Mica (Sons of Rage MC #3)

Chapter 1

Nova

It’s been almost three months since my grandfather died. After mom ran off when I was born and my father died in a shootout with a rival club when I was just a toddler, he became my whole world. It’s been so hard, moving on without him.

Between keeping his businesses running, taking care of his house, and my online classes, the only time I have to visit his gravesite is early in the mornings before work.

So here I am, approaching his grave with ivy instead of flowers.

Vulture always said ivy was green, restless, and climbing everything in sight, just like me.

I tear up, hearing his rough voice saying those words in my head.

I kneel down, set the small pot of ivy on the ground, and dust the leaves off his headstone.

My grandfather’s grave isn’t what I would have picked for him.

It’s simple and doesn’t do justice to the man who raised me.

Vulture was larger than life, rough in a lot of ways, stubborn as the day is long, and a badass biker from way back.

He told me there ain’t no kind of love, like biker love.

Despite the tears, I smile to myself. He sure was one of a kind.

I dig into my jean pocket and pull out the spoon I brought to plant the ivy.

I make a little space right near his headstone, pull it out of the pot, and drop it into the shallow hole.

As I bring the dirt back up around it, I start bringing him up to speed on what’s going on in our world since he left us.

“I increased my hours at Vulture’s Trucking. I’m working about fifty hours a week, just trying to do the job both of us once did all by myself. I miss you, Gramps. Mac is helping more than he should but he’s getting older and doesn’t move as fast as he used to.”

I cram the spoon back in my pocket and wipe my hands on my jeans.

“I just want you to know that I’m not quitting. I’m gonna keep what you built running if it’s the last thing I do. You worked too hard to build Vulture’s Trucking and the garage, to let it all fall apart. God knows this town needs us ‘cause no one does what we do.”

I get to my feet and stare down at his headstone. “About your territory, I can’t think of how to save that. All the other clubs have been doing ride-throughs. Who would have thought the crows and ravens would circle around waiting to feed off the vulture? It breaks my heart.”

I reluctantly hit the road, glancing one last time over my shoulder to see the ivy I planted blowing gently in the breeze.

I keep turning my situation over in my mind, trying to figure out a way to protect this town from the influx of riffraff eager to take my grandfather’s place, but no ideas come easily to mind.

Before I know it, I’m coming upon the sign that says, Vulture’s Trucking Company.

The tagline I helped him come up with is, We Fly Right.

It doesn’t sound as clever to my adult mind as it did when I came up with it at the age of eleven.

But of course, my gramps ran with it because I was the apple of his eye.

Mac, Hawk, and Buck are waiting in the vehicles for me to unlock the office door.

They follow me in, grab the keys, and go back out to warm up their trucks.

After a few minutes they come back to get their daily assignments.

They mostly know their routes but sometimes things change at the last minute.

Mac always makes the deliveries for Hatchet’s Meats. Flake’s Commercial Bakery is normally Hawk’s run. That means Buck will end up doing the Titan Pantry Restaurant Supplies run by himself. I hand them each a list of deliveries and Buck immediately kicks up a fuss.

“The Hatchet’s Meats pick up is on the wrong day. Mac’s supposed to help me with the Titan Pantry run today. It’s a two-person job.”

“Hatchet’s Meats is also on Wednesday now,” I tell him. “We picked up another delivery route. I sent you all a revised schedule two days ago.”

“I didn’t get it,” he complains.

“I have the read receipt, Buck.”

After a beat he goes back to reading the route sheet. “Fine. I’ll do it my fuckin’ self.”

He glares at me. “Vulture lets us sort our own routes. We know them better than you do.”

“You can all trade around routes if you want,” I say. “I’ve got no problem with that.”

He opens his mouth, but I cut him off before he can continue arguing.

“You’re getting a shift differential of three dollars an hour because you’re making the run alone,” I remind him. “You’d know that if you read the e-mail I sent. Beginning next week, we’ll have a new part-time person hired, so this is a one-off situation.”

His expression brightens. “I’d best get movin’. I appreciate the extra jingle.”

I give him a firm nod. “You deserve it, Buck. Take your time and be careful loading and unloading the merch. I don’t want anything to happen to one of our best drivers.”

He leaves, cheerful and joking with Hawk as they walk out the door. I let out a relieved breath because stepping into my grandfather’s shoes full time is a lot different than working here twenty hours a week.

Mac speaks for the first time. He was my grandfather’s best friend for almost fifty years, and it shows.

“You did good managing Buck just now. Not a lot of twenty-year-olds could have handled that the way you did. You had that grumpy bastard eating out of your hand in the end.”

I can’t help but smile at Mac as I reply, “Gramps always said that money talks and bullshit walks.”

He’s smiling proudly at me as he adds, “And always pay a fair wage for extra work, right.”

“Yes, sir. That was the mantra he lived by and one I tend to follow. He built this company from a single van and a bakery contract. I’m sure not going to try to reinvent the wheel myself.”

“Good girl. He’d be so proud to see you coming into your own.” Before I can respond, he adds, “I’d best get moving. That meat ain’t gonna deliver itself, boss.”

We both laugh because he’s not wrong about that.

I drop down into the office chair at Vulture’s old desk. It’s mine now, I know this. I just can’t help but wonder when the ache is gonna stop, when I’ll be able to sit at his desk without grieving the loss of him. No time soon, I imagine.

I do all my work for the trucking company and then sign into the site for the other business he owned, Vulture’s Custom Choppers, which is located across town.

It’s payroll week for them, so I pull the information from their timecards and begin processing their pay.

If I get it done today, it’ll be waiting for them bright and early on Friday morning.

Just as I’m finishing that up, my phone rings. It’s Uncle Cray, my grandfather’s brother.

I answer quickly. “Hey, Cray. What’s up?”

“Nova, we gotta talk.” His voice is always flat and direct. I don’t think he even knows what small talk is. “You need to come to my house as soon as possible. We need to talk about the estate.”

Something in my chest loosens slightly. I’ve been waiting for this conversation for three months. “Has the probate cleared?”

“Yeah, but there were unexpected details in an addendum to his will. His lawyer said he made that when the clubhouse burned down. We can’t talk about it over the phone. This needs to happen in person.”

“I’m working, Cray.”

“This is more important. They can do without for a few hours, Nova. You know I don’t fuckin’ like repeating myself, so don’t make me ask twice.”

“Alright, I’m coming now.”

The line goes dead without my uncle saying goodbye, which is par for the course for him. I grab my purse and head out, because he’s right about us needing to talk in person. Estate matters are important.

***

Cray’s home is in the next county. He knows that I don’t like going to his club, so we never meet there. His house sits at the end of a long gravel drive off the county road, far enough back from the highway that passersby can’t see it.

It’s almost one in the afternoon by the time I get there. Cray is sitting on the porch when I roll in. He’s tall, built, and his face is lined with wrinkles. He’s wearing his cut, faded jeans, and scuffed black boots. He’s got a beer in his hand.

When I come up the porch steps, he nods at the chair across from him.

I sit down and hug my purse against my chest. “What’s this about?”

He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. The look on his face tells me he has bad news.

“Vulture’s estate’s cleared probate today,” he says.

“Okay.” I keep my voice level. “So, it transfers to me, right?” It should be because that was always the plan.

“Yeah, but there’s a condition.” He says it without hesitation. “Like I said, he added an addendum. I didn’t know about it, or I would have mentioned it sooner.”

“What does it say? I can take it. Just tell it to me straight. If he wanted you to have everything, I can handle that. I know you were close…”

“Fuck no. It’s nothing like that. Everything my brother owned was left to you. The problem is you don’t get it until you turn thirty or after you get married.” Taking a sip of his beer, he adds, “Whichever comes first.”

I just stare at him, trying to work out why my grandfather would do something like this. I decide that it doesn’t matter.

“So, who controls the estate?” When he doesn’t answer, I guess, “You control it as executor, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the general gist of it.”

“Including the trucking service.”

“I would control everything, Nova. And I would draw a salary. One my brother preordained in that addendum.”

He’s nervous, I can tell because the can of beer he’s still holding is shaking slightly. He meets my eyes calmly, without looking away. I respect that, even though my heart is breaking.

“That’s it then. He wanted you to have all his worldly possessions.”

“No, no, and no, Nova. That’s not what he wanted. All Vulture ever talked about was you gettin’ everything.”

“Then why did he add this to his will?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know but I have a way out of this for you. A way you can inherit right away.”