Chapter Thirty
Zero
“Zero! You’re with me. Let’s go,” Gunner yelled as he ran out the front the door.
I didn’t know what had happened, but I didn’t hesitate. I would have my brothers back. I followed him out of the clubhouse and hopped on my bike, starting it up immediately.
With no idea where we were headed, I’d need to push my girl hard to stay with him. Hearing the rumble behind me, I turned and saw Cash, Ghost, Jingles, and King following behind me.
We rode through town into a small neighborhood. It finally sank in as to why I was needed, and six loud bikes roaring into a quiet neighborhood wasn’t going to help the situation. It would draw attention where we didn’t want any.
I was the club’s cleaner.
It was my job to make sure that when we had to step over the line, there was no trace that we had been there.
My road name was Zero because I left zero trace that anything nefarious had happened. It was my job to clean up any, let’s say, questionable scenes that could lead back to us.
King’s brother was the sheriff, and he did what he could to protect us, but if there was evidence, his hands were tied. I made sure there was never any evidence.
As a kid, I lived in filth. Despite being a single mom with unchecked mental health issues, Delia Brooks did what she could. It just wasn’t enough. She didn’t drink, and she didn’t do drugs, thank God. But she also couldn’t hold down a job for longer than a few months.
She did what she could to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, but that drained her both mentally and physically. She had nothing left to give as far as safety and security.
The oldest memory I had was when I was five years old, and she took me to the doctor after I had been bitten by a rat. I slept on a small mattress on the floor of our one-room apartment. Rats crawled over me every night. One night, I must have had food on my leg because I woke up screaming and had small bites on my thigh.
Mom spent the whole next day cleaning the small room. Unfortunately, it didn’t last. Within a week, the room was as bad as it had been before.
By the time I was ten, Mom had been sick for years. At school, we’d been learning the effects of mold on our environment and our bodies. That was when I realized someone needed to clean the house regularly and if she wouldn’t do it, I would have to.
So, I learned.
At some point it had become a stress reliever for me. I found it to be soothing. And until the first time I rode a motorcycle, that was how I lowered my tension. By cleaning. I was sure if Gunner’s woman analyzed me, she would diagnose me with OCD, obsessive-compulsive disorder.
I couldn’t deny she would be right. But hey, mental illness was genetic, right? I’m sure some experts would say I developed it from the environment I grew up in. And while I could admit that was true, it didn’t diminish the hell my mother had lived in. She did the best she could taking care of me; it was only fair I did the best I could to take care of her in return.
Memories of my childhood fell away as we pulled up in front of a typical middle-income two-story home. Gunner jumped off his bike, and without taking the time to put the kickstand down, his bike landed on its side. Jingles stopped to lift the bike, while Gunner ran up the stairs. When the door didn’t open, he lifted his foot and slammed it right under the doorknob, kicking it open and seconds later, disappearing inside.
He was making my job harder. Shaking my head, I did a quick survey of the other houses on the street, noting which ones had a fucking ring doorbell so Nav could hack in and erase the footage.
“Ghost, call Nav. At least a half dozen of these houses have ring cameras.”
Ghost looked down the road and pulled out his phone, while I walked inside to see what I was dealing with. Stepping through the doorway, I stopped. King, Cash, and Jingles stood by the door, while Gunner was across the room with Haizley in his arms.
“We need to call Dec. This was self-defense.”
“No,” Gunner snarled.
“This is cut and dry, Gun,” King argued.
“Would you call your fucking brother if it was Grace?”
King’s jaw ticked.
We all knew there was something going on between King and Grace. No one asked about it though. He would tell us when he was ready. Grace had been adamant with the girls that nothing was happening between the two of them. But a man didn’t react to a woman the way King reacted to Grace if he wasn’t in love with her. We just didn’t know what the fuck was holding him back. Instead, he preferred to act like a fucking martyr, denying himself the woman he wanted.
“Jesus Christ.”
“We didn’t go any further than here,” King said.
“Thank Christ for small fucking favors,” I groaned. “I’m gonna need the van. Call Shotgun and tell him to get his ass over here with it.”
The three of them knew not to go any further into the room. But I had no choice. There was no way for me to clean the area without traipsing through it. Once Shotgun showed up, I would take the necessary precautions. For now, I walked over and crouched down where Gunner sat with Haizley in his lap.
“Not fucking now,” he growled.
“Yes, fucking now. That’s why you brought me.” I looked at Haizley’s face. “King, call Patch. I don’t want more brothers here, but we need to get her nose set.”
King walked outside, and Jingles followed. Cash stood by the door. I wondered how this was affecting him. Losing his old lady had broken him. Haizley was trying to help put the pieces back together through therapy. He knew we knew, but none of us said a word about it. We wanted our brother back, and if therapy helped, none of us would ride his ass about it.
“Sweetheart, can you tell me everywhere that bastard was? Any other rooms?”
Haizley shook her head no. Her eyes never left the dead body on the floor. Moving over in her line of sight, she twisted to look around me.
“Tell Patch to bring a sedative.” I called to Cash, and he too walked outside.
Looking at Gunner, I said, “Once Shotgun gets here, you’ll need to take her into the bathroom and get her showered. I want you to carry her, the less people walking around the better. I’ll give you bags to put her clothes in, and yours. I’ll give you a separate bag for your cut, and I’ll clean that back at the clubhouse. The other clothes will be burned.”
Looking around the room, I exhaled a heavy breath.
“There will be clothes you can both put on after you showered. Don’t go into any other rooms until I’ve checked you over.”
Gunner nodded but didn’t say a word.
Standing, I left them where they were and took up position by the front door, waiting until Shotgun and Patch arrived.
They both put the black sterile overalls I kept in the van over their clothes before coming in, and Gunner lifted Haizley off the floor, sitting her on the kitchen island so Patch could examine her.
I walked out to the van and grabbed everything I would need, before re-entering the house without my cut. That would need to be cleaned as well as the other guys that had been in the house. Even without touching anything, I never assumed you were clean if you were in the room.
“Nav has disabled the cameras in the area so we can get the body out,” Shotgun informed me, and I nodded.
We emptied the large plastic tote I kept my supplies in and lined it with plastic sheeting. Stuffing the body into the tote, I paid no mind to the sound of bones breaking as we folded the asshole any way we could to get him to fit; I was just thankful the slimy bastard was small.
Shotgun and Patch hauled the tote outside, returning it to the van, and bringing in another one to carry my supplies when I was done. Gunner took Haizley upstairs to shower, while I rolled up the rug that Greg had landed on. It wasn’t worth trying to clean; it would need to be burned as well.
Giving Greg’s keys to Patch, he left with the car, taking it to the shop for Ace and Tank to tear apart and break down. The parts would then be sent to Arkansas for the Mother Chapter to sell. No stone would be left unturned.
When I heard the water upstairs turn off, I went up to grab the bags with the clothes and Gunner’s cut. Knocking on the door, Gunner opened it a sliver.
“I need to check her over,” I reminded her.
“No.”
“Brother.”
“You ain’t seeing her fuckin’ naked,” he growled.
With a heavy breath, I explained, “I don’t need to see her naked. I need to check her fingernails and hair.”
“Give us a second.”
He closed the door, and I waited in the hall until they were both dressed. When he finally opened the door, I could see Haizley’s eyes had already begun to blacken. We would need a plausible story for her broken nose.
Silently and methodically, I checked her over. Earlier, Gunner had been briefed to start with her hair, washing it three times before working his way down. Looking over her nails, I was satisfied they were clean as well.
“Ok, she’s good. Are you taking her to the clubhouse?”
Haizley pulled away from us and walked to her room.
Rubbing his hand over his face, he exhaled. “No, she wants to stay here.”
“Is that a good idea?” I asked, staring in the direction she went.
“She’s the therapist. I have to believe she knows what’s best for her.”
“Ok, brother. I’m gonna start here in the bathroom, then move downstairs. Shotgun and I will be here most of the night. You gotta stay up here until I’m done. The bathroom should be done in about an hour, so you can use it after I go back downstairs. Key is on his way over to fix the door. I’ll lock up when I’m done and leave the new keys on the counter.”
He nodded and followed his woman to her room.
She hadn’t said a word to any of us since we got here. I hoped she had talked to Gunner in the bathroom. I knew enough about trauma to know she needed to talk about what happened. Otherwise, it would take longer to heal. But Gunner was right. Haizley was a therapist. She knew what she needed to do.
Taking the bags with the clothes the two of them had been wearing downstairs, I handed them off to Shotgun to put in the van, making sure he knew one of them held Gunner’s cut.
Then I got to work.
Seven hours later, I felt satisfied there was zero trace left of Greg Williams anywhere in Haizley’s house. I had sent everyone else home before Shotgun and I started cleaning. King took Greg’s wallet so Nav could do a dive into him and find out what we could. That would be burned, along with everything else, once we were done.
With one last look, I triple checked everything. The prospect had done a good job with the door. Dropping the keys on the kitchen island, I locked the door and climbed on my bike. Shotgun had left with the van, and I would meet him back at the clubhouse. After I took a ride to clear my head.
When King started the chapter here in Nebraska, he had been in the Silver Shadows MC for fifteen years. Despite him wanting this to be a legit club, he knew anything could still happen. A large kiln had been built on the back side of the property. If anyone asked, the club girls enjoyed making pottery.
The reality was, we used it to burn our evidence.
Always leaving zero trace.