Chapter 10
FOOL
April: You know what sucks?
I grin as I read April’s text and type out my response.
Me: That I’m not there?
I chuckle, then hit send.
For the past week, the two of us have texted back and forth throughout the day and ended the night with a call.
I’ve been trying to go at her pace, give her time, but what she doesn’t know is that I’ve been on campus every day, following her in the shadows, watching how she reacts to those around her.
What I’ve seen doesn’t sit well with me.
She keeps to herself in a way that makes my gut churn.
Whenever a guy approaches her, she rushes away as quickly as she can, with her books clutched to her chest. I don’t like seeing it, and I don’t want her dealing with that bullshit any more than she already has.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I read the latest text from the woman who is quickly getting under my skin.
April: Um, no. That’s not what sucks.
April: Okay, it does, but that’s not what I’m talking about.
April: I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t text this much in a row. Oh well. You can be annoyed with me.
I don’t believe I would ever get annoyed with her for rambling in texts or otherwise. Not like this, at least, when she’s being cute.
Me: What’s got you so worked up that you claim it sucks, sweets?
I figured I might as well get her back on track with what she texted me about after her last class of the day. Thankfully, she’s got tomorrow with no classes and the weekend clear.
April: My professor tacked on a last-minute paper that has to be ten pages long and include all the works. I’m going to have to spend the weekend at the library to get it done so I can have it out of the way.
Like hell she’s working on it at the library all weekend.
I know her shit is important to her. She’s worked hard to keep her GPA up and to keep the scholarships she’s got.
But she needs to learn to live a little.
Besides, I have plans for her this weekend.
I’ve gone all week without touching her, no matter how close she’s been.
I want her at the clubhouse, away from school, to see if I can’t get her to open up more to me.
Bonus, I want those lips of hers on mine again.
I can’t get the taste of her out of my mouth, and I need more than the little I’ve gotten.
Me: When’s the paper due?
April: In two weeks, but I don’t enjoy wasting time on it.
I get that, and I like that she’s not a procrastinator. She gets shit done.
Me: What’s the subject of the paper?
Maybe it’s something I can help her with.
April: It’s about how a business runs and what it takes to keep margins in the black.
Hmmm.
Me: So, why do you have to be at the library all weekend to do it? I have a better offer. Why don’t you spend the weekend at the clubhouse? I’ll help you with it. The club has several businesses that are always in the black.
One of those businesses is a mortuary and funeral home with a cemetery that we all help maintain.
It’s through this that we’ve been able to run the illegal side hustles when needed.
It works out great. You’d never expect to look in the lining of coffins with dead bodies inside for guns and shit.
Not to mention, when we’ve got to get rid of a body, we’ve got a furnace equipped to burn a person to ash.
It’s surprising how little remains of a body after it’s burned.
Well, it shouldn’t be surprising. The ashes primarily consist of the box that holds the body and the teeth.
Very little of the ashes is the person themselves.
At least that’s how my brothers explained it to me.
I can believe it, considering how much water makes up the body.
I’ve seen the process it takes to get to that point and what happens with all that pertains to disposing of the bodies.
It doesn’t mean the club hasn’t dug a deeper hole to put a body in the ground where a vault will go.
The saying goes, ‘They bury you six feet deep’, but technically it’s four feet.
So, we’ll dig two feet deeper, put a body in the ground, cover them with two feet of dirt, then put the vault on top to prepare for a funeral service.
It’s not the best job, but I don’t mind it.
I can get over the smell of decaying bodies.
My phone vibrates again, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I glance at April’s message.
April: You guys would seriously help me?
Me: Damn right we would. You don’t need books to write the paper if it’s about businesses and how to keep the margins in the black. Seeing firsthand how a business is run is essential. Cannon will sit down and help you with it. All you gotta do is ask.
Which I’ll ask for her. Each night, after returning to the clubhouse from my position shadowing her, with a prospect taking my place, I’ve told him about the guys and what my gut is telling me about the situation. There’s no way he wouldn’t help her.
Besides, getting her off campus for a little while will do her some good.
Me: I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes. Pack a bag for the weekend.
I figured that would give her enough time to gather whatever she needed.
My bike’s parked three blocks away, so it won’t take me long to get to her place, but she doesn’t know I’ve been shadowing her this past week.
If she knew, she might flip out on me and change her mind about coming to the clubhouse.
Once I get her there, I’ll explain that I’ve been shadowing her all week. If she understands what I’ve observed, she may open up to me, reducing my need to ask Rimfire to investigate the different guys I’ve sent him photos of.
April: Are you serious right now?
Me: 30 minutes, sweets. That’s all you’ve got.
I shove my phone in my pocket and keep following April until she gets to her apartment, laughing to myself as she picks up the pace. She’s nearly running, moving as fast as she can. I might just have to tease her about it when I tell her about my week’s activities.
I’m sure she’ll blush the way she does when something gets to her. I’ve seen it a few times from a distance, but I look forward to seeing it up close and personal.
“This is your clubhouse?” April gapes, sliding off the back of my bike.
“Yeah.” I grin, watching her as she takes in the massive warehouse the club converted into the clubhouse.
The original members started the club here, in a massive brick warehouse that used to store tobacco products for shipping.
The club bought it outright when the business went under, and in 1987, when they founded the club, they also bought the mortuary and cemetery grounds just five minutes down the road.
Ten years after the club started, each founding member split off to expand the club and the business.
Each club expanded into two state territories.
Over the years, those members either opened two separate clubs or one that covered both.
Rex, the founding President and Cannon’s grandfather, put both his grandsons in charge of the clubs here and in Mississippi.
Cannon got Virginia, while Steel got Mississippi.
It’s worked out for them both, and, as far as I know, all the businesses under the club’s name are flourishing.
Rex is around, off and on, throughout the year.
He goes back and forth between here and Mississippi, spending time at both clubhouses.
Rex and his ol’ lady raised both Cannon and Steel after their son’s tragic accident.
I don’t know what happened to the mom. Cannon’s not one to talk about it, and I respect that he doesn’t bring up his past.
But looking at April, taking in our clubhouse, I turn to the building to see if I can’t see it from her perspective.
From the outside, it looks worn and rundown, but I know it’s not.
The club fixed the place up. When she walks in, she’ll see the difference.
Woodwork and chrome make up most of the clubhouse.
Tables and chairs are scattered around, with three pool tables off to one side.
A large-ass TV and a sectional are in another area.
Along one wall is a bar, with beams running up to the ceiling on either side.
There’s a door right at the end of it that leads to a kitchen that was remodeled a few years ago for Rex’s ol’ lady, who loves to cook her ass off.
She spoils her ‘boys’ with the meals and treats she makes in there.
Toward the back of the first level, we hold church and the offices for Cannon and Hornet. The second and third levels of the warehouse hold the bedrooms, all remodeled, so each room has an attached bathroom.
What April can’t see is the small building behind the clubhouse where the clubwhores stay. It’s all one room with a large shared bathroom. Multiple shower heads and three toilets for them. Kinda reminds me of a jail cell for women, and they have to share everything.
“This is pretty cool. I like the look of the aged brick and mortar. It screams ‘Enter at your own risk’,” April says, eyes on me.
My lip tips up on one side as I take her in. “Yeah, guess you could say that.” I swing a leg over, straighten, and take her bag from her. “Come on, let’s get you inside. You can meet the rest of my brothers.”
“Um, yeah, sure,” she murmurs, adjusting the straps of her backpack.
I grab her other pack from one of the saddlebags and sling an arm over her shoulders, tucking her close to my side. “It’s gonna be all right. It’s not your first time at a clubhouse.”
“True, but every club is different, I’m sure,” she says quietly.
“You’re right,” I agree. “Every club is different, but you’ve got nothing to worry about.” And if she does, I’ll take care of it. No one is going to fuck with her here. If they do, I’ll put a boot in their ass.