Chapter Seven
MALICE
“Why are you looking at Maya like that?”
“Like what?” I reply to Wrath, his perfectly coiffed hair slicked and stupidly perfect. I wonder how he gets his hair to stay put like that. Mine’s always wild and crazy, no matter what I do. Wrath’s is always perfect. Such a pretty boy.
“Like you’re disgusted. You’ve hooked up with her a dozen times.”
I look back over at the patch bunny, the bottom of her ass peeking out of her tight denim shorts as she bends over the pool table.
Wrath is right, I’ve hooked up with Maya tons of times over the years, same with Savannah and Delilah.
Wrath has, too. Patch bunnies are here for all of us, and most of my patch brothers have openly passed them around depending on the night and if they’re willing—which they usually are.
Any time I’ve needed to clear my head, someone’s been readily available, eager, and more than willing to spend a few hours in my dungeon being my plaything. Except lately, all I’ve wanted to do since Rolo died is spill blood.
But looking at them now, there’s no desire coursing through me.
The opposite, actually. Maybe I am disgusted.
Not by them, per se, they’re great and haven’t done anything wrong, but the idea of being with them.
All I want now is my little pink-haired pixie.
Just the thought of her alone makes me harder than steel.
I hope she’s not already taken. Sin was way too easy on Bristol.
That goddamn pet bunny made our VP soft.
He was patient and kind, even though she was engaged to someone else, waiting until Bristol came to him.
There’s no way I’d be okay with that. Knowing my little one was sleeping next to another man night after night?
Fuck that shit.
The thought alone makes anger surge to the surface.
“I didn’t know I was.”
“Since when don’t you have complete control over your facial features and body language?”
“The hell if I know,” I snap, standing quickly, pulling out my knife, and flipping it around in my hand.
Wrath jerks back in his seat and puts his hands up. “Whoa. Whoa. Okay, buddy. Calm down.”
“What’s with the million fucking questions?”
“I get that you’re angry, brother, but I am not the bad guy here. We’ll find them.”
I sit back down in my seat, flipping the knife over in my hand.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
I close my eyes and let myself picture Monroe.
The sun beating down on her flawless, freckled skin, the way the rose gold of her hair shimmers in the light.
My temper gradually decreases, and when I open my eyes and look at everyone around me, for the first time since Rolo brought me to the clubhouse, I don’t want to be here.
I stand up, pocketing my knife in its sheath, and turning to leave.
“Where are you going?” Wrath yells.
“I’ve got shit to do.”
The nippy summer air cools my heated skin, and as I swing my leg over my bike, starting it up, I’m eager to feel the wind at a much higher speed.
I peel out of my spot, the back of my bike spinning off to the side.
I correct her quickly, straightening up and taking off down the long gravel driveway of the clubhouse.
The gates open as the sentries see me coming.
I half expect to see Rolo standing out here and am startled to see Noose instead.
Then I remember, it’s because Rolo is fucking gone.
As our club treasurer, he was never needed out here working with the sentries, but he always was, anyway.
Wanting to mentor, wanting to shape and heal.
Rolo was the fucking best of us. He truly believed he could save us all.
Give us lost boys some place to go and have a home.
The sun has long set, the road only visible by the light of the high moon and my headlights. I know these mountain roads like the back of my hand, and I push my bike hard as I ride into town, leaning into every curve, feeling the wind ripple over my skin, my hair whipping around wildly.
I park my bike just on the edge of town by the old diner.
My stomach grumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday.
Maggie’s has got some of the best sandwiches I’ve ever had.
Wrath and I both are addicted. We frequently hit it up, and Wrath flirts with one of the waitresses who usually gives him extra shit on his. Asshole.
Not wanting to be seen, I slink through town, staying in the alleys between the brick buildings and away from the cobblestone sidewalks and streetlights. It’s always been easy for me to go undetected, having learned from a very young age to never be seen or heard. Especially if I wanted to survive.
My destination looms in front of me like a beacon, sitting tall on the rounded corner of Main Street. The all-brick building looks more like a small cathedral than it does a mortuary. But I suppose the two can’t truly be differentiated, both serving as the bridge between life and death.
I stuff my hands into my front pockets as I make my way to the back of the building. The forest stretches endlessly behind me, a mix of massive trees and flowers, wildlife probably tucked away for the evening. Unless they’re nocturnal. Like me. The most dangerous creatures hunt at night.
It’s easy enough to break into Amberwood Mortuary, the back door easily unlocking.
I roll my eyes at the lack of security. Even though our small town is pretty safe, all things considered, petty theft and breaking and entering happen.
I guess not that many people want to break into a fucking mortuary where they’ve got dead bodies in the freezer.
After closing the door behind me, I take in my surroundings, seeing just enough with the moon shining in through the large windows that line the chapel and the skylights above us.
The words ‘Memento Mori’ are carved into a stone archway above the sanctuary, a lectern in the center.
I roll my eyes. Idiots. There’s no preparing for mortality.
It’s going to drag you away, and you’ll never be ready to go.
Death is a shroud, a force that pulls you into eternal darkness, and no amount of reminders that it’s coming will force people to live a brighter life.
After running my fingers over the stainless-steel table in the room I found Monroe in, disappointed to find her scent doesn’t linger anywhere in the sterile environment, I navigate through the maze at the back.
Finally finding what I’m looking for, I waltz into the office.
File cabinets line one wall, and something tells me Georgie-boy isn’t up with the technology of things and keeps his paperwork trail hidden away in the filing cabinet instead of a computer.
I use my key to pick the lock, opening the top drawer. I know nothing about Monroe, and that needs to change. I flick through the manila folders, when my phone vibrates in the tight pocket of my jeans. I pull it out, the screen lighting up.
Biker Besties
Chaos: Your fucking tracker is off. Where are you?
I roll my eyes, ignoring him and pocketing my phone.
For someone who hates group chats, Chaos sure as shit uses it more than any of us.
What a dingus. He’s probably worried that I’m out hunting the Kingsnakes by myself again, which he strictly forbade me to do.
Not that I listen. Most of the time I do, but sometimes not so much.
“Ah ha!” I finally find what I’m looking for and pull out the thin manilla folder and take a seat in the worn-leather chair at the desk, propping my combat boots up on the top and crossing my ankles.
I pull off the wallet photo of her and hold it between my thumb and forefinger.
She’s wearing a pretty baby-blue blouse that ties in a bow at her delicate collarbone.
The freckles on her nose and cheeks aren’t as noticeable, and I curse the old geezer for not taking a high-resolution photo of her.
Monroe’s rose gold hair is slightly longer in this photo, dusting her shoulders instead of framing her chin like it is now.
I place it in my pocket, deciding it’s mine now, and scan the information I came for.
Monroe St. James, twenty-eight, graduated from an online college in mortuary science, did a fifteen-month internship at Amberwood Mortuary with crypt keeper George, and is now their full-time employee.
I wonder why a beautiful, smart, young woman went to school online for something she’s passionate about instead of going in person.
Isn’t that the dream for most? Leave home as soon as possible and live it up at college?
Not that I ever had an opportunity to know what college even was until much later, but I do know what it’s like to want to leave someplace.
I snap a photo of the information, including her home address.
After putting the folder away, I ease my way back into the sterile room, looking over the walls and stainless-steel cabinets and freezers.
I know Rolo is in one of these, and I can’t help but feel like maybe he brought me to her.
Seems like something the bastard would do—give me one last gift, even in death.
I find a perfect spot at the very edge of an open shelf and place my discreet security camera where she’ll never notice it. I pull out my phone to make sure it’s working when it dings again. Needy today, hell.
Chaos: Where the fuck are you? Your tracker is off and it shouldn’t be. Your rules, remember?
Me: Hey bike bestie. You sure use this group chat a lot for someone who hates group chats
Chaos: Where are you Mal?
Sin: Malice, word to the wise, I wouldn’t push him right now if I were you
Me: You’re all a bunch of whiny assholes
Chaos: Malice
Me: I’m shopping
Chaos: Shopping for what?
Me: Information
Wrath: What kind of information
Sin: And where?
Chaos: No one is supposed to be out alone
Me: Yeah but I’m stealthy, no one ever knows I’m there
Chaos: Your bike gives you away
Me: Okay that’s a solid point
Me: But I’m careful. Just needed to get some things
Me: Heading back in a few.
Chaos: Turn your tracker back on
Me: No can do Prez
Chaos: Malice. Tracker. Now
Me: I can’t hear you
Chaos: But you can read
Me: Never learned how to do that either
Chaos: for fuck’s sake just get home
Sin: I’m gonna be pissed if we have to scrape you off the road with a shovel. Take it easy Mal and get home
Me: Aye-aye Captain!
After seeing the room light up on my phone through the security app, I close everything out and head back outside. For the first time in a long time, I’m eager for morning to come so I can get a glimpse of my little pixie.