the edge of the mattress and looked around for my boxers. Found them halfway under the bed. My jeans were near the footboard. Shirt in the hallway.

I got dressed, and the shower kept running.

I grabbed my cut from the back of the chair in the hallway and shrugged it on. I should’ve headed for the front door. Instead, I looked down the hallway toward the bathroom.

Fuck.

I walked that way. I lifted my hand and knocked twice.

“Yeah?” Hazel’s voice carried over the water.

“It’s me.”

There was a pause. Then, “Come in.”

My hand stayed on the knob for a second. I opened the door and steam hit me immediately.

The mirror over the sink was completely fogged, and the small bathroom felt about twenty degrees hotter than the hallway.

The shower curtain moved, and Hazel leaned out. Every fucking thought in my head disappeared.

Her wet hair was slicked back from her face, water ran down her neck and over her chest, and she wasn’t trying to cover herself.

Not even a little.

One hand held the shower curtain while the rest of her was right fucking there.

Wet.

Naked.

Mine last night.

My dick went hard so fast it almost pissed me off.

Hazel looked down, then back up. A slow smile spread across her face. Of course she noticed. “Morning.”

I cleared my throat. “Morning.”

Her eyes moved over me. “I’d tell you to get in here, but it looks like you’re leaving.”

Bad idea didn’t even begin to cover what getting in there would be. For one second, I seriously considered it. One fucking second turned into about five.

Hazel’s smile grew.

I forced my eyes back to her face. “Need to get back to the clubhouse.”

“Okay.”

That was it. Okay.

I nodded.

She nodded.

I waited. For what, I had no fucking idea.

Disappointment maybe? A question? Something.

Hazel didn’t give me any of it.

She reached up and pushed her wet hair away from her face. “Have a good day.”

I stared at her. “You too.”

Still nothing. What the fuck?

“I’ll see you around,” I said.

Hazel smiled. “Yeah. See you around, Bone.” Then she disappeared behind the curtain.

Just fucking disappeared.

The curtain fell back into place and I stood there.

Hazel hummed behind the curtain and I just stared at the shower curtain like it had personally offended me.

That was it? I was leaving after spending the night in her bed, and she was humming?

I shook my head.

Good. That was good. Exactly what I wanted. No attachment. No expectations. No bullshit.

Perfect.

So why the fuck was I still standing in her bathroom?

I turned around and walked out. The hallway was quiet except for the shower running behind me.

Last night had done what it was supposed to do.

I’d wanted Hazel. I’d had Hazel. Now I could get back to normal.

I reached the front door and grabbed the knob.

Hazel wasn’t going to come running down the hallway after me, and I didn’t want her to.

I wasn’t going to spend all fucking day thinking about Hazel anymore. Wasn’t going to wonder what she was doing. Wasn’t going to find excuses to stop at Ma’s. Wasn’t going to show up at Bing’s alone at eleven-thirty at night like some asshole chasing a woman.

I was done chasing.

I swung my leg over my bike. My eyes went back to Hazel’s house.

“Hurt her and I’ll kill you myself, Bone.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

I turned my head. Ma sat on her front porch in her rocking chair like she’d been waiting all morning for this exact moment.

She had a coffee mug in one hand, her legs were crossed. She wore a bright pink robe covered in black flowers, and her hair was piled on top of her head.

She looked way too fucking pleased with herself.

I slid my sunglasses on. “Morning, Ma.”

“Morning,” she replied.

I glanced at Hazel’s house, then back at her.

No point pretending. Ma wasn’t an idiot. She knew where my bike had been all night. Probably knew exactly what time I’d pulled into Hazel’s driveway too.

“Who says I’m gonna do the heartbreaking?”

Ma stared at me over the rim of her mug, then she laughed. Actually fucking laughed. “Yeah,” she called. “You might be right about that one.” She took another sip of coffee. “Drive safe.”

“Love you too, Ma.”

She smiled. “Love you, baby.”

I hit the starter and the engine roared beneath me.

Ma lifted her mug in goodbye, and I backed out of Hazel’s driveway and turned toward the dead end.

Toward the clubhouse where I belonged. Where shit made sense.

I accelerated down the road. Ma disappeared behind me. Hazel’s house disappeared with her.

I should’ve felt better. I’d done exactly what I’d planned to do.

I’d wanted Hazel. I had her.

Simple.

Except nothing about this morning felt fucking simple.

Hazel hadn’t asked me to stay. Hadn’t asked when she’d see me again. Hadn’t looked disappointed when I told her I was leaving. And instead of being relieved about that, I’d stood in her bathroom waiting for something I couldn’t even fucking name.

I tightened my hands around the handlebars. What in the fuck just happened?

Chapter Seventeen

Hazel

Two days after sleeping with Bone, I was carrying a tray of empty beer bottles across Bing’s and trying to decide if the man at table seven had actually fallen asleep or if he was just really committed to staring at the tabletop.

I slowed as I passed him. His chin was almost touching his chest. Definitely asleep.

“CL,” I called when I reached the bar.

He looked up from wiping down the counter. “What?”

“I think I lost one.”

He frowned. “Lost one what?”

“Customer.”

Kori walked up beside me with two empty glasses in her hands. “Did somebody leave without paying?”

“No. I think he passed out.”

CL immediately looked toward my section. “Table seven?”

“Yep.”

“He does that.”

I stared at him. “What do you mean, he does that?”

“Frank.”

That explained absolutely nothing. “Okay.”

“He works third shift, but a lot of the time he works a double.”

“Still not helping.”

Kori leaned against the bar. “He comes in after work, has two beers, eats a burger, and sometimes falls asleep.”

“At a table?”

“Sometimes at the bar.”

I looked over my shoulder. Frank hadn’t moved. “Does anyone wake him up?”

“Eventually,” CL said.

“When?”

CL shrugged. “When we need the table.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

“Wisconsin is weird.”

Kori laughed. “You’ve been saying that since you got here.”

“Because you people keep proving it.”

“We’re delightful,” Kori smiled.

“You have a customer who schedules naps at a bar.”

“He tips.”

“Oh.” I nodded. “Then Frank can sleep as long as he wants.”

“That’s the spirit.”

I dumped the bottles into the bin beneath the bar.

Thursday night had been steady but nothing compared to Friday. I’d had enough tables to keep me moving without feeling like I was running a marathon every time somebody needed another beer.

I liked nights like this.

Busy enough to make money. Slow enough that I could breathe.

And talk. Mostly talk.

I’d been at Bing’s for close to two weeks, and somehow Crystal and Kori had gone from women showing me where CL kept the extra napkins to people I genuinely liked.

I’d spent enough years waitressing to know there was a difference between coworkers you got along with and people you’d actually choose to spend time with when nobody was paying you.

Crystal and Kori were quickly becoming the second kind.

Which was probably why they’d spent the last two days trying to get information out of me.

Information I wasn’t giving them.

Crystal appeared from the other end of the bar and shoved her order pad into the back pocket of her shorts. “Okay.”

I looked at her. “Okay what?”

“We have approximately thirty seconds before somebody needs something.”

Kori nodded. “Probably twenty.”

“Then I guess we should enjoy the silence.”

“No.” Crystal pointed at me. “We’re using it productively.”

I grabbed a glass of water. “That sounds terrible.”

“We need to make plans.”

“For?” I asked.

“Saturday.”

I took a drink. “What’s Saturday?”

Kori gasped. “You don’t know?”

“I just asked, so probably not,” I laughed.

“The farmers market.”

I stared at her. “The farmers market?”

“Yes.”

“We’re planning to go to the farmers market?”

“It’s important,” Kori smiled.

Crystal leaned against the bar beside her. “It’s actually pretty good.”

“See?” Kori said.

I laughed. “What exactly happens at this magical farmers market?”

“Food,” Kori said.

“Produce,” Crystal added.

“Baked stuff,” CL called.

Kori’s eyes widened. “Flowers.”

“Crafts.” Crystal clapped her hands together.

“Coffee.” Kori slapped her hand against the bar. “And there’s this woman who makes these cinnamon rolls that are approximately the size of your head.”

I looked at Crystal. “Is that true?”

“Pretty close,” she shrugged.

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” I asked. I pointed at her. “You need to work on your pitch.”

“I’m a waitress, not a marketing executive.”

“Fair.”

Crystal looked between us. “So we’re going?”

“I work Saturday,” I frowned.

“So do we,” they said in unison.

I frowned.

Kori waved me off. “Market’s in the morning. We don’t have to be here until later.”

“What time in the morning?”

“Eight?”

I recoiled. “No.”

Crystal laughed. “Nine?”

“Better.”

“Eight-thirty,” Kori negotiated. “I really want a cinnamon roll.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Then go at eight and buy me one. I will meet you there at nine.”

“No. This is supposed to be us hanging out,” Kori pouted.

That made me smile. Us hanging out.

I liked that.

“Fine,” I said.

Kori clapped. “Farmers market.”

“At nine,” I replied.

Kori tipped her head to the side. “Eight-thirty.”

“Nine,” I repeated.

“Eight forty-five,” Crystal said, meeting us in the middle.

I sighed. “Fine.”

Kori grinned.

Crystal shook her head. “You realize it’s only fifteen minutes, right?”

“I know, but I half won.” Kori winked and grabbed a tray from the bar.

“You won fifteen minutes,” I drawled.

“Still counts.”

I laughed and reached for my water again.

Crystal looked around and then leaned in. “So now we can talk about how Wednesday morning, Bone’s bike was at your house.”

My mouth dropped open. “How the hell do you know that?”

Crystal shrugged. “I might have woken up early, and decided to take a drive that took me past your house.”

“I have tables.”

Kori grabbed my hand. “You have one table, and Frank’s asleep.”

I looked toward Frank. Traitor. “I’m not talking about this.”

Kori groaned. “Why?”

“Because it’s none of your business.”

Crystal nudged Kori aside. “Was it good?”

I looked at her and she smiled innocently.

I took a slow drink of water and my eyes drifted to the side.

Kori’s eyes widened. “Oh, that face.”

“What face?” I asked, knowing exactly what I meant by not saying anything.

“That face!” Kori pointed at me.

“I don’t have a face.”

“You absolutely have a face,” Crystal chimed in.

“Everyone has a face,” CL called from farther down the bar.

“Stay out of this,” I yelled.

“Gladly,” he laughed.

Crystal started laughing.

I set my water down. “I am going to tell you both exactly one thing.”

They immediately leaned closer.

I lowered my voice. “It was good.”

“You cannot give us two words.”

“Three words,” I corrected her. “And I just did.”

“How good?” Kori tipped her chin down, and really looked at me.

“Goodbye, Kori.”

“Hazel,” she wailed.

I grabbed my tray. “We’re done.”

“You’re cruel.” Crystal called.

“I’m comfortable with that.”

I turned away.

Kori called after me. “Was he still there when you woke up?”

I stopped. Damn her.

I turned around and gave her a slight nod.

She grinned and threw her hands in the air. “He stayed!”

I pointed at her. “Farmers market. Eight forty-five. Don’t make me regret agreeing.”

Then I walked away before she could ask anything else.

I checked on my customers, dropped another check, woke Frank long enough to ask if he needed anything, and eventually made my way back toward the bar.

Crystal and Kori were thankfully busy, and couldn’t badger me more about Bone. It wasn’t like I had much more to tell them, anyway.

For all I knew, Bone was done with me.

Maybe relationships weren’t his thing.

Maybe one night was exactly what he’d wanted. That didn’t bother me. Or at least, it wasn’t going to. I’d known what I was doing when I invited him inside.

Bone hadn’t promised me anything and he hadn’t told me we were dating.

Hadn’t said he’d call.

Hell, he couldn’t call. He didn’t have my number, and I didn’t have his.

Maybe we’d see each other again, considering he lived two miles down the road and his mother was my new best friend; odds were pretty damn good.

Maybe we’d end up in bed again. I wouldn’t complain, but I wasn’t going to sit at home staring out the window waiting for the rumble of his motorcycle.

I’d done enough waiting around in my old life.

Wisconsin was supposed to be different.

New experiences.

Bone had definitely qualified as an experience. A very good one.

But he wasn’t the reason I’d moved here, and he wasn’t going to become the only thing I had here.

I glanced down the bar.

Kori was arguing with CL about something and Crystal stood at the service station laughing at them.

Saturday morning, I was going to a farmers market with my new friends.

Saturday night, we’d all be back here working.

Tomorrow, I’d probably spend part of the day trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with the ugly wallpaper in my spare bedroom.

I had a life to build. If Bone wanted to be part of it in some way, I’d figure that out when it happened.

Until then, I wasn’t going to pine after him. I had cinnamon rolls the size of my head to buy.

Chapter Eighteen

Bone

“Run that back.”

Dave sighed through the laptop speakers. “I’ve run it back four fucking times.”

“Make it five,” I ordered.

“You know watching it again isn’t going to magically make the picture clearer.”

“Dave,” I drawled.

“Yeah, yeah.” The video jumped backward.

I leaned forward, bracing my forearms on the table.

The clubhouse common room was quiet, which wasn’t normal. Getting this many Grave Prowlers in one room usually meant somebody was talking shit, Taco was running his mouth, or Rowdy was laughing loud enough to drown out everyone else.

Nobody was doing any of that.

Myth sat on my right. Humpty stood behind us with his arms folded over his chest. Dealer was pacing near the end of the table. Bull had a notebook open in front of him. Breaker sat beside him. Hose was at the bar with his coffee, and Taco and Rowdy had pulled chairs around to face the laptop. Even Munch had managed to keep his mouth shut. That was how I knew shit was serious.

“Here,” Dave said.

The video slowed. It was shitty footage.

Black and white and grainy as fuck. The timestamp in the corner read 2:13 A.M.

The camera pointed toward a section of the Milwaukee transfer facility I’d seen plenty of times over the years. Loading docks lined one side. Trucks and trailers sat in rows farther back.

Nothing happened.

Two thirteen became two fourteen. A truck moved in the distance. Then a man walked into view.

Owen Mercer.

At least, Dave said it was Owen Mercer.

The footage wasn’t good enough for me to swear to it, but the height and build matched.

Owen walked directly toward the camera, stopped beneath it, looked up, and then the screen went black.

“Stop.”

Dave froze it.

I stared at Owen. “That’s him?”

“I’m as sure as I can be without having a clear shot of his face.”

“When was this?” I asked.

“Thirteen days ago.”

Myth leaned closer. “His wife reported him missing nine days ago.”

“Right,” Dave said.

I looked at the frozen image.

“So four days before he disappeared,” Bull calculated.

“Yep,” Dave agreed.

“What was he doing there?” Taco asked.

Dave tipped his head to the side. “Officially?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing,” Dave sighed.

Dealer stopped pacing. “What does that mean?”

Dave shifted on the screen. “It means there wasn’t a service call that night.”

I frowned. “You said Northline had him there.”

“They did. Eight days before his wife reported him missing. That was the work order I found before.”

“But not this?” Hose questioned.

Dave shook his head. “Nope.”

I sat back. “So Mercer was there but he shouldn’t have been.”

“Looks that way.”

“Why?”

“If I knew that, we could all stop watching the same thirty seconds of footage,” Dave chuckled.

Taco leaned toward the laptop. “What happens after the camera goes black?”

“Nothing.”

He frowned. “Nothing?”

“Camera stays down for seventeen minutes and thirty-eight seconds.”

Myth looked at me.

“What happened during those seventeen minutes?” I asked.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.” Dave clicked something.

The frozen image disappeared. Another camera feed came up. Different angle with the same timestamp. “This one’s on the other side of the facility.”

We watched.

A semi sat backed against a loading dock.

Two box trucks were parked farther down.

Nothing moved.

Then headlights appeared at the far edge of the screen. A vehicle drove into view.

Dark van with no markings and no windows along the sides. It moved slowly through the yard.

“Plate?” Bull asked.

“Can’t read it.”

“Can you clean it up?” I asked.

“That’s not how this shit works,” Dave sighed.

Bull looked at the screen. “Movies make it look easy.”

Dave frowned. “Movies are full of shit.”

“Good to know,” Bull muttered.

The van disappeared behind one of the buildings.

“Where’s it going?” I asked.

“Toward the section covered by the camera Mercer shut down.”

My jaw tightened.

“Then what?”

Dave fast-forwarded.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Then the van appeared again. It was moving in the opposite direction.

Timestamp read 2:29.

“Sixteen minutes,” Myth muttered.

“Sixteen and change,” Dave said.

The van disappeared from view.

A minute later, the original camera came back online. Owen Mercer never appeared again.

“Fuck,” Hose muttered.

I agreed. “What do we know about the van?”

Dave leaned back in his chair. “Not much. Dark color. Ford Transit, probably. Could be a few years old. There are about a billion of the fucking things on the road.”

Dealer resumed pacing. “So Mercer shuts off a camera, van rolls in, van rolls out, camera comes back.”

“That’s what we’re looking at,” Myth said.

“Sounds like Mercer was helping somebody,” Bull pondered.

“Maybe,” I said.

Dealer looked at me. “You got another explanation?”

“Could’ve caught somebody doing something and killed the camera because he was trying to see what the fuck was happening.”

“Why shut it off?” Humpty asked.

“Don’t know.” I didn’t know fucking shit. I was just spitballing, trying to find something that made sense.

“Then mine makes more sense,” Bull pointed out.

“For now.” It did, but still, who? I wasn’t putting Owen on either side until we knew. Dead men didn’t get to explain themselves, and assuming shit was how you missed something important.

I looked at Dave. “Where’d you get this footage?”

He smiled.

I stared at him. “Never mind.”

“Good choice.”

Shadow appeared behind him. He’d been somewhere offscreen for most of the call. Minnesota’s president dragged a chair over and dropped into it. “You show him the good part yet?”

I looked at him. “What good part?”

Dave grimaced. “I was getting there.”

“What fucking good part?”

Shadow leaned back. “Show him.”

Dave clicked around again. The video disappeared and a document came up.

It looked like some kind of shipping record.

Rows of numbers. Dates. Company names. Nothing that meant shit to me at first glance.

Then I saw ours.

GRAVE CASKET CO.

I leaned closer. “What am I looking at?”

“Transfer logs.”

“We already went through those,” I sighed. This wasn’t anything new.

“The official ones,” Dave muttered.

Myth turned toward me.

I looked at Dave. “And these?”

“Deleted.”

Nobody moved.

Dave continued. “I found a secondary log buried in the system. Somebody deleted it, but whoever did it wasn’t as thorough as they thought.”

“How far back?”

“Seven months.”

Breaker sat forward. “You’re telling me somebody’s been fucking with our shipments for seven months?”

“I’m telling you somebody created entries involving Grave Casket shipments and then deleted them.”

My hands tightened. “How many?”

“Four.”

Silence.

Four.

I stared at the screen. “Show me.”

Dave enlarged the first line.

Bull studied the screen and then flipped through his notebook. “February seventeenth.”

Breaker looked at him. “You remember that?”

“I have the shipping records right in front of me, dipshit.” He turned pages. “February seventeenth. Six caskets. Chicago distribution center. Everything delivered.”

Dave nodded. “Official record says the same.”

“Then what’s different?” Myth asked.

Dave pointed at another number. “This.”

I stared. “What is it?”

“Secondary movement.”

I waited.

Dave sighed. “Your shipment arrived at the Milwaukee facility at eleven forty-three that night. According to the official record, it sat there until five twenty the next morning, when it was loaded for Chicago.”

“Okay,” I said.

“The deleted log shows one of those caskets was scanned out at one eighteen in the morning.”

Myth went still beside me. “Scanned out where?”

“That’s the problem,” Dave sighed.

“No destination?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“When did it come back?”

“Three oh-six.”

I stared at him. “You’re telling me one of our coffins disappeared for almost two fucking hours.”

“According to this,” Dave said.

“And then went to Chicago?” Myth asked.

“Yep.”

Breaker shook his head. “The customer never complained.”

“Maybe nothing happened to the coffin,” Hose said.

Dealer stopped pacing again. “Then why move it?”

Nobody answered because there wasn’t a good fucking answer.

“Next one,” I ordered.

Dave pulled up another.

April.

Same thing. Different shipment.

One casket scanned away from the Grave Casket load in the middle of the night returned two hours later, then shipped normally.

Third happened in June.

Fourth was last week.

My stomach tightened. “Last week,” I repeated.

“Yeah.”

“When Mercer was there?”

Dave nodded.

Myth leaned back. “Son of a bitch.”

“Which coffin?” I asked.

Dave didn’t answer immediately.

“Dave.”

“That’s where it gets fucked up.”

Taco snorted. “Because everything before this was completely fucking normal.”

Nobody laughed.

Dave pulled another document onto the screen. “The coffin that got separated from your shipment last week wasn’t the coffin Jackson brought back.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Different serial number.”

“Then where the fuck did this one come from?”

“I don’t know.”

I pushed back from the table and stood. I walked a few feet away. Turned and came back.

Someone had been pulling our coffins out of shipments for months. They disappeared for a couple of hours, came back, and then continued on as if nothing happened.

Nobody at Grave Casket knew.

Nobody receiving them knew.

And now Owen Mercer was dead, delivered to us in a strange casket.

“What about the serial number?” Bull asked. “The damn thing looked like ours, too.”

Dave looked straight into the camera. “It doesn’t exist.”

I looked at Dave. “Could somebody have removed the original serial and replaced it?”

“Maybe, but why?”

“Taco, Hose,” I called.

Taco looked up. “Yeah?”

“Go look at the coffin. See if it’s ours or a fake.”

They headed toward the warehouse.

My phone vibrated against the table, and I glanced at it, but didn’t recognize the number.

“Bone,” Shadow said.

I looked at the laptop. “What?”

“You seeing where this is going?”

“I’m trying to.” Someone knew our routes, transfer facility, and our shipping schedules.

Enough to get a coffin separated without anybody noticing, to erase records, to get it put back. And apparently enough to get a completely different coffin loaded onto Jackson’s truck and sent straight to us.

This wasn’t some asshole fucking around.

This took planning.

My phone vibrated again. Same number, and I declined it.

Myth glanced at the screen. “Popular today.”

“Fuck off.”

He shrugged.

Taco and Hose came back in not even two minutes later.

“Fucking fake,” Taco called.

“Thing is a piece of shit,” Hose agreed. “I don’t know how the hell we thought it was ours in the first place.”

“Because the dead body inside threw us for a loop?” Bull suggested.

We now had a fake Grave Casket with a dead body inside it and we were all still fucking clueless.

My phone vibrated for a third time. I grabbed it, ready to shut the fucking thing off.

Same unknown number, except this time they weren’t calling.

A text.

I opened it to three words. ANSWER NEXT TIME.

Myth saw my face. “What?”

I turned the screen toward him. His expression hardened.

Dealer moved closer. “Who the fuck is that?”

“No idea.”

The phone vibrated again, and another text appeared. WE NEED TO TALK.

I stared at the words.

“Call the fucker,” Humpty growled.

I nodded. Before I could touch the number, my phone started vibrating against the wood.

Same number.

Everyone looked at it.

“Well,” Rowdy muttered. “Persistent fucker.”

I answered and hit speaker. “Yeah.” Nothing. Nobody around the table moved. “You called me,” I said. “Start fucking talking.”

Still nothing.

I looked at Myth.

He shook his head.

Then I heard fast, uneven breathing. Whoever was on the other end wasn’t trying to sound intimidating. He sounded scared. “Is this Bone?”

My jaw tightened. “You already know it is.”

A pause. “Yeah.”

“Who the fuck is this?” I demanded.

“My name’s Eli.”

I waited. When nothing else came, I leaned back in my chair. “That supposed to mean something to me?”

“No.”

“Then you’re gonna have to do better than just your name.”

Another pause. “I work at the transfer facility in Milwaukee.”

Every man around the table went still.

My eyes met Myth’s and his face hardened.

“Which facility?” I asked.

“You know which one.”

“Humor me.”

“The one Grave Casket uses.”

There it was.

“Why are you calling me, Eli?”

“I saw your guy there.”

“My guy?”

“The other day. The one with the vest. Mouth or something like that.”

Myth rolled his eyes.

“His name is Myth,” I corrected. “And yeah, he was there.”

“He came in asking about the coffin,” Eli continued.

“You talk to him?” I asked.

“No.”

I tipped my head to the side. Then how did he know about Myth being there? “Why?”

Eli didn’t answer.

“You scared of us?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Dealer silently mouthed, “Smart.”

I ignored him. “Then why the fuck are you calling me?”

“Because I’ve been trying to figure out what to do.”

“About what?” Silence. I was getting fucking tired of that. “Eli.”

“I knew Owen.”

Nobody breathed.

I sat forward. “Owen Mercer?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“He came in to work on the cameras. Security system. Stuff like that. I work nights. He was there a lot when something needed fixing.”

“Friends?”

“No. Not really. I knew him. We’d talk sometimes.”

“About?”

“Nothing important. Work. Football. Shit like that.”

Myth grabbed Bull’s pen and pulled the notebook toward him. He wrote, ASK WHEN HE LAST SAW HIM.

I nodded. “When’s the last time you saw Owen?”

Nothing. Then Eli whispered, “That’s why I’m calling.”

I stared at the phone. “What does that mean?”

“I saw him the night he disappeared.”

My hand tightened around the edge of the table. “At the facility?”

“Yes.”

“What was he doing there?”

“I don’t know.”

“You work there.”

“That doesn’t mean I know why everyone comes in.”

“Was he working?”

“I don’t think so.”

That lined up with what Dave had found. It wouldn’t have been the first time that Owen was at the facility unofficially. Owen hadn’t had a scheduled service call that night.

“What did you see?”

Eli breathed out. “I was coming back from break. There’s a side lot where some of the trailers sit overnight. I saw Owen.”

“Alone?”

“No.” The word came fast.

“Who was with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you couldn’t see?”

“Both.”

I frowned. “Explain.”

“I wasn’t close. They were down by the loading area. I could see Owen because he was under one of the lights. The other guy was farther back.”

“Guy?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tall? Short? Fat? Skinny? White? Black? Give me something.”

“I don’t fucking know!” Eli’s voice cracked through the phone.

Then he went quiet.

I looked at Myth. This guy wasn’t fucking with us. Either that or he deserved an Oscar.

“I was far away,” Eli said, quieter. “It was dark. I wasn’t paying attention at first.”

“What got your attention?”

“They were arguing.”

“Could you hear them?”

“Not what they were saying.”

“Then what happened?”

Silence again.

This one lasted longer. I didn’t rush him. Something told me I wasn’t going to like whatever came next.

“I saw him kill Owen.”

Nobody at the table moved.

I stared at the phone. “Say that again.”

“I saw him kill Owen.”

“How?”

“I—” Eli stopped.

I could hear him breathing.

“How?” I repeated.

“He shot him.”

The room went dead fucking silent.

Hose’s eyes narrowed. “Where?” I asked.

“Loading area.”

“No. Where did he shoot him?”

“Oh.” Eli swallowed loud enough for us to hear it. “Chest. I think. Owen fell.”

One shot. That lined up with Hose finding the damage to Owen’s chest beneath all the decomposition.

“You see what happened after?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I fucking ran.”

Taco’s mouth opened. I pointed at him and he shut it. I knew he was going to spout some bullshit.

“You ran.”

“What would you have done?” Eli asked.

I looked around the table. Wrong fucking group to ask. “Keep going.”

“I went back inside. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t call anybody. I just...” His voice trailed off. “I kept my mouth shut.”

“For almost two weeks.”

“Yes.”

“You watched a man get murdered and didn’t call the cops.”

“I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“What the fuck do you think? Getting my own ass killed.”

I didn’t answer.

“I didn’t know who killed him. Didn’t know if somebody else saw me. I have a wife. I have a kid.”

That changed the room slightly.

Not much.

Enough.

“So you said nothing,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“And Owen disappeared.”

“Yeah.”

“Then Myth showed up,” I said.

“He kept asking who authorized the return.”

Myth nodded at me. That was exactly what he’d done.

“I didn’t talk to you,” Eli said, “but I heard enough.”

“Enough for what?” I asked.

“To start wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“If Owen was in that coffin.”

There it was. I leaned back. “How’d you make that jump?”

“Because his body was gone.”

“What do you mean gone?”

“After I saw him get shot, I stayed the hell away from that part of the yard. Next shift, everything looked normal.”

“You went back to work?”

“I need my fucking job.” Fair. “I kept waiting for somebody to say something. Police. Management. Anybody. Nothing happened.”

“And?”

“Then a few days later, your guy comes in asking about a coffin nobody knows anything about.”

I looked at the phone. “You see the coffin?”

“Yes.”

That got my attention. “When?”

“The morning it went out.”

“With Jackson?”

“I didn’t know his name then, but yeah. I saw it getting loaded.”

“You know where it came from?”

“No.”

“You work at the fucking facility.”

“I know.”

“So how does a coffin appear without anybody knowing where it came from?”

“I don’t know.”

I leaned forward. “That’s not a good enough answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

I rubbed my hand over my beard. “Was it unloaded from another truck?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Did it come through receiving?”

“I checked.”

Every head at the table turned toward the phone. “You checked?”

“After your guy came asking questions. I went through what I could.”

“And?”

“There isn’t anything.”

“No receiving record?”

“No.”

“No truck?”

“No.”

“No transfer?”

“No.”

“Then how the fuck did it get there?” I demanded.

“I don’t know.” Eli’s voice dropped.

“You’re giving me a lot of fucking nothing, Eli.”

“I know!” His voice rose.

“I know. That’s why I didn’t call sooner. I don’t know who killed Owen. I don’t know how his body got into that coffin. I don’t know who put it in the return area. I don’t know why it got sent to you.”

“Then what do you know?”

“I know Owen was alive at that facility. I know I watched somebody shoot him.”

My eyes shifted to Myth.

“And I know a few days later your VP showed up asking questions about a coffin nobody had a record of.” Eli breathed out. “Then I put it together.”

Nobody said anything.

Owen Mercer had been at the transfer facility. Somebody killed him there, then his body ended up in one of our coffins and got sent straight back to Grave Casket.

“Eli.”

“Yeah?”

“You tell anybody else about this?”

“No.”

“Your wife?”

“No.”

“Cops?”

“No.”

“Anybody at work?”

“No.”

“Keep it that way.”

He went silent. Then, “Are you threatening me?”

Dealer grinned.

I closed my eyes for half a second. “No. I’m telling you that if whoever killed Owen doesn’t know you saw him, you probably want to keep it that fucking way.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Okay.”

“I need to talk to you in person.”

“No.” The answer was immediate.

“You called me.”

“I know.”

“You wanted to talk.”

“On the phone,” Eli pointed out.

“I need you to show me where you saw Owen.”

Another long pause. “I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.”

“I’ll call you.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“Eli,” I called.

The call disconnected and I stared at the phone. “Motherfucker.”

Rowdy finally laughed. “He hung up on you.”

“I fucking noticed.”

Taco leaned back. “I kinda like him.”

“No one asked.”

“He’s got balls.”

“He’s terrified of us,” Myth pointed out.

“Still called,” I pointed out. I picked up my cigarettes and stuck one in the corner of my mouth.

Dealer leaned forward. “So somebody killed Mercer because he saw something.”

“Maybe?” That had to be it, but what the fuck did he see, and why was it tied back to us?

“Our shipments.”

Nobody spoke.

They didn’t need an explanation.

Everyone sitting at this table knew what sometimes traveled inside Grave Casket coffins.

Guns. A lot of fucking guns.

Myth rubbed his jaw. “He could’ve caught one being moved.”

“Or opened one,” Humpty said.

“Or saw somebody accessing the compartment,” Bull added.

Breaker shook his head. “We don’t have guys loading guns at Milwaukee.”

“No,” I said. “But people on the other end know what they’re receiving.”

Dealer leaned forward. “So somebody involved in the gun runs realizes Mercer knows what we’re doing.”

“And handles him,” Myth finished.

It fit.

Too fucking easily, though.

If he’d stumbled onto one of our shipments or figured out what we were moving, somebody could’ve decided he was a liability.

One bullet.

Problem solved.

Except... I looked at my phone again.

“No.”

Myth turned toward me. “What?”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

“The casket.”

Nobody spoke.

I looked around the table. “If Owen found out about the guns and somebody killed him to keep him quiet, why the fuck send him back to us in a fake casket?”

Myth frowned. “They could’ve been making sure we knew the problem was handled.”

“Then call us,” I sighed.

“Maybe they didn’t want the connection.”

“They put the dead fucking connection inside a Grave Casket coffin and shipped him to our door,” Taco ranted.

I stood and started pacing. “If Mercer knew about the guns, killing him makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Humpty said.

“Getting rid of the body makes sense.”

Another nod.

“Dump him somewhere. Burn him. Bury him. Throw him in the fucking lake. Whatever.”

Dealer watched me.

“But they didn’t.”

“No.”

I stopped. “They put him in a coffin connected directly to us and made damn sure Jackson brought him here.”

Taco frowned. “So the body was a message.”

“Maybe.”

“What message?”

I looked at him. “That’s the fucking problem.” I didn’t know.

There was a piece missing.

Probably more than one.

I looked at Myth. “Get Dave back on this.”

“What do you want him looking for?”

“Everything on Owen. I want to know why the fuck he was at that facility that night when he wasn’t scheduled to be there.”

Myth nodded.

“Bull,” I called.

“Yeah?”

“Go through every shipment that moved through Milwaukee for the last six months. Anything fucked up, I want to know.”

“Got it.”

“Breaker, help him.”

Breaker nodded.

“Hose.”

He looked at me.

“Go over Owen again.”

“I already did.”

“Do it again.”

He didn’t argue.

“Everybody else keeps their mouths shut about Eli. His name doesn’t leave this room.”

Heads nodded around the table.

I looked down at my phone.

Eli had given us something. Not enough, but something.

Owen hadn’t died somewhere else and been dumped at the facility. He’d been killed there, and whoever pulled the trigger had gotten his body out of sight, put him into a fake Grave Casket, and somehow gotten that casket into the return area without leaving a normal trail.

Then they’d sent him directly to us.

I stared at the dark screen of my phone.

Whoever had put Owen in that casket hadn’t been trying to hide Owen from the Grave Prowlers. They’d wanted us to find him.

I just didn’t know why.

Chapter Nineteen

Hazel

By eight fifty-two Saturday morning, I had learned three things.

Kori considered eight forty-five a legally binding appointment.

Crystal needed coffee before she was willing to participate in society.

And apparently, I could be bribed into getting out of bed before nine on a Saturday with the promise of a cinnamon roll the size of my head.

“This better be worth it,” I said.

Kori looked over her shoulder at me. “You’ve complained about the time six times.”

“It’s early,” I moaned.

“It’s almost nine.”

“On a Saturday,” I pointed out.

“Some people have already lived full lives today,” Crystal laughed.

“Those people need hobbies,” I grumbled.

Crystal snorted into the iced coffee she’d bought approximately thirty seconds after we’d arrived. “This is her hobby. Complaining.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I took it as one.”

We moved with the crowd through the farmers market, weaving between tables and tents while Kori attempted to see everything at once.

I had to admit it was pretty nice.

The weather was perfect. Warm without being hot yet, the sun was out, and there were enough people milling around to make the place feel busy without making me want to start elbowing strangers out of my way.

Tables stretched down both sides of the blocked-off street.

Vegetables.

Flowers.

Baked goods.

Homemade soaps.

Candles.

Jewelry.

Things made out of wood that I couldn’t identify.

One booth had approximately seventy different things with WELCOME painted on them.

Signs. Boards. A metal bucket. A wooden chicken.

I stopped.

Crystal almost walked into me.

“What?”

I pointed. “Why does the chicken say welcome?”

She looked at it. “I don’t know.”

“Where would you put that?”

“Kitchen?”

Kori stopped beside us. “Porch.”

“Why would I need a chicken welcoming people to my porch?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

I looked at her. “That isn’t an answer.”

Kori picked up the wooden chicken. It was bright yellow with a red comb and WELCOME FRIENDS painted across its stomach. “You need this.”

“I absolutely do not,” I laughed.

“For your new house.”

“No.”

“Housewarming present,” Kori cheered.

“I’ll throw it away,” I blurted.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.” I wouldn’t if they bought it for me, but I could tell you that it would be in the corner of the porch with a pot in front of it.

Crystal sipped her coffee. “She’s lying.”

I looked at her. “Whose side are you on?”

“The chicken’s.”

“Of course.”

Kori held it up beside my head. “Look how happy he is.”

“It’s a piece of wood.”

“He’s happy,” she smiled.

“He’s terrifying.”

“He’s welcoming.”

“Put the chicken down,” I ordered.

Kori sighed and carefully returned him to the table. “Fine.”

I walked away.

“You’re going to regret that,” she called.

I raised my hand over my head. “I already don’t.”

We made it another twenty feet before something smelled so good I stopped again.

This time, nobody questioned me.

“Cinnamon rolls,” Kori whispered. She said it like she’d just seen God.

Crystal laughed. “And now we lose her.”

Kori took off. Actually took off.

“Kori!”

She ignored me.

I looked at Crystal. “Does she always run toward baked goods?”

“Pretty much.”

“Good to know.”

We caught up with her at a booth where a woman was pulling cinnamon rolls out of large bakery boxes.

Kori hadn’t lied.

They were huge.

I stared at them. “Okay.”

Kori looked smug. “What?”

“You were right.”

She bumped my shoulder. “Say it again.”

“No.” I didn’t take my eyes off the cinnamon rolls.

“Hazel.”

“I said it once. Don’t get greedy,” I muttered.

She pointed at the rolls. “Worth eight forty-five?”

“Ask me after I eat one.”

We each bought one, then found an empty bench nearby.

I made it three bites before I understood why Kori had been willing to negotiate away fifteen minutes of sleep for this. “Oh my God.”

Kori nodded with her mouth full.

Crystal pulled a piece from hers. “She’s ruined regular cinnamon rolls for me.”

“This is ridiculous,” I moaned around a mouthful.

“Told you,” Kori sang.

I looked down at mine. “I might need another one.”

“That’s why you buy two.”

“You bought two?”

Kori lifted the bag sitting beside her.

I laughed. “You have a problem and I am mad at you for not buying a second one for me.”

“I have foresight.”

For the next hour, we wandered.

And laughed a lot.

I bought a jar of honey I absolutely didn’t need because the man selling it convinced me his bees were happier than other bees. I wasn’t sure how anyone measured bee happiness, but he’d been convincing enough for me to hand over eighteen dollars.

Crystal bought flowers.

Kori bought earrings, a loaf of bread, some kind of spicy cheese, and another cinnamon roll.

“You already have another one,” I pointed out.

“That one’s for later today.”

“And this one?” I laughed.

“Tomorrow.”

“Do cinnamon rolls have a retirement plan in your house?” Crystal asked.

“They don’t live long enough.”

Fair enough.

We stopped at a table covered with candles. I picked one up and smelled it, then immediately pulled it away from my face. “No.”

Crystal laughed. “Bad?”

“It smells like a man named Earl who owns six ferrets.”

Kori grabbed it. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Smell it,” I insisted.

She did. Her face twisted half a second later. “Oh, my God, that is Earl who I think might own ten ferrets.”

“Exactly,” I laughed.

“What is that supposed to be?”

Crystal read the label. “Woodland Musk.”

“That’s not woodland musk,” I said. “That’s Earl.”

The woman working the booth glanced our way. I quickly put the candle down. “Walk.”

We hurried away before she could throw us out of the farmers market.

By the time we reached the next block, all three of us were laughing hard enough that Crystal had tears in her eyes. “I can’t take you anywhere,” she managed.

“This was all your idea,” I pointed out.

“And I’m already regretting it,” Crystal wheezed.

Kori rolled her eyes. “No, you’re not.”

“No,” she admitted. “I’m not.”

Something settled in my chest.

I’d been in Wisconsin for barely any time at all, and somehow I had Pink next door and these two idiots dragging me through a farmers market before nine in the morning.

I liked it.

“Why are you smiling?” Kori asked.

I immediately stopped. “I wasn’t.”

“You were,” she insisted.

“Maybe Earl was on my mind.”

Crystal started laughing again. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

We turned toward another row of booths and that was when I heard the motorcycles. They weren’t close at first, but the sound carried between the buildings.

I glanced toward the street.

Kori didn’t even look.

Crystal did. “Sounds like a few.”

I wasn’t sure how either of them could tell. To me, motorcycles sounded like motorcycles.

Then two bikes rolled slowly down the open street on the other side of the market before turning into a parking area.

I recognized the cuts before I recognized either man.

Grave Prowlers.

My eyes stayed on them for a second. Neither one was Bone.

I looked away.

Kori caught it. “Looking for somebody?”

“Nope.”

She made a noise.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

We kept walking.

I didn’t think anything else about the motorcycles until about ten minutes later when I heard a man’s voice behind me.

“Don’t you fucking do it.”

I turned.

One of the Grave Prowlers stood at a booth with his back to us. The other guy was beside him.

I recognized both from the night they’d come into Bing’s with Bone.

One was Taco. I remembered because there was no way in hell I was forgetting that road name.

The other was Rowdy.

Taco pointed at something on the table. “I’m serious.”

Rowdy held up both hands. “I didn’t say shit.”

“You’re thinking it.”

“I can’t control what I think.”

“You can control your fucking face.”

I looked at Kori. She shrugged. Crystal smiled.

“What are they doing?” I whispered.

“No clue.”

We got closer and then I saw what Taco was holding.

A jar of strawberry jam. Taco looked over and his eyes landed on me. Then the jar disappeared behind his back.

I stared at him.

He stared at me.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning.”

Kori waved. “Hey, Taco.”

“Hey.”

Crystal smiled at Rowdy. “Morning.”

He nodded. “Ladies.”

I looked back at Taco. He shifted slightly. I could still see the jar behind him. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” He replied quickly.

“Is that jam?”

“No.”

Rowdy turned away and his shoulders started shaking.

Taco glared at him. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he chuckled.

“Is that strawberry jam?” I asked.

Taco slowly brought the jar back around. “Yes.”

I blinked.

He stared at me like he was daring me to say something.

I couldn’t help it. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“You’re buying strawberry jam.”

“Yeah.”

I glanced at his cut, then at the motorcycle parked down the street. Then at the jam.

Taco followed my eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with jam?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re judging me.”

“I am absolutely judging you.”

“Why?”

I waved toward him. “You’re a biker.”

“And?”

“And you’re buying homemade strawberry jam at a farmers market.”

“So?”

Kori leaned toward me. “I’m with Taco. Jam is delicious.”

Taco pointed at her. “Thank you.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t.”

“Then what’s the fucking problem?”

“There isn’t one. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Bikers can’t eat jam?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Because that’s discrimination.”

My mouth dropped open.

Crystal snorted.

“Jam discrimination?” I asked.

“Exactly.”

Rowdy lost it.

He bent over, laughing.

Taco turned on him. “Fuck you.”

Rowdy straightened. “Tell her how often you come.”

Taco’s face changed.

I looked between them.

“How often does he come?”

“Don’t.”

Rowdy grinned. “Every Saturday.”

“No,” I gasped.

“Yes.”

Taco pointed at him. “You weren’t supposed to fucking tell anybody.”

“Why?”

“I got a reputation to protect.”

Kori looked at the jar. “What kind do you normally get?”

Taco immediately answered, “Strawberry, but her raspberry is fucking good too.”

There was a beat of silence. Kori nodded seriously. “I respect that.”

“Thank you.”

Rowdy shook his head. “He gets here before she sells out.”

“Shut up.”

“He has jars at the clubhouse with his name written on the lids.”

Taco shoved the jam toward Kori’s chest. “Hold my shit.”

That only made me laugh harder.

Kori took the jar and inspected the label.

“You gonna fight me at the farmers market?” Rowdy asked.

“I might.”

“Over jam?” Crystal asked.

“Over respect,” Taco spat. “You don’t get to disrespect me and that wonderful lady who makes jam.”

I cupped my hand over my eyes and looked up at the sign behind Taco. “Belle’s Enchanted Jams,” I read out loud. “Is it really enchanted? Does she put a spell on it or something?” If Taco was willing to fight over this jam, maybe I needed a jar of it, too.

“You got a lot to say for someone carrying a jar of happy-bee honey,” he snapped.

I looked down at the honey in my hand. “How do you know about my bees?”

“Guy sells it every week.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You buy honey too?”

“No.”

Rowdy nodded. “Yeah, he does.”

“Motherfucker,” Taco cried. “Can you just keep your fucking mouth shut for two fucking minutes?”

I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.

Taco snatched the jam back from Kori. “I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not,” Rowdy said. “You haven’t gotten your cheese curds.”

Taco stopped.

I stared.

He slowly turned toward Rowdy. “I’m gonna fucking bury you.”

Rowdy grinned. “Worth it.”

Kori lifted her bag. “I bought spicy cheese.”

Taco immediately forgot about killing Rowdy. “From the booth around the corner?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good shit.”

“See?” Kori looked at me. “Taco knows.”

“Apparently Taco knows everything about the farmers market.”

“I’ve lived here my whole life,” he argued.

“That isn’t the same thing as having a weekly jam appointment.”

“It is not an appointment.”

“Does she save jars for you?”

Taco didn’t answer.

I gasped. “She does!”

“Fuck all of you.”

That set us off again.

Even Taco finally laughed.

For a guy who’d looked pretty intimidating walking into Bing’s with seven other bikers, he was surprisingly easy to talk to.

Actually, so was Rowdy.

Bone was different. Quieter. Harder to read.

Taco apparently couldn’t keep a thought inside his head if his life depended on it.

Kori grabbed my arm. “Come on. There’s a woman selling plants down there.”

“I kill plants,” I sighed.

“Then we’ll find you a hard-to-kill one.” Nothing was going to bring Kori down, not even me killing plants by just looking at them.

“I’ll take that as a challenge.”

Crystal waved at Taco and Rowdy. “See you guys tonight if you come in.”

“Maybe,” Rowdy said.

Taco lifted his jam. “I got plans.”

I looked at the jar. “Hot date?”

“Fuck you, Hazel.”

I burst out laughing.

We walked away and I could hear Rowdy giving Taco shit before we’d made it ten feet.

Kori hooked her arm through mine. “I like him.”

“He’s ridiculous.”

“He really is,” Crystal agreed.

“He was ready to fight Rowdy over jam,” I pointed out.

“Just threatened,” Kori corrected.

Crystal raised her fist in the air. “Right. Everyone better respect the jam.”

We dissolved into laughter again. Kori managed to get it together and set off to the next booth.

“Hazel!”

I looked up.

Kori stood ten feet ahead of me holding a small cactus.

“What?”

“This one.”

I stared at it. “You think I can keep that alive?” I didn’t think she was serious about me getting a plant.

Crystal looked at me. “It’s a cactus.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Kori shoved it into my hands. “It practically takes care of itself.”

I looked down at the little cactus. “Fine. But when this thing dies, I’m blaming both of you.”

“It won’t die,” Kori promised.

“You don’t know me well enough yet.”

Crystal laughed and headed toward the register. “You just need to water it once a week, and it will be fine. I think you can handle that.”

After Crystal paid, I followed with my cactus in one hand and the remains of my cinnamon roll in the bag with the happy honey in the other.

Maybe I needed the stupid welcome chicken too.

No.

Absolutely not.

I had standards.

Chapter Twenty

Bone

I was halfway through my second cup of coffee when Taco walked into the clubhouse carrying a fucking jar of jam.

Taco stopped three feet inside the door. “What?”

I leaned back in my chair at the table. “Nothing.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re looking at me weird.”

“I always look at you weird.”

“Yeah, but this is different.”

Rowdy came through the door behind him with a white paper bag tucked under his arm. “He’s sensitive about the jam.”

“Fuck you,” Taco snapped.

I looked at Rowdy. “Why is he sensitive about the jam?”

“I’m not,” Taco raised his voice.

“He got bullied at the farmers market.”

Taco spun around. “I did not get fucking bullied.”

“By three women.”

“I swear to God, Rowdy,” Taco growled.

“Pretty brutal too,” Rowdy continued.

I took another drink of coffee. It wasn’t even ten thirty in the morning, and somehow this was already my problem. “Who bullied you?”

“Nobody,” Taco replied.

“Hazel,” Rowdy laughed.

My coffee cup stopped halfway to the table.

Taco shot him a dirty look before walking toward the kitchen. “I’m putting my shit away.”

“Make sure you put your name on it,” Rowdy called.

Taco flipped him off without looking back.

I glanced at Rowdy and finally set my cup down. “Why was Hazel at the farmers market?”

The grin on his face got bigger. I immediately regretted asking. “Buying shit, I assume.”

“No shit.”

“You asked.”

“Who was she with?”

Rowdy pulled out the chair across from me and dropped into it. “You taking attendance?”

“Answer the fucking question.”

“Crystal and Kori.”

I knew both of them from Bing’s. Not well, but I’d seen them plenty of times over the years. Marshfield wasn’t huge, and Bing’s wasn’t exactly a new bar.

“They friends now?”

Rowdy shrugged. “Looked like it.”

That was good. Not that I gave a shit who Hazel hung out with.

Except I did. A little.

She’d moved here without knowing anybody other than the aunt who’d left her the house, and that woman was dead. Mom had latched onto Hazel within about thirty seconds, but Mom could make friends with a fucking tree.

Knowing Hazel was making friends of her own was good.

That was all.

I reached for my coffee.

Rowdy was still looking at me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop looking at me.”

He chuckled.

Taco came back out of the kitchen.

“Your jam safe?” Rowdy asked.

“My jam was never in danger.”

“You looked pretty worried.”

“Because I know the assholes who live here,” Taco shot back.

“You are one of the assholes who lives here,” I pointed out.

“Exactly.”

Taco dropped into the chair beside Rowdy.

I looked at him. “So Hazel bullied you?”

“She did not fucking bully me.”

“What’d she do?”

“Nothing.”

Rowdy answered for him. “Judged him for buying strawberry jam.”

Taco slapped a hand against the table. “What the fuck is wrong with strawberry jam?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Apparently, Prez agrees with you,” Rowdy said.

“Because I’m not an idiot.”

Taco pointed at me. “Thank you.”

“Still weird that you go to the farmers market every Saturday.”

His hand dropped.

Rowdy barked out a laugh.

“How the fuck do you know I go every Saturday?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Hazel know that?”

Taco’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah.”

I smiled.

It was stupid. All of it, but I could picture Hazel standing there giving Taco shit. I could practically hear her laughing. That laugh had stuck with me since the first day I’d seen her standing in her driveway with Ma.

So had a lot of other things.

Like what she’d looked like beneath me.

What she’d sounded like.

The feel of her hands on me.

The way she’d smiled from behind the shower curtain Wednesday morning when I’d stood there like a fucking idiot instead of leaving.

Two days.

I hadn’t seen her in two days.

That was nothing.

I’d gone months without seeing women I’d fucked before.

Hell, there were women whose names I’d barely remembered the next morning.

Hazel wasn’t one of them. That was the problem.

I still hadn’t figured that shit out.

“So.” Taco dragged the word out.

I looked at him. “What?”

He leaned back. “You gonna ask?”

“Ask what?”

“If Hazel said anything about you.”

I stared at him.

Taco smiled.

Rowdy suddenly looked interested too.

“I don’t give a fuck if Hazel said anything about me,” I bit out.

“Okay.” Taco nodded.

I waited.

He said nothing.

Motherfucker.

I took another drink of coffee.

Taco scratched his jaw.

Rowdy looked toward the bar.

Neither said a word.

I made it maybe ten seconds. “Did she?”

Taco burst out laughing.

Rowdy smiled wide and shook his head.

“Did she or not?” I asked.

“Nope.”

That shouldn’t have irritated me, but it did. “What the fuck do you mean, nope?”

Taco laughed harder. “I mean she didn’t ask about you.”

We were grown fucking men. Women came through the clubhouse. Guys disappeared with them. Nobody cared.

But Hazel wasn’t some woman who’d come through the clubhouse.

She lived next door to my mother. And obviously that was enough for these two assholes to think they’d found the funniest thing to happen all year.

Taco finally got himself under control. “Relax, Prez.”

“I am relaxed,” I insisted.

“Sure.”

“Did she seem okay?” I asked.

He pressed his lips together.

I pointed at him. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Answer me.”

Taco shrugged. “She seemed good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means good, Bone. Happy. Having fun. Laughing. Buying shit with the girls.”

I nodded. Good. She should be having fun. I didn’t want her sitting around waiting for me. So why the fuck did it bother me that Hazel clearly liked things the same way I did?

“She’s funny,” Rowdy said.

I looked at him. “What?”

“Hazel. She’s funny.”

“I know.”

Both of them went quiet.

Fuck.

Taco’s eyebrows slowly lifted.

I stood. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t—”

“You’re about to,” I cut him off. I grabbed my coffee.

“Where are you going?” Taco asked.

“Away from you two.”

“Want me to tell Hazel you said hi next time I see her?”

I kept walking.

“Want me to give her your number?”

“Fuck off, Taco,” I called.

“Maybe buy her some jam?”

I flipped him off over my shoulder.

Their laughter followed me down the hallway.

Assholes.

Every fucking one of them.

I walked into the office and kicked the door shut behind me. I dropped into the chair behind the desk and set my coffee down.

Paperwork covered half the desk.

Grave Casket orders.

Shipping manifests.

Invoices.

A list Bull had put together of every shipment we’d sent through Milwaukee over the last six months.

That was what I needed to be thinking about.

Not Hazel.

Owen Mercer, the transfer facility, the gun shipments, and the man Eli claimed he’d watched put a bullet in Owen’s chest.

That was shit that mattered.

I pulled Bull’s list closer.

We had pieces, but none of them fit together yet.

My phone vibrated and I grabbed it from my pocket.

Unknown number.

I knew exactly who it was and answered.

“Yeah.”

“It’s Eli.” He sounded just as nervous as he had before.

“You finally ready to talk?”

“I already talked.”

“Face-to-face.”

Silence. I waited.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he said.

“And?”

Another pause. Then, “I’ll meet you.”

I sat back. “When?”

“Tuesday.”

“Where?”

“Not at my house.”

“I didn’t ask to come to your house,” I drawled.

“And not your clubhouse.”

“No shit.” I got the hint that he wasn’t interested in becoming a prospect for the Prowlers.

“I mean it.”

“I heard you.”

“I don’t want anybody seeing me with you.”

That was going to be a little fucking difficult. I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

“Then pick a place.”

He went quiet.

I heard movement on his end. Maybe a door closing. Then his voice dropped. “There’s a truck stop off Highway 10, west of Waupaca.”

I knew it. “Parking lot?”

“No. There’s an access road behind it. Runs back toward an old storage building. Nobody uses it anymore.”

“You sure?”

“I drive past it every day.”

“What time?”

“Nine.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Alone.”

I almost laughed. “No.”

“Bone.”

“You watched a man get murdered, kept your mouth shut for almost two weeks, and now you’re scared enough that you’ve been calling me from a number I assume isn’t your regular phone.”

Nothing.

“That about right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’m not walking into a meeting alone.”

“I won’t come if there’s a bunch of you.”

“There won’t be.”

“How many?”

“Me and Myth.”

“The guy who came to the facility?”

“Yeah.”

Eli went quiet. “He scared the shit out of me.”

That made me smile. “I’ll tell him. He’ll be proud.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Just you two?”

“Just us.”

Another pause. “Fine.”

“Nine.”

“Nine,” he confirmed.

I started to hang up. “Bone.”

I put the phone back to my ear. “What?”

“I remembered something.”

My grip tightened. “What?”

“I don’t want to say it on the phone.”

I stared at the paperwork spread across my desk. “You’re already talking on the fucking phone.”

“I know. I just...” He breathed out. “I need to show you.”

“Show me what?”

“Tuesday.”

Then the line went dead.

I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Son of a bitch.”

I stared at the screen.

Eli had been terrified the first time we’d talked.

He’d watched Owen die and hadn’t said a word because he’d been afraid whoever killed him might come after him next. Now he wanted to meet.

I pushed away from the desk and walked out of the office.

Taco and Rowdy were still at the table, but Myth had joined them.

He looked over when I came in. “What?”

“Eli.”

Myth immediately stood. “He call?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“We’re meeting him Tuesday night.”

“Where?”

“Outside Waupaca. Nine.”

Myth nodded. “What’d he say?”

“Not much.” I grabbed my cigarettes off the bar and slid one between my lips. “He remembered something.”

“What?”

I lit the cigarette and took a drag. “Wouldn’t tell me.”

Taco frowned. “That sounds shady as fuck.”

“Thanks, Taco,” I chuckled.

“Just saying.”

I blew smoke toward the ceiling.

Myth grabbed his phone. “I’ll let Dave know.”

“Tell him to keep digging. Don’t tell him to stop anything because we’re meeting Eli.”

“Got it.”

I took another drag. “Just you and me Tuesday.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Eli’s rules?”

“Yeah.”

“You agreed?”

I shrugged. “He’s scared.”

“He should be.”

“Not of us.”

Myth nodded slowly.

“Prez.”

I looked at Taco. “What?”

“You gonna see Hazel tonight?”

I stared at him.

Myth looked between us. “Hazel?”

“No,” I said.

Taco nodded toward Rowdy. “Told you.”

“Why the fuck are you two discussing my night?”

“Because you asked twelve questions about her,” Rowdy countered.

“I asked three.”

“More than three.”

“Don’t you have jam to eat?” I asked.

Taco smiled. “See? You’re deflecting.”

I took the cigarette from my mouth. “I’m about five seconds from assigning you to clean every fucking toilet in this clubhouse.”

His smile disappeared. “I’m done.”

“Thought so.”

I headed back toward my office.

“Bone,” Myth called.

I stopped and looked over my shoulder.

He was smiling now too.

“Fuck you.”

He held up his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I walked away.

Hazel could wait.

I had a club to run, a dead man to figure out, and a terrified witness who might finally give us the first real break we’d had. That was where my head needed to be.

Not on the woman two miles down the road who evidently hadn’t asked about me once.

I stepped into the office and shut the door.

“Fuck.”

Two days.

It had only been two fucking days, and somehow that was starting to feel like too damn long.

Chapter Twenty-One

Hazel

My feet hurt.

Not the cute kind of hurt where I could kick off my shoes and complain for five minutes before forgetting about it. They fucking hurt.

I rolled my shoulders as I drove down the dark road toward home, trying to work out the knot that had settled between them sometime around ten o’clock. Bing’s hadn’t been insanely busy, but it had been steady all night, and steady almost seemed worse. There hadn’t been enough of a lull to sit down for more than two minutes, but there also hadn’t been enough chaos to make the hours fly by.

Crystal had left before me, and Kori had spent the last twenty minutes of our shift talking about the cinnamon roll she’d saved from the farmers market like she had a lover waiting for her at home.

I was pretty sure she needed help.

Then again, the cinnamon roll had been really good.

I smiled and turned onto my road.

The farther I got from town, the darker it became. Houses disappeared, streetlights became nonexistent, and trees crowded both sides of the road. I’d thought it might bother me when I’d first moved here.

It didn’t.

I liked it.

For half a second, Bone crossed my mind. Not that I’d spent all night thinking about him.

I hadn’t. I was pretty proud of that fact.

Okay, maybe I’d thought about him twice. Three times. Possibly four, but one of those had been because Taco and his stupid strawberry jam had popped into my head, and that had led to Bone, so I didn’t think it should count.

Either way, I wasn’t sitting around wondering when he was going to call.

We’d had sex.

Amazing sex.

Then he’d left the next morning.

That was okay. I didn’t need to turn it into something it wasn’t.

I slowed as my house came into view.

Pink’s porch light was on next door, but the rest of her house was dark. Mine was exactly how I’d left it, with the little lamp in the living room glowing through the front window.

Except there was something in my driveway that hadn’t been there when I’d left.

A motorcycle. My stomach flipped. “Oh.” I pulled in behind my unexpected visitor and killed the engine.

For someone I’d been doing such an excellent job not thinking about, I knew exactly whose bike it was before I even saw him.

Bone sat on my front porch.

He was leaned back in one of the chairs with his long legs stretched in front of him, boots crossed at the ankles. His cut was open over a black T-shirt, and even in the dim light from the porch, I could see his arms folded over his chest.

Waiting for me.

I sat in the SUV for a second. “Well,” I whispered. Apparently, Bone hadn’t gotten over doing the casual disappearing act.

I grabbed my purse and climbed out.

His head turned toward me. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I shut the door and hit the lock. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Not long.” That could mean five minutes or three hours coming from him.

I walked toward the porch. “You know most people text before they show up at someone’s house.”

“I was in the area.”

I stopped on the bottom step. “The clubhouse is two miles away.”

“Exactly.”

I laughed.

Bone’s mouth twitched.

“That’s not what ‘in the area’ means.”

“Close enough.”

I climbed the steps and he stood.

That was when I really looked at him.

Something was off.

Not bad, exactly.

Just... heavier.

Bone wasn’t exactly a bubbly man on his best day, but tonight there was something behind his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time I’d seen him.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

I nodded.

If he didn’t want to talk about it, I wasn’t going to drag it out of him.

I moved toward the door. “Want to come inside?”

“Hazel.”

My hand stopped halfway into my purse.

I looked at him. “What?”

He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

That wasn’t what I’d expected. “With what?”

His eyes locked on mine.

I knew.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

I pulled my keys from my purse but didn’t unlock the door. Instead, I leaned back against it. “Okay.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means okay.”

He stared at me.

I smiled a little. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

“At what?”

“This.” I waved my hand between us.

His jaw tightened. “No.”

At least he admitted it.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Then tell me what you’re trying to say.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I figured.”

“With club shit.”

“I figured that too.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re not pissed?”

“Should I be?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“Neither do I.”

He blew out a breath and looked toward the yard.

I watched him for a second.

Bone was strange.

Not strange in a Taco-buying-jam-at-the-farmers-market way. Bone was strange because I could almost see him fighting with himself while he stood there.

Everything about him seemed so controlled.

He was the president of a motorcycle club. People listened when he talked. I’d seen that the night the guys came into Bing’s. Even surrounded by all of those big personalities, there had been something different about Bone.

He didn’t have to be the loudest. He didn’t have to demand attention. He just had it.

But standing on my porch? The man looked like he’d rather fight ten people at once than explain what the hell he was doing with me.

“You know,” I said, “we could make this really easy.”

His eyes came back to mine.

“How?”

“If you don’t want to do this, don’t.”

His face immediately hardened.

I held up my hand. “I’m not mad.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You look like you’re about to argue with me.”

“I probably am.”

I laughed softly. “Okay, then wait until I’m done before you do.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I like you.”

His eyes stayed on mine.

“I obviously find you attractive.”

His mouth twitched.

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Wasn’t.”

“You were about to,” I laughed.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

I rolled my eyes. “And what happened the other night was...” I paused. “Very good.”

“Very?”

“Don’t push it.”

He almost smiled. That helped.

“But I don’t know what you’re looking for, Bone. And honestly? I don’t think you know either.”

The almost-smile disappeared.

“You’ve got the club. You’re president. I get that it isn’t some weekend hobby where you guys put on leather vests and ride motorcycles around town.”

“Cuts.”

“What?”

“They’re cuts.”

I blinked. “That’s what you took from that?”

“You called it a vest.”

“Fine. Leather cuts.”

His lips twitched again. “Better.”

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

I shook my head. “Anyway, I get it. The club is your life.”

“Yeah.” No hesitation. I liked that. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did. Bone knew exactly who he was when it came to the Grave Prowlers.

“I can see that.”

He watched me.

“I’ve been around you enough to see it. Your guys call, you go. Something needs to be done, you handle it. You’re checking on your mom all the time. You’ve got the coffin business. You’ve got whatever else comes with being president.” A whole lot of whatever else, if I had to guess, but that wasn’t my business.

At least not right now.

“You don’t stop,” I said.

“No.”

“And that’s okay.”

He frowned. “You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep looking at me like I’m supposed to be mad.”

“A lot of women would be.”

“I’m not a lot of women.”

“No.” Something about the way he said it sent a little shiver through me.

I ignored it. Mostly. “I moved here because I didn’t have anything holding me in Ohio. I got handed a house out of nowhere, packed up everything I owned, hooked a trailer to my SUV, and drove to Wisconsin.”

“By yourself.”

“By myself,” I parroted.

“Still fucking crazy.”

“Still did it,” I laughed.

He nodded. “Yeah, you did.”

“I don’t have some grand plan, Bone. I don’t know what my life is going to look like six months from now. Hell, two weeks ago, I didn’t know Pink existed. Now she feeds me three times a week and walks into my house without knocking.”

“Welcome to my life.”

I laughed. “Exactly. I got a job. I met Crystal and Kori. I bought honey from happy bees this morning.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Happy bees?”

“Apparently.”

“How the fuck do you know they’re happy?”

“I don’t. The guy was very convincing.”

He shook his head.

“And I found out Taco has a secret relationship with strawberry jam.”

Bone laughed.

I smiled. “He told you?”

“He didn’t have to.”

“He was so embarrassed.”

“He should be.”

“There is nothing wrong with jam,” I tried to defend him.

“That’s what he said.”

“Rowdy told us he goes every Saturday.”

Bone shook his head. “Fucking Taco.”

I let the smile linger for another second before getting back to what mattered. “My point is, I’m just going with things right now. I don’t need to know exactly what everything is.”

Bone’s amusement faded. “I don’t do relationships.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

His jaw tightened. “You gonna say anything else?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.”

I pushed away from the door.

“If you don’t do relationships, you don’t do relationships.”

“Hazel.”

“What?”

“Why the fuck are you making this so easy?”

I stared at him. “Would you rather I cry?”

He visibly cringed. “No.”

“Yell?”

“No.”

“Throw something?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then I’m confused about what you’re looking for here.”

He dragged a hand over his beard. “I don’t know.”

Something in his face made me believe him. Bone really didn’t know what the hell he was doing here.

I stepped closer. “You thought we’d have sex and that would be it.”

His eyes snapped to mine.

I smiled. “I’m right.”

He didn’t answer.

“Oh my God,” I laughed.

“Don’t.”

“You did.”

“I said don’t.”

“You thought you’d sleep with me and get me out of your system.”

His expression told me everything.

I started laughing.

“It’s not fucking funny.”

“It kind of is.”

“How?”

“Because you’re sitting on my porch.”

That shut him up.

I lifted my eyebrows. “Looks like your plan didn’t work.”

“No.”

The word came out low.

My laughter died.

There was no hesitation that time either.

“No?” I repeated.

His eyes dropped to my mouth. “No.”

I swallowed. “Mine didn’t either.”

“What was your plan?”

“I didn’t have one.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

I smiled. “I told you. I’m going with it.”

“You just go with everything?”

“Not everything.”

His eyes lifted back to mine. “But this?”

I nodded. “This, I can go with.”

He stared at me for so long I wondered what was happening inside that head of his. Probably a lot of swearing.

Finally, I reached out and hooked my finger beneath the edge of his cut. “Maybe you’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

“How?”

“Because you’re trying to figure out what we’re supposed to be.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.”

That seemed to surprise him.

I shrugged. “If titles are what you don’t want, then we don’t have to call this anything.”

His eyes narrowed. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means exactly what I said.”

“We’re fucking.”

I laughed. “You really are romantic.”

“Never claimed to be.”

“No, you certainly did not.”

His hand settled on my hip.

I stepped closer. “We don’t need boyfriend. Girlfriend. Relationship. Casual. Friends with benefits. Whatever.”

His thumb moved against my side. “Then what are we?”

I looked up at him. “Hazel and Bone.”

He went completely still.

I watched his face. Bone didn’t seem built for huge reactions, but the tension around his mouth eased. His shoulders relaxed, and his hand tightened slightly on my hip.

“Hazel and Bone,” he repeated.

“That’s it.”

“No rules?”

I thought about that. “One.”

His eyebrows lifted. “What’s that?”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

He snorted. “That might be a problem.”

“Then try really hard.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t need a rule.”

“Bullshit.”

I smiled sweetly. “I’m delightful.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

“And yet...” I glanced around my porch. “Here you are.”

His eyes darkened. “Yeah.” His other hand landed on my hip.

He pulled me against him and I went willingly.

Very willingly.

My hands slid up his chest. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you missed me.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I don’t miss people.”

“Okay.”

His eyes narrowed. “You don’t believe me.”

“Not even a little.”

“I had shit going on,” he insisted.

“I know.”

“Important shit.”

“I believe you.”

“I wasn’t sitting around thinking about you.”

“Bone,” I sighed.

“What?”

“Stop talking.”

His mouth came down on mine finally.

I smiled against his lips for half a second before the kiss wiped every smart-ass thought out of my head.

There was nothing tentative about Bone.

There never had been.

His hand slid around my back and pulled me flush against him as his mouth moved over mine. I curled my fingers into his shirt, holding on as he backed me against the front door.

My keys dug into my palm.

His mouth left mine and moved along my jaw.

“You still think you didn’t miss me?” I whispered.

He lifted his head. “I never said that.”

I blinked. “You literally did.”

“Changed my mind.”

I laughed. “That fast?”

“Shut up, Hazel.” He kissed me again. I melted right back into him.

This was what I’d felt from the first time we’d met.

That pull, except now I understood it a little better.

Bone carried the weight of an entire club on his shoulders. I’d moved across two states because someone I’d never met left me a house and I’d decided, why the hell not?

Bone needed to know where everything fit.

I didn’t.

Maybe that was why this worked. Or maybe it was going to crash and burn spectacularly. Either way, I wasn’t running from it.

Bone’s mouth moved to my neck.

My head tipped back against the door.

“Inside.”

“Good idea.”

I blindly shoved my key toward the lock. I twisted it, shoved the door open, and nearly fell backward into the house.

Bone caught me around the waist.

I burst out laughing.

“Smooth,” he muttered.

“I had it handled.”

“You were falling.”

“Gracefully.”

“Sure.”

He kicked the door shut behind us. I dropped my purse somewhere near the couch. Bone’s hands landed on me again.

This time when he kissed me, the laughter disappeared. Heat took its place.

I slid my arms around his neck as he pulled me closer, and there wasn’t a single thought in my head about what we were supposed to call this.

I didn’t need one.

Neither did he.

We were Hazel and Bone.

For now, that was enough.

I grabbed his hand and started backing toward the hallway.

His eyes dropped to our joined hands and then lifted to mine. “Where are we going?”

I smiled. “You know exactly where we’re going.”

That slow smirk spread across his face. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Bone

I knew the sound of my mother’s car.

That probably said something about how often she came down the road to the clubhouse, but I didn’t give a shit enough to figure out what.

I was standing behind the bar with Myth, going over the plan for meeting Eli Tuesday, when the familiar rumble of her engine worked its way through the open clubhouse windows.

Myth stopped talking.

I frowned.

“Expecting your mom?”

“No.”

“Maybe she’s bringing cookies.”

“Why the fuck would she bring cookies?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Moms do shit like that.”

“My mom isn’t your mom.”

“Pink likes me,” he shrugged.

“Pink tolerates you.”

“She likes me.”

I ignored him and walked toward the front windows.

Ma’s car rolled into the lot and parked between my bike and Taco’s.

The passenger door opened and Hazel stepped out.

Well, fuck.

Whatever annoyance I’d been working up about Ma showing up without calling disappeared so fast it was embarrassing.

Hazel closed the door and looked around. She was wearing jean shorts and a loose green shirt that hung off one shoulder. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy knot on top of her head, and sunglasses covered her eyes.

I hadn’t seen her since I’d left her house this morning. Not even twelve hours and I was damn glad to see her. Which was another thing I wasn’t going to spend too much time thinking about.

Myth came up beside me. “Well.”

I looked at him. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Keep it that way.”

The front door opened before I reached it.

Ma came marching in like she owned the fucking place. Hazel followed a few steps behind her, looking considerably less sure about the whole thing.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Ma.”

“Bone.”

“You couldn’t call?”

She pulled off her sunglasses and slid them onto the top of her head. “I could have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Correct,” she smiled.

Hazel lifted her hand. “Hi.”

I looked at her.

She gave me a small smile. Fuck.

“Hey.”

Ma looked between us, then she rolled her eyes. “Good Lord.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She walked farther into the clubhouse.

Hazel stayed near the door. I wanted her closer.

“What are you doing here?” I asked Ma.

She looked around the clubhouse. “Saving you.”

“From what?”

“This.” She waved her hand around.

I followed the motion.

The clubhouse looked like the clubhouse.

“What the fuck is wrong with it?”

Ma slowly turned toward me. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

She stared at me.

Myth made a noise behind me.

I looked over my shoulder. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Mom walked to the nearest table and picked up two empty beer bottles. “These.”

“Guys were drinking last night.”

“I gathered that.” She put them together in one hand and picked up another bottle. “And these.”

“Same answer.”

“There’s a pizza box on top of the trash can.”

“It didn’t fit.”

“Because the trash can is full.”

“Then someone needs to take it out,” I shrugged.

“Yes, Bone. That is generally what happens when a trash can is full.”

Hazel covered her mouth.

I looked at her. “You laughing?”

“No.”

“You are.”

Her hand dropped. “Maybe a little.”

“Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m not sure Pink needs encouragement.”

“She doesn’t,” Myth muttered.

Ma pointed at him with the beer bottles. “Exactly.”

Myth nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Traitor.

Ma moved toward the bar. “This clubhouse needs a woman’s touch.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It absolutely does,” she sang.

“We’re fine,” I insisted.

“You have three different shoes by the couch and none of them match.”

I looked toward the couch. There were, in fact, three shoes. I had no fucking idea who they belonged to. “They’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure they will.” Ma set the bottles on the bar. “Where are your cleaning supplies?”

I stared at her. “What?”

“Cleaning supplies.”

“We have some.”

“I didn’t ask if you had them; I asked where they are.”

I looked at Myth.

He looked at me.

Ma sighed. “Jesus Christ.”

“We have cleaning shit,” I insisted.

“Where?”

I ran my hand over my head. “Ask Munch.”

“Why would the prospect know?”

“Because he cleans,” I said.

“That is what prospects do,” Myth chimed in.

Ma put her hands on her hips. “Clearly not enough.”

Hazel laughed.

I looked at her again. This time she didn’t bother pretending she wasn’t. “You think this is funny?”

“A little.”

“Wait until she wrangles you into this. You think you are just here by coincidence?”

Hazel’s laughter stopped.

Ma smiled.

“No,” Hazel said immediately.

I almost laughed.

Ma pointed at her. “Smart girl, but you’re not going to get out of this.”

Taco came walking out of the hallway with a bag of chips in his hand.

He stopped when he saw Ma, then his eyes moved to Hazel. “Hey, Hazel.”

“Hey, Taco.”

He held up the bag. “No jam.”

Hazel burst out laughing.

I frowned.

Ma looked between them. “What am I missing?”

“Nothing,” Taco said.

“Everything,” Hazel said at the same time.

Taco pointed at her. “Don’t.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Good.”

Ma narrowed her eyes. “I’ll get it out of one of you eventually.”

“No, you won’t,” Taco said.

Ma smiled.

Taco’s face fell. “Fuck.”

“Language,” she said.

Taco stared at her. “You raised him.” He pointed at me.

Ma shrugged. “I tried my best.”

Hazel laughed harder.

“Can we go back to why you’re here?” I asked.

“I already told you.”

“To clean.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Ma ignored me. “Munch!” she shouted.

There was a thump somewhere down the hall. A second later, Munch appeared. “What?”

He saw Ma and his whole posture changed. “Hey, Pink.”

“Hello, sweetheart. Where are the cleaning supplies?”

He pointed toward the back. “Utility closet.”

“Wonderful. Go get them.”

His smile disappeared. “What?”

“Cleaning supplies.”

He looked at me.

I shook my head and held up my hands. “Don’t fucking drag me into it. Just do what she asks.”

“But I—”

Ma lifted one eyebrow.

Munch turned around. “I’ll get them.”

Hazel leaned closer to me. “Does everyone do what she says?”

“Pretty much.”

“I heard that,” Ma called.

“Good.”

She smiled.

Taco started backing toward the hallway.

Ma turned. “Taco.”

He froze. “Yeah?”

“Where are you going?”

“Outside.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I got shit to do,” he insisted.

“So do I.”

“That’s great. I wish you all the best with that, Pink.” Taco bowed to her and turned on his heel.

“And you’re helping.”

He looked over his shoulder, horrified. “With what?”

“Cleaning.”

His mouth dropped open.

I smiled. Finally, this shit was getting entertaining.

“I don’t clean.”

Ma stared at him.

Taco looked at me. “Prez.”

“Don’t look at me.”

“Help me.”

“You’re on your own.”

“You’re a fucking terrible president.”

Ma cleared her throat.

“Sorry,” Taco muttered.

Bull came through the front door carrying a folder.

“Bone, I got those—” He saw Ma. “Hey, Pink.”

“Bull. Perfect.”

He stopped. “What?”

“You can help too.”

“With?”

“Cleaning.”

Bull looked down at the folder. “I got stuff for Bone.”

“Give it to him.”

Bull immediately handed it to me. “Here.”

I took it, and then Ma clapped her hands. “Wonderful. That’s three.”

“Three what?” Humpty asked as he walked into the room.

Ma smiled. “Four.”

Humpty stopped dead. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”

“I know that look.”

“What look?”

“The one you get right before you make us do shit.”

I coughed to cover my laugh.

Ma looked at me. “You can help too.”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m working.”

“So are they.”

“Club business.”

Humpty nodded. “Me too.”

“No, you’re not,” I said.

He glared at me. “Fuck you.”

Ma snapped her fingers.

“Language,” Ma scolded again.

Humpty actually looked ashamed.

It was fucking amazing.

Myth started moving toward the hallway.

I caught the back of his cut. “Nope.”

He looked at my hand and then at me. “Let go.”

“If I’m dealing with this, you’re dealing with this.”

Ma smiled.

“Myth, you’re number five.”

“Number five what?”

“Cleaning crew.”

His face went blank.

Taco started laughing.

Myth turned on him. “You’re already on the fucking crew.”

“I know, but you thought you were getting away.”

“I have shit to do.”

“So do I.”

“You were eating chips.”

“Important shit.”

Ma clapped again. “Wonderful. Munch is getting the supplies. Taco, start picking up bottles. Bull, trash. Humpty, you can get these tables wiped down. Myth—”

Myth held up a hand. “Pink.”

“Yes?”

He looked at her, then at me. “Whatever you want.”

“Smart man.”

He sighed.

I couldn’t stop the grin.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Myth muttered.

“Absolutely.”

Ma turned toward Hazel. “And you.”

Hazel straightened. “Oh, no.”

“You are going with Bone.”

Hazel blinked.

I blinked.

“What?” we said together.

Ma rolled her eyes.

“You heard me.”

Hazel looked at me.

I looked at Ma.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m cleaning. You’re talking.”

“To Hazel?”

“No, Bone. To the invisible woman standing beside her.”

“Ma.”

“Oh, knock it off.”

“Knock what off?”

“This.”

She waved between Hazel and me.

Hazel’s eyes widened.

I stared at my mother. “There is no this.”

Ma laughed. Actually fucking laughed. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Taco stopped picking up bottles. Humpty slowly turned away from the table. Myth suddenly looked very interested.

I pointed around the room. “Every one of you better get back to fucking work.”

Ma slapped my arm. “Language.”

“This is my clubhouse.”

“And I’m your mother.”

“That doesn’t mean you run shit here.”

“Someone needs to.”

Hazel was biting her lip. I knew she was trying not to laugh.

“Ma.”

She sighed. “Bone, I’m not blind.”

I didn’t say anything.

“And I’m certainly not deaf.”

Hazel’s face went red.

My eyes narrowed.

Ma smiled sweetly. “And last time I checked, Hazel doesn’t own a Harley that she fires up in her driveway in the mornings.”

Taco choked.

Bull dropped the trash bag.

Humpty turned completely away from us.

Myth covered his mouth with his fist.

Hazel looked like she wanted the floor to open and swallow her.

“Ma.”

“What?”

“Enough.”

She shrugged. “I’m also not stupid.”

“I never said you were.”

“Good. Then stop acting like I am.”

Hazel covered her face. “Oh my God.”

Ma patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m happy for you.”

“Please stop talking,” she whispered.

“I like her,” Taco announced.

I looked at him.

He pointed at Ma. “Pink. I like Pink.”

“Clean,” I growled.

He bent down and grabbed another bottle.

Ma waved us away. “Go.”

“Where?”

“I don’t care. Your room. Outside. Wherever. I have work to do.”

Hazel finally lowered her hands. “I can help.”

“No.”

“But—”

“You’re distracting him.”

Hazel looked at me.

I stared at Ma. “You done?”

“For now.”

“Good.” I grabbed Hazel’s hand, and her fingers immediately curled around mine.

That fucking felt good.

I pulled her toward the hallway. “Good luck,” I called over my shoulder.

“Fuck you,” Myth muttered.

Ma gasped. “Myth!”

“Sorry, Pink.”

I laughed all the way down the hall.

“This isn’t funny,” Hazel whispered.

“It really fucking is.”

“Your mother basically just announced to your entire club that we had sex.”

“They knew.”

She stopped walking.

I stopped with her.

“What?” I asked.

“They knew,” I repeated.

“How?”

I shrugged. “Guys talk.”

“Did you tell them?”

“No.”

“Then how did they know?”

“Taco figured it out.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Farmers market.”

“Yeah.”

“That little shit.”

I smiled. “You like him.”

“I do,” she confessed.

“Everyone does.”

“That probably encourages him.”

“It does.”

I started walking again. Hazel came with me. When we reached my room, I opened the door and pulled her inside.

The second the door shut, she started talking. “I swear I didn’t know she was bringing me here.”

I leaned back against the door. “I know.”

“She said we were going for a drive.”

“Sounds like Ma.”

“And then we turned this way, and I figured maybe she was just giving me a tour or something, but then she pulled into the clubhouse and—”

“Hazel.”

“I told her maybe we should call first, but she said she didn’t need an appointment to see her own son, which honestly sounded reasonable at the time—”

“Hazel.”

“But then we walked in and you looked annoyed, and I don’t want you thinking I’m trying to invite myself into your club or whatever because I’m not. I know this is your thing.”

I pushed away from the door.

She kept going. “I can leave.”

I stopped. “What?”

“I can walk home. It’s only two miles.”

“No.”

“If you don’t want me here—”

I grabbed her face and kissed her. That shut her up.

Her hands landed against my chest, and for half a second, she froze, then her fingers curled into my shirt.

I backed her toward the wall.

Her lips parted beneath mine, and I deepened the kiss.

Fuck. I’d seen her this morning. I’d kissed her before I’d left her house. I’d spent half the fucking night with my hands on her. And somehow I still felt like it’d been days.

Her arms slid around my neck, and my hands moved down her sides and settled on her hips, pulling her against me.

She made a soft sound against my mouth.

My dick immediately noticed.

I slid one hand up her back and into her hair.

She pressed closer.

The kiss went from me shutting her up to something else entirely. Hotter. Harder.

Hazel’s fingers slid beneath the edge of my cut and curled around my sides.

I kissed her until I couldn’t remember why the fuck we’d been talking in the first place.

Then somebody dropped something in the common room.

A loud crash echoed down the hallway.

“Goddammit, Taco!” Ma yelled.

“That wasn’t me!”

“Then who was it?”

“Munch!”

“You fucking snitch!” Munch shouted.

Hazel started laughing against my mouth. I dropped my forehead to hers.

“Your mother is terrifying.”

“You’re just figuring that out?”

“I thought she was fun.”

“She is fun.”

Another crash.

“Not the bleach on the wood!” Mom yelled.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Myth groaned.

Hazel laughed harder. I smiled despite myself.

When she finally settled down, she looked up at me. “So...”

“So?”

“I guess you’re happy to see me.”

“Yeah.”

The answer came easily.

Her smile softened. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Damn glad.”

Something shifted in her expression.

I wasn’t sure what, but it didn’t matter.

I ran my thumb along her cheek. “I wasn’t pissed you showed up.”

“You looked pissed.”

“That’s my face.”

She snorted. “I’ve noticed.”

“I was pissed Ma didn’t call.”

“That’s different?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Would’ve liked a warning before she took over my fucking clubhouse.”

Hazel smiled. “She’s cleaning.”

“She’s terrorizing grown men with a bottle of Windex.”

“Your clubhouse could use it.”

I stared at her. “What?”

“There were three shoes by the couch.”

“Don’t start.”

“None of them matched.”

“Hazel.”

“And I saw the pizza box.”

I kissed her again just to shut her up.

It worked for about ten seconds.

When I pulled back, she was smiling. “You keep doing that.”

“Works better than arguing.”

“I don’t know. I like arguing with you.”

“I noticed.”

Her hands rested against my chest. “Are you sure I’m okay being here?”

I looked at her. There was no joke in her eyes now. She meant it.

And for some reason, that question hit differently.

This was my clubhouse.

My club. My life. I’d spent years keeping things separated.

Women came through sometimes, sure, but that wasn’t the same thing. They weren’t part of anything. They didn’t matter.

Hazel did.

I hadn’t figured out exactly what the fuck that meant yet.

Maybe I didn’t need to.

We were Hazel and Bone. That was what she’d said.

I’d liked it then. Still fucking did.

“I like having you here.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“Don’t make me say it twice.”

She smiled. “I wasn’t going to.”

“You were.”

“Maybe.”

I slid my hand around the back of her neck. “You can be here.”

Her smile faded slightly. “When?”

“As long as I’m here.”

She studied me. I knew what that meant. She wasn’t stupid.

I couldn’t have Hazel wandering around the clubhouse whenever she wanted. Not with what we did here. Not with shit going on with Owen. Not with Eli and whoever the fuck had put a dead man inside one of our coffins.

There were things she couldn’t see.

Things she couldn’t know. Not yet.

Maybe not ever, but that didn’t mean I needed her standing outside every part of my life.

“If I’m here,” I said, “you’re good.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“No walking down here by yourself.”

Her lips twitched. “Bossy.”

“Serious.”

“Fine.”

“And if Ma tries dragging you down here again without telling me—”

“I should tackle her?”

I stared at her.

Hazel smiled.

“I’d pay to watch you try.”

“She’d probably win.”

“She definitely would.”

We both laughed.

I pulled her against me and she rested her cheek against my chest.

And I stood there holding her.

Hazel in my room at the Grave Prowlers clubhouse while my mother terrorized half my club with cleaning supplies. It should’ve felt wrong.

Like two pieces of my life I’d always kept separate had gotten shoved together without my permission.

Instead, it felt strangely fucking easy.

She slipped out of my arms before I could stop her and headed toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To help Pink.”

“No.”

She looked over her shoulder. “No?”

“I brought you back here to get you away from that shit.”

“Your mother is cleaning your clubhouse while five grown men follow her orders. There is absolutely no way I’m missing that.”

“Hazel.”

She opened the door.

I caught her hand before she could step into the hallway.

She looked down at our hands, then up at me. “You sure?” she asked quietly.

I knew she wasn’t talking about cleaning.

I tightened my fingers around hers. “Yeah.”

Her smile came back. “Okay.”

I walked out with her instead of letting go.

From the common room, Taco shouted, “Why the fuck am I cleaning a ceiling fan?”

Ma immediately yelled back, “Because it’s filthy!”

“Who looks at the top of a ceiling fan?”

“I do!”

“Why?”

Hazel started laughing.

I shook my head as we headed toward the noise.

Maybe bringing Hazel into the clubhouse should’ve bothered me more.

It didn’t.

Not even a little fucking bit.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hazel

It was becoming increasingly clear that Pink was the only person in the world who could make the president of the Grave Prowlers look like a twelve-year-old boy who’d just gotten caught swearing.

I loved it.

Bone squeezed my hand.

“You’re enjoying this way too fucking much.”

“Maybe.”

“Go sit down.”

“What?”

He nodded toward the bar. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

I looked around the room.

Taco was standing on a chair with a long-handled duster, glaring up at the ceiling fan like it stole his lunch money. Munch was dragging a vacuum cleaner out of the hallway. Bull had two bulging trash bags in his hands. Humpty was wiping down one of the tables while looking like he’d rather be punched in the face. And Myth was standing behind the bar staring down at an assortment of cleaning products.

He picked up one bottle, looked at it, and picked up another. “What’s the difference between these?”

Pink glanced over. “One is glass cleaner. One is wood polish.”

“They’re both blue.”

“One is clearly not blue.”

Myth held them up. “They’re fucking both blue.”

“Language.”

He closed his eyes. “Sorry.”

I laughed.

He looked at me.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

Bone released my hand.

“I’ll be in my office.”

Pink spun toward him. “Oh, no.”

He stopped. “What?”

“You’re not hiding.”

“I have work to do.”

“So does everyone else.”

“I run this fucking club.”

“And right now your club is filthy.”

Taco pointed the duster at Bone. “She’s right, Prez.”

Bone looked at him. “You wanna clean toilets too?”

Taco immediately went back to the ceiling fan. “Nope.”

Pink turned to me. “Hazel, sweetheart, you can help me.”

Bone shook his head. “She doesn’t have to clean.”

“I don’t mind,” I smiled. I felt pretty guilty just standing there while all the guys were doing the work.

His eyes came to mine. “You’re a guest.”

“I’ve cleaned before.”

“You don’t have to do shit.”

“I know. I am volunteering to do this.”

That seemed to matter to him.

I wasn’t sure why.

Maybe because he’d invited me into his space, and he didn’t want me thinking that invitation came with a mop.

I leaned closer. “I want to.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re voluntarily joining this shit?”

“I like your mom.”

“That’s your first mistake.”

“I heard that,” Pink called.

Bone didn’t even flinch. “Good.”

I laughed and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

He looked at me.

I froze. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.

We’d kissed plenty. Done a whole lot more than kissed. But somehow kissing his cheek in the middle of the clubhouse with his guys standing around felt different.

Bone didn’t seem bothered. His hand settled briefly at my waist. “Don’t let her work you too hard.”

“I’m standing right here,” Pink called.

“I’m aware.”

Then Bone walked away with Myth following him toward the hallway.

I watched him go.

“Hazel.”

I turned and saw Pink was smiling.

“What?”

“You can stop looking at his ass now.”

My mouth dropped open.

Taco almost fell off the chair. “Oh, shit.”

Pink pointed at him. “Watch your mouth and the ceiling fan.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I covered my face. “This was a mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Pink handed me a spray bottle. “Windows.”

I looked down at it. “You really are putting me to work.”

“Of course.”

“Bone said I didn’t have to.”

Pink snorted. “Bone says lots of things.”

That was true.

I took the bottle. “Windows it is.”

For the next hour, I learned more about the Grave Prowlers than I had since moving to Wisconsin.

Nothing secret.

Nothing about whatever business Bone disappeared into his office to handle.

Just them, and they were ridiculous.

Mostly Taco.

“Why the fuck am I still on this fan?”

“Because you’re still talking instead of cleaning,” Pink replied.

“I’ve been cleaning.”

“You’ve been complaining.”

“I can do two things at once.” A huge smile spread across his lips. “It’s called multi-tasking.”

“Apparently cleaning isn’t one of them.”

I leaned against the windowsill and laughed.

Taco glared at me from his chair. “You think you’re safe because you’re new.”

“Safe from what?”

“Pink,” he grunted.

I spritzed the bottle in his direction. “I am Pink’s favorite.”

Humpty snorted from across the room.

“Is that why she told you to do the windows?” Taco laughed.

I quirked my lips. “I mean, I guess it’s better than doing the fans, yeah?”

When Pink had pulled onto the road leading toward the clubhouse earlier, my first instinct had been that we shouldn’t be there.

This was Bone’s place.

His club.

His world.

I’d assumed there was some invisible line around it that I wasn’t supposed to cross.

Bone had erased some of that when he’d taken me to his room.

I like having you here. I’d believed him.

Now I was standing in the clubhouse with window cleaner in my hand while his mother terrorized a group of bikers into cleaning.

It wasn’t exactly how I’d pictured my afternoon going, but I wasn’t uncomfortable.

Quite the opposite.

Munch crouched down with the vacuum by the couch, and then immediately recoiled. “What the fuck?”

Everyone looked over.

Pink sighed. “Now what?”

Munch reached under the couch and pulled out a sock. Then another. Then a plastic fork, two beer caps, a lighter, a half-eaten pack of Oreos, and something that looked like half of a beef stick.

I stared. “That’s quite the array of… things.”

Taco looked at the pile. “We had Oreos?”

Bull shook his head. “I mean, I guess we still do, though I can’t remember when we opened them.”

Munch held up the beef stick. “Anybody want this?”

“Eat it,” Taco said.

“You eat it,” Munch grunted and curled his lip.

“Five bucks,” Taco enticed him.

Munch looked at him. “Ten.”

“Seven.”

“Eight,” he countered.

“Deal,” Taco agreed.

“No!” I shouted.

Everyone looked at me.

Munch had the beef stick halfway to his mouth.

I stared at him. “Do not eat something you just found underneath a clubhouse couch.”

“Eight bucks is eight bucks,” he reasoned.

“I don’t care if it’s eighty.”

Taco pulled his wallet out. “Ten if you eat it before Pink sees.”

Pink turned around. “Before Pink sees what?”

Munch threw the beef stick into the trash. “Nothing.”

Taco slowly put his wallet away and ducked behind the couch.

Pink narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want to know, do I?”

“No,” five men answered at once.

She nodded. “Good. Now, I’m going to order pizza!”

“I love you, Pink,” Taco called from behind the couch.

Pink shook her head. “Idiot.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Taco called, resigned to the fact.

The pizza arrived twenty minutes later, and cleaning ended the second food appeared.

Nobody officially announced it, it just happened.

Boxes covered the table. Beer came out. Pink grabbed herself a soda and handed me one before I could ask.

Munch reached for a third piece of pizza.

Taco slapped his hand away. “Wait your turn.”

“I did.”

“You already had two.”

“So did you.”

“I’m patched.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with pizza?”

“Everything.”

Munch looked at Humpty. “Does it?”

“No.”

Taco glared at him.

Humpty took another bite. “Stop abusing the prospect.”

“I’m teaching him patience.”

“You’re stealing his pizza.”

“Same thing.”

Munch grabbed the slice while Taco was looking away. “Ha.”

Taco turned. “You little fucker.”

Pink pointed at him. “Sit down and eat.”

Taco sat immediately.

I laughed into my soda. “You know,” I told Pink, “I think you might actually be president.”

Taco pointed at me with his pizza. “Don’t give her ideas.”

“I don’t need ideas,” Pink replied.

“That’s what scares me.”

I sat at the table between Pink and Bull, listening to the guys argue over whether pineapple belonged on pizza.

Obviously it was a serious issue.

Very serious.

Humpty threatened to throw an entire pizza outside because Pink had ordered pineapple.

Taco threatened his life.

Munch ate it without caring.

Bull claimed food was food.

Myth finally came out of the hallway halfway through the argument. He grabbed a slice from the box and Taco looked at him.

“Well?”

Myth frowned. “Well what?”

“Pineapple.”

“What about it?”

“On pizza.”

Myth stared at him. “You’re fucking arguing about this again?”

“Yes.”

Myth rolled his eyes but took a bite of the pizza. “Yes,” he drawled.

Taco slapped the table. “Thank you!”

Myth walked away, then Bone came out.

I felt him before I looked. Which was stupid because it wasn’t like I had some magical Bone radar, but my attention shifted toward the hallway anyway.

His eyes found me immediately and stayed there.

I smiled.

His expression didn’t change much, but I caught the slight lift at the corner of his mouth.

He walked over. “Having fun?”

“Your club has very strong opinions about pizza.”

“Don’t get involved.”

“Too late,” Taco said. “Hazel, pineapple. Yes or no?”

I looked at Bone. “Is there a right answer?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Taco said.

“Shut up.”

I looked at the pizza. “Yes.”

Taco threw both hands into the air. “Fuck yes!”

Humpty pointed at me. “I liked you.”

“You still like me.”

“Less now.”

“I’m devastated.”

Bone’s hand landed on the back of my chair.

Easy. Possessive without really being possessive. I liked it.

He looked at Pink. “You about done destroying my club?”

She glanced around. The room did look better. “Almost.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Need to get some work done with my guys that involve more than a mop and broom.”

“Fine, fine,” she sighed. “I guess that can be done for today. I wanted to run to the grocery store and the thrift store before they close anyway. Hazel coming with me?” she asked.

He looked down at me. “You okay with that?”

I nodded. “I’m always down for a thrift store find.”

Pink clapped her hands. “We roll in ten minutes, girl.”

“Your mom’s kind of bossy.”

“Tell me about it.”

Pink called, “I heard that.”

“Good,” Bone replied.

I laughed and then he leaned down.

I expected him to say something. Maybe tell me he’d see me later.

Instead, his hand slid along the side of my neck, and he kissed me.

Right there in front of everyone.

My brain stopped.

It wasn’t a dirty kiss. Wasn’t anything like the ones we’d shared alone, but it wasn’t a quick peck either.

His mouth moved over mine slowly, his thumb brushing beneath my ear.

I forgot there was anyone else in the room until Bone pulled back.

Silence.

Complete silence.

I blinked up at him, and his eyes stayed on mine.

Then, “Well, shit.”

Bone closed his eyes. “Taco.”

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

I looked over. Everyone was staring.

“You literally just did,” I laughed.

Taco pointed at me. “See? This is why I like her.”

Humpty leaned back in his chair. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Bone turned his head. “See what fucking day?”

Humpty immediately picked up his beer. “Nothing.”

Myth was smiling.

Bone caught him. “You too?”

“I didn’t say shit.”

“Your face did.”

I laughed.

Bone looked back at me. “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.”

“Lock your doors tonight.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “I always do.”

“Good.”

There was something in his voice that made me want to ask why he’d said that, but I didn’t. He had club business, and from the look on his face, now wasn’t the time to ask questions.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Bone

Tuesday finally came.

Myth and I had left the clubhouse a little after seven. The ride to Waupaca had given me time to think, but I hadn’t come up with anything new. Owen Mercer had worked security at the Milwaukee transfer facility. According to Eli, he’d seen Owen talking to someone and then watched that same man kill him.

That was what we knew.

Everything else was speculation.

Maybe Owen had figured out we were moving guns inside some of our coffins. Maybe he’d threatened to talk. Maybe someone involved in our operation had found out and decided to shut him up before he could.

It would explain why Owen was dead.

It didn’t explain why the fuck someone had stuffed his body inside a casket and sent him directly back to Grave Casket Co.

That part kept bothering me.

The truck stop Eli had picked was busy enough that nobody paid attention to two motorcycles rolling through the lot. Semis lined the back rows. Cars moved in and out near the building. People were getting gas, buying food, and doing whatever the fuck people did at truck stops at nine o’clock at night.

Myth rode beside me as I followed the pavement around the building. The access road Eli had described was exactly where he’d said it would be.

Narrow, cracked, and half swallowed by weeds.

We followed it away from the lights of the truck stop until an old metal storage building came into view.

I slowed when one vehicle sitting near it came into view.

We rolled closer and parked twenty feet from the truck.

Nobody got out.

I killed my bike. Myth did the same.

The sudden quiet made every little sound around us louder.

Crickets. Traffic from the highway. The distant hiss of air brakes from the truck stop.

I swung my leg over my bike.

“Eli!” I called.

Nothing.

Myth looked toward the truck. “You sure that’s him?”

“No.”

I reached beneath my cut just to make sure my gun was there.

Myth did the same.

“Eli!”

The driver’s door opened.

A man climbed out.

He looked younger than I’d pictured.

Mid-thirties maybe. Skinny. Work boots, jeans, gray T-shirt. Short brown hair. Nothing about him stood out.

Except the way he immediately looked behind himself.

Scared.

Definitely fucking scared.

“You Bone?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes moved to Myth.

“And your Myth.”

Myth folded his arms over his chest. “Last time I checked.”

Eli nodded. Didn’t seem like a guy who’d been doing much smiling lately. He shut the truck door and walked toward us. “You weren’t followed?”

“Were you?” I asked.

“No.”

“You sure?”

His eyes moved toward the road again. “No.”

At least he was honest.

I pulled out my cigarettes. “You gonna keep looking over your shoulder the whole fucking time?”

“Probably.”

“Gonna make this a long night.”

“Sorry if watching somebody get murdered fucked with me.”

I paused with the cigarette between my lips.

Fair enough.

I lit it. “Start talking.”

Eli shoved his hands into his pockets. “I already told you most of it.”

“Tell me again.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re standing in front of me now.”

He glanced at Myth.

Myth shrugged. “Prez asked you a question.”

Eli swallowed. “Fine.”

He walked a few steps away and leaned back against the front of his truck. “I work the evening shift most of the time. Four to midnight. Sometimes later if we’re backed up.”

“At the transfer facility,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“What do you do?”

“Whatever they need. Load. Unload. Move freight around. Check shit coming in against what’s supposed to be there.”

“You knew Owen?”

“Everybody knew Owen.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Eli rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah. I knew him. We weren’t friends or anything. We’d talk sometimes.”

“What about?”

“Work. Packers. Shit like that.”

“Guns?”

His eyes snapped to mine.

There it was. Myth saw it too. He shifted beside me.

Eli ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know anything about guns.”

“Didn’t ask if you did.”

“You just asked me about guns.”

“I asked if Owen ever talked to you about them.”

“No.”

Too fast.

I took a drag from my cigarette.

“Try again.”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t know anything about what you guys do.”

“You know who we are,” I said.

“Everybody knows who you are.”

“That right?”

“You’re the fucking Grave Prowlers.”

Myth chuckled. “Good observation.”

Eli ignored him. “And everybody at the facility knows Grave Casket.”

I blew smoke off to the side. “I’m not asking what you know about my club. I’m asking what Owen knew.”

“I don’t know,” he repeated.

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” he insisted.

I was getting tired of that shit. I stepped closer, and he stiffened. “Look at me.”

His eyes came back to mine.

“You called me.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“You wanted this meeting,” I continued.

“I know.”

“Then stop fucking me around.”

“I don’t know what Owen knew,” he snapped. “That’s the truth.”

“Then why’d you react when I said guns?”

His mouth closed.

Myth moved closer.

Eli looked between us. “Because I heard something.”

“What did you hear?” I asked.

I knew I needed to get some patience right now, but I was ready to rip this kid’s head off.

“When… On…” He cleared his throat. “The night that Owen died, I heard him talking in the office.”

“To who?” I asked.

Eli shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Myth growled, also fresh out of patience.

Eli held up his hands. “I don’t know because he was on the phone. I just know what he said.”

I blew out a plume of smoke. “And what did he say?”

Eli looked around and then he looked me right in the eye. “He said he was done, and he didn’t care if they didn’t like it.”

“Done with what?” Myth asked.

“He doesn’t know,” I drawled before Eli could give us the same answer.

“No, I do know.”

Now that was shocking.

“He told whoever that was on the phone that he couldn’t mess with the cameras anymore, and the footage they wanted deleted he couldn’t do. He got off the phone right when he said he was done, and then he headed out to the docks.” Eli gulped. “Forty minutes later, Owen was dead.”

Myth ran his hand down his face. “I’m going to assume you don’t know what footage he was talking about.”

Eli shook his head. “No.”

A loud semi horn sounded, and it spooked Eli. He had been on edge before, but that horn had put him over the edge.

“You don’t know anything else?” I asked.

Eli shook his head. “That is it.” He licked his lips and looked around. “I need to get out of here.”

Yeah, we weren’t going to be able to get anything more out of Eli.

“You hear anything?” I said. “You call me right away. I don’t care what time of day it is, call me.”

Eli nodded and walked backward a few feet. “I’m sure I won’t, but if I do, I’ll call you.” He turned on his heel and jogged back to his truck. He barely had the truck started before he shifted into drive and took off down the access road toward the gas station.

Myth looked at me. “You believe Eli?”

“About Owen?”

“Yeah.” I looked toward his truck taillights. “Yeah,” I repeated.

“Everything?”

I sighed. “I don’t fucking know, man. I think the kid is scared, and everything in his head is fucking scrambled.”

Myth nodded. “You are not wrong about that. What footage you think Owen couldn’t delete?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure Dave will be the one to figure out.” I cranked up my bike, and Myth did the same.

We rolled away from the storage building and headed back toward the highway.

For the first time since we’d opened that returned coffin and found Owen rotting inside, I felt like we might finally be ahead of whoever the fuck had started this.

We had a witness.

We had something Dave could work with.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

And whoever had killed Owen had no fucking idea Eli had just handed us our first real lead.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Bone

Something woke me up.

I didn’t know what the fuck it was at first.

I opened my eyes and stared into the dark, waiting for my brain to catch up. The room was quiet except for the fan turning overhead and the soft sound of Hazel breathing beside me.

Hazel.

That still took a second to register sometimes.

Not because I didn’t know she was there. I’d gone to sleep with her curled against my side, one leg thrown over mine and her hand resting on my stomach. I’d woken up twice during the night because she moved around like she was fighting invisible people in her sleep.

The first time, she’d stolen the blanket.

The second, she’d nearly elbowed me in the fucking throat.

I’d moved her arm, pulled her back against me, and gone right back to sleep.

That was the weird part.

I slept with Hazel.

Actually slept. I didn’t fuck her and leave. I didn’t lie awake waiting until enough time passed that I could get dressed without looking like an asshole.

I slept. And tonight, she’d done it here at the clubhouse.

After I got back from meeting Eli, I’d gone to her house. Hadn’t planned on it. I’d gotten back to the clubhouse after midnight, talked with Myth for another hour, checked to see if Dave had gotten anything, then found myself getting back on my bike.

Hazel hadn’t questioned it when I’d knocked on her door.

She’d just smiled and put her hand in mine when I told her I wanted her in my bed.

No conversation about what it meant.

Hazel and Bone.

That was it.

Worked for me.

I shifted slightly. Hazel made a sleepy noise and moved closer.

I almost closed my eyes again, and then I heard it.

An engine.

My eyes opened.

Not a bike.

I lifted my head. The sound was faint but getting closer. Tires rolled over gravel.

What the fuck?

I carefully moved Hazel’s arm off my stomach.

She stirred. “Bone?”

“Go back to sleep.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and reached for my jeans. The engine got louder.

Nobody should’ve been coming down the road at—I grabbed my phone from the nightstand—three seventeen.

What the fuck?

“What’s wrong?”

I pulled on my jeans and looked over my shoulder. Hazel had pushed herself up onto one elbow. Her hair was all over the place, and the sheet was pulled across her chest. “Nothing.”

“You’re putting pants on at three in the morning.”

“Stay here.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“Hazel.”

She blinked at me.

“Stay here.”

Something in my voice must’ve gotten through because she nodded. “Okay.”

I grabbed my gun from the nightstand, shoved it into the back of my jeans, and pulled on a T-shirt.

Headlights swept across the wall.

My whole body went tight.

Whoever was out there was close.

Too fucking close.

I grabbed my cut and shrugged it on as I opened the bedroom door.

Another door opened down the hallway. Myth stepped out wearing jeans and nothing else. “You hear that?”

“Yeah.”

Humpty’s door opened. “What the fuck?”

“Vehicle,” Myth said.

“No shit,” Humpty grunted.

Dealer came out next.

Then the rest of guys appeared within seconds.

Everyone had heard it.

The clubhouse wasn’t built in a place where people accidentally drove past. There was nowhere to accidentally fucking go. You came down our road because you meant to come down our road.

And at three seventeen in the morning, nobody had any business being here.

I headed toward the main room. “Lights off,” I ordered.

Bull reached for the switch before anyone could turn one on.

We moved through the dark.

The engine outside revved, then tires spun over gravel.

“They’re leaving,” Myth said.

I reached the front window and pulled the curtain back enough to look out.

Red taillights.

That was all I caught.

Too far away already.

The vehicle was moving fast down the road.

“Fuck.”

I headed for the door.

Myth grabbed his gun. “You see what it was?”

“No.”

“Truck?”

“Couldn’t tell.”

I opened the door and cold night air hit me.

The lot was dark except for the security lights around Grave Casket Co. and the warehouse.

Nothing moved.

I stepped outside and Myth came with me.

Dealer and Humpty spread out without being told.

Taco appeared in the doorway behind us wearing sweatpants and one boot.

I looked at him.

He looked down at his feet.

“Couldn’t find the other one.”

“Stay there.”

“Wasn’t planning on running.”

“Shut up.”

He nodded.

Munch came up behind him. “What happened?”

“Someone was here,” Bull said.

“Who?”

“If we knew that, we wouldn’t all be standing here in our fucking underwear,” Humpty snapped.

I scanned the lot.

Nothing.

Everything looked the way it should.

Then Dealer stopped. “Prez.”

I turned.

He was looking toward the Grave Casket building.

My eyes followed his and everything inside me went still.

A coffin sat in front of the big garage door.

For a second, the only sound was the distant engine disappearing down the road.

Then Taco spoke. “What the fuck?”

I started walking.

Myth grabbed my arm. “Hold up.”

I looked at him.

“We don’t know what the fuck’s in it.”

He was right.

“Dealer.”

“Yeah,” he called.

“Get Hose.”

He nodded and headed back toward the clubhouse.

“Bull, check the cameras.”

“On it,” Bull replied.

“Humpty, nobody leaves. And Rowdy, go chase down that truck if you can.”

Ten seconds later, Rowdy cranked up his bike, and he took off down the road.

“Taco,” I called.

He lifted his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Find your fucking boot.”

He looked down. “Working on it.”

I shook my head.

Myth and I moved closer to the coffin.

Ten feet away, I stopped. It looked like ours.

One of our standard builds with dark walnut, brass handles.

Nothing fancy.

Myth stood beside me. “You recognize it?”

“Looks like one of ours, but we thought the same thing about the one Owen showed up in, and we were fucking wrong.” I was still pissed that we had fucked that up.

The clubhouse door opened.

Hose came jogging out, pulling a shirt over his head. “What the fuck happened?”

I pointed.

He slowed. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Anybody touch it?” he asked.

“No. We haven’t gotten close to it, yet,” Myth told him.

“Good.”

Hazel’s voice came from behind me. “Bone?”

Fuck.

I turned and she stood in the clubhouse doorway.

She’d pulled on a pair of shorts and my black T-shirt. The shirt hung halfway down her thighs, and her hair was still a mess from sleep.

Taco stood beside her. At least he’d found his other boot.

I walked toward her. “I told you to stay in the room.”

“I did.”

“For five minutes.”

“You didn’t come back,” she reasoned.

“That’s generally how staying works, Hazel.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “You told me to stay, then the whole clubhouse was running around, so I got curious.”

“This isn’t something you need to be curious about.”

Her eyes moved past me to the coffin. “What is that doing there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did somebody just drop off a coffin?”

“Casket.”

Her eyes came back to mine. “Really?”

“What?”

“That’s what you’re correcting right now?”

I sighed. “Go back inside.”

She looked at me. “Bone—”

“Please.”

That did it.

Her expression changed. Hazel didn’t know what was going on, neither did I, but she knew me well enough now to understand I wasn’t fucking around.

“Okay.”

She nodded.

“Okay.”

I touched her waist as she turned.

Then Bull came running out of the clubhouse.

“Bone.”

I looked at him.

“Cameras caught it.”

“What?”

“Black box truck.”

Every muscle in my body locked.

“Plate?”

“Rear camera got something, but it’s blurry.”

“Get Dave on it.”

“Already sent it.”

Hazel stopped in the doorway.

She looked back at me, and I knew she heard. Couldn’t do anything about that now.

“Hose,” I called.

“Yeah.”

“Check it.”

We moved toward the casket, but I told Hazel to keep her ass in the doorway.

I wanted to tell her again to get back in my room, but didn’t because I knew it was just going to be a fight.

Hose crouched beside the coffin and checked underneath it. Then the sides. He ran his hands carefully along the base. “Don’t see anything.”

“Open it?” Myth asked.

Hose stood. “Only one way to find out what the fuck they brought us.”

I stepped forward. Myth moved with me.

Taco was suddenly there too.

“Thought I told you to stay by the door.”

“You did,” he agreed.

“And?”

“I found my boot,” he answered.

I stared at him. “What?”

“Felt like that changed things.”

Despite everything, Myth snorted.

I shook my head. “Stay back.”

Taco actually listened.

Hose moved to one side and I took the other.

My hand wrapped around the edge of the lid.

For one second, Owen flashed through my head. The smell. His bloated body. Munch gagging.

I lifted the lid and Hose swore.

Myth went completely still.

I stared down at Eli. “Fuck.”

There was no mistaking him.

Same short brown hair. Same skinny face. Same gray T-shirt he’d been wearing when Myth and I met him.

His skin had lost its color. His eyes were closed. There was bruising around his neck.

I didn’t need Hose to tell me he was dead.

I knew.

Myth leaned closer. “Son of a fucking bitch.”

“Bone?”

Hazel.

I turned, and she wasn’t in the doorway anymore.

She was behind Taco, her eyes were fixed on the coffin.

On Eli.

Fuck.

I immediately stepped in front of her and her eyes snapped to mine.

“Is he—”

“Yeah.”

She swallowed. “Oh my God.”

“Inside,” I ordered.

“Bone—”

“Hazel.”

Her face had gone pale.

I put both hands on her arms.

“Look at me.”

She did.

“You need to trust me right now. I promise that nothing is going to happen to you, and I will fight till my last breath to make sure you are safe. Do you believe me?”

She nodded with zero hesitation. “Yes, Bone.”

“Good. Now go inside with Taco. I’ll answer all of your questions then.”

“I just have one right now.” She paused, and her eyes came to mine. “Who is he?”

“Eli.”

Her brow furrowed. “You know him? Is he part of the club?”

“Yeah, we knew him, but he’s not part of the club.”

I looked over my shoulder at the coffin.

Owen had been the first. Now Eli.

Twice, someone had delivered death straight to the Grave Prowlers’ door.

That was twice too fucking many.

Whoever the hell was behind this wanted our attention.

They had it, and now we were going to find out who the fuck they were.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Taco

I stood inside the clubhouse with Hazel while Bone and the guys dealt with the dead guy in the casket outside.

There was a sentence I never thought I’d fucking think.

Hazel stood beside me with her arms wrapped around herself, staring through the window. After a minute, she looked at me. “Taco?”

“Yeah?”

“What in the world is going on?”

I shoved my hands into my pockets. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Hazel. This is only my second surprise dead-guy-in-a-casket situation, so I’m not really sure what the protocol is.”

She slowly turned her head and stared at me.

I shrugged. “First one didn’t come with instructions either.”

Coming March 2027

Taco’s Belle

Check out the first chapter of Property of Anchor

Chapter One

Anchor

Skull Island came alive after sunset.

It came alive in the very real, very loud way that only a haunted house and ghost boat tour run by a motorcycle club could—screams, boat horns, the smell of kettle corn, and the sound of fake chains dragging across wooden floors.

From the main dock to the haunted house perched near the edge of the bluff, every inch of the north side of the island was crawling with wide-eyed visitors and fake blood. Fog machines hissed. Chainsaws roared. Actors in torn clothing lunged at teenagers who were more excited to record it on their phones than to actually be scared.

And me? I was doing crowd control with a cup of stale coffee and a front-row view of the chaos.

The haunted house stood like an old Gothic manor, all faux weathered wood, black wrought iron accents, and windows that flickered with timed LED candlelight. Behind it, tucked further back into the trees, was our real home: the clubhouse.

Long, low, and built like a fortress, the clubhouse stretched out behind the haunted house in a rough L-shape under the cover of trees. The center of the building was the common area, a massive open space with a bar, couches, a pool table, and our Church room where club meetings went down. To the left of that were six bedrooms, mine included. To the right? Seven more. Every patch holder on the island lived there, and every one of us worked the business.

Kings of Anarchy, Michigan Chapter.

We ran Skull Island. The haunted house. The ghost boat tours. The money that rolled in. All of it. Ours.

This was our territory. Our kingdom. Our show.

And every night, we gave the people exactly what they came for.

“Anchor!”

I looked up from my spot near the dock entrance. Skull, my Vice President, approached with his usual scowl and a fresh streak of stage blood across his jaw.

“We’re short three actors on the boat rotation,” he said. “Pull got hung up at the front gate breaking up some fight, and Wannabe’s still puking from whatever mystery meat he ate for lunch.”

“Send Lost in his place,” I said. “And tell Bob to fill in until we get through the first round.”

“Copy that.” Skull peeled off, already barking orders at anyone within earshot.

I took another sip of my coffee and scanned the dock. The members of the club were the vital moving parts of the island, but we also had about fifteen actors and workers that made the island run smoothly. They did their job of scaring visitors, and then they were off the island, too.

Three boats were loading now with full tours, packed with tourists from out of town. Each one would cruise across the narrow stretch of water toward the far end of the island while the island history and a ghost story played through speakers. Over there, we had a full-scale ghost town set up. Broken saloons. Collapsing mine shafts. Actors dressed as everything from colonial ghosts to feral mutants lurked in the shadows, ready to terrify anyone who stepped off the boat.

They’d walk the path through the ghost town and come back wide-eyed and screaming.

It was all fake.

And all profitable.

I turned to head back up toward the haunted house and stopped short at the sound of awkward giggling. My eyes tracked the noise until I spotted two teenagers, probably sixteen or seventeen, groping each other like they’d just discovered skin for the first time.

They were backed up next to one of the garbage cans behind the snack stand, half-hidden in the shadows, hands under shirts and lips locked in some sloppy tangle.

I sighed.

“Alright, break it up,” I called out and walked toward them.

The girl jumped and let out a squeak. The boy turned red instantly as he adjusted his jeans and tried to look innocent.

“This ain’t that kind of tour,” I said and crossed my arms. “You want to play adult, do it somewhere other than next to the dumpster.”

“S-sorry,” the boy stammered.

They nodded quickly and scurried off into the crowd.

I shook my head and kept walking. My boots crunched over gravel as I made my way back toward the haunted house.

Inside, the actors were rotating for the next wave. Screams echoed down the halls, speakers blared thunder and ghostly whispers, and the smell of fog fluid hung thick in the air. Piney stood near the entrance to the torture corridor, his makeup half-rubbed off, leaning on a prop skeleton.

“You good?” I asked.

“Had some kid scream so hard he pissed himself,” he said proudly. “Think I found my calling.”

“Try not to traumatize the guests too much. I don’t need parents suing.”

He grinned and ducked into the next hallway.

I took a slow lap through the house. Themed rooms lined the interior: cobwebbed dining halls, cursed nursery sets, flickering sconces, dripping red paint. The crew worked it like a well-oiled machine. Every jump scare was timed, every corner built to lead visitors into a scare zone.

Down the hall, Vin was resetting a hanging corpse rig while Cross and Push reset lighting in the rotating tunnel. Everyone had a job. Everyone pulled their weight.

We might’ve looked like chaos on the surface, but the Kings ran tight.

Always had.

Back outside, the sun was gone. The boats continued their cycle, ferrying screams back and forth across the water.

They paid us, and we gave them nightmares.

Now that was the definition of a dream job.

Check out the first chapter of Sugar & Ink!

Chapter One

Josie

I stood behind the counter and looked around Scoop & Swirl, hardly believing it was real.

Six months ago, this place had been an empty shell with faded walls, stained floors, and enough dust to choke a person. Now it looked exactly the way I’d imagined it during all those nights when I’d lain awake staring at the ceiling and wondering if I’d completely lost my mind.

The walls were painted a soft mint green that somehow managed to feel cheerful without being obnoxious. White tables sat in front of the large windows facing Main Street. The display freezer gleamed beneath the lights. String lights framed the windows, and the giant mural of dancing ice cream cones I’d spent three days painting stretched across the back wall. Every inch of the place felt bright and welcoming.

It felt like mine.

I wrapped my fingers around the edge of the counter and slowly turned my head, taking everything in for what had to be the hundredth time. Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, I’d unlock the front door and officially open for business. People would walk through those doors expecting ice cream, and somehow it would be my job to provide it.

Eight months ago, I would’ve laughed if someone had told me I’d be standing here.

Actually, no.

Eight months ago, I probably would’ve cried.

The divorce had been finalized eight months ago, but it had taken me another two months before I’d been capable of doing much of anything except feeling sorry for myself. Looking back, I probably deserved those two months. Finding out your husband had been cheating on you with at least six different women tended to put a damper on a person’s motivation.

At least six.

The number still made me want to roll my eyes.

Every few weeks somebody seemed to uncover another one. At this point I wasn’t sure if the number was six, seven, ten, or twenty.

Not that it mattered.

One would’ve been enough. Bruce hadn’t just cheated. He’d made a damn hobby out of it.

The worst part wasn’t even the cheating itself. It was realizing how much of my life I’d spent making myself smaller for someone who’d never appreciated it in the first place.

Bruce always had plans.

Bruce always had dreams.

Bruce always had hobbies.

If he wanted something, we found a way to make it happen. When I wanted something, suddenly there wasn’t enough money or it wasn’t realistic.

Opening an ice cream shop had always fallen into the unrealistic category.

Every time I brought it up, he’d smile that patronizing smile of his and tell me it was a cute idea.

Cute.

I hated that word.

Cute was what people called ideas they didn’t take seriously. Cute was what people called dreams they expected you to outgrow.

Turns out there was nothing cute about spending six months renovating a building mostly by yourself.

My shoulders still hurt from moving freezers. My knees still hurt from laying tile. And there was definitely nothing cute about balancing budgets and wondering if you were about to spend every penny you’d saved on a dream that might fail.

I looked around the shop again and smiled.

Maybe it would fail. Maybe it wouldn’t.

The shop wasn’t perfect. There were still little things I’d probably change over time. The menu board would eventually need updating. I’d probably rearrange the toppings station at least fifty times before I was happy with it. Right now, there was only me running the place, which meant I would be scooping ice cream, cleaning tables, washing dishes, handling inventory, balancing books, and doing about seventeen other jobs at the same time.

The sudden roar of a motorcycle pulled me from my thoughts.

I glanced toward the front windows just as a black motorcycle rolled down Main Street. The sound echoed off the buildings lining the street before the rider slowed and turned into the parking lot across from Scoop & Swirl.

My gaze followed automatically to the tattoo shop. Bad Habit.

I’d seen the place plenty of times over the last six months, but I’d been so focused on getting my own business ready that I hadn’t paid much attention to who came and went.

The motorcycle came to a stop, and the rider swung off.

And holy hell. I blinked, and then blinked again.

The man was tall. Really tall.

My second was that the man looked like he belonged on the cover of one of those romance novels I saw in the grocery store.

Black boots. Black jeans. Black T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders. He had dark hair, a dark short beard, and dark sunglasses covered his eyes.

The man looked like he owned stock in the color black.

Tattooed arms disappeared beneath his sleeves, and even from across the street I could tell there was a lot more ink hidden beneath his clothes.

He hooked his helmet onto the handlebars and headed toward the tattoo shop without a second glance at the world around him.

Confident.

Comfortable.

Like he knew exactly who he was.

I watched him unlock the door and disappear inside.

A second later I realized I was still staring. “Well, that’s embarrassing,” I muttered.

I immediately looked away even though there wasn’t anybody around to catch me.

Not that it mattered. A guy like that wasn’t looking twice at a woman like me.

I was thirty-six, divorced, and carrying more curves than society generally approved of. And currently wearing paint-splattered leggings I’d owned since before the divorce.

Meanwhile, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Tattooed looked like he probably had women throwing themselves at him on a regular basis.

The thought should’ve bothered me.

Instead, I found myself smiling. The hot, sexy biker across the street had nothing to do with me. For the first time in a very long time, I wasn’t standing here wondering whether I was enough for somebody else.

I was standing inside a business I owned.

Tomorrow morning, Scoop & Swirl would officially open, and tomorrow was the beginning of the rest of my life.