Property of Bull (Kings of Anarchy MC: South Dakota #1)

Prologue

“Please, you don’t have the guts,” one of my older cousins sneers, looking down at me.

“Yeah, and I bet they have stacks of dead bodies back there,” another one chimes in, he’s probably closer to my age, but has several inches on me.

“Is she even related to us? How old are you, kid?” One of the boys, who must be in high school asks.

“I’m nearly ten. I’ll take a picture and be back,” I bite out the words, turning on my heel as I stalk toward the door that reads Employees Only.

“That’s her blood grandmother.” I hear my half-cousins continue to talk behind my back.

So much for the family reunion Grandma always wanted.

Unfortunately, she had to die to get it. As much as she talked about having all of Grandpa’s kids and grandkids together at the same time, it turns out it’s just a bunch of people with almost nothing in common.

I can’t remember exactly what Dad said, but I think my granddad was married twice before Grandma and brought four other kids into the marriage. His wives keep dying on him. At least that’s what people in this room keep saying when they think no one’s listening.

Reaching out for the door handle, I’m more than a little annoyed to find it unlocked.

Shouldn’t funeral homes be more careful? Don’t they cut up and burn bodies back here? Now I have to follow through with this stupid dare.

I hold the doorknob as it slowly closes behind me and breathe a sigh of relief when that’s accomplished without making any noise and I tip-toe down the dimly lit hallway, pausing briefly at the weird noise coming from one of the closed doors.

The muffled sound of someone talking has me moving again.

Peeking into one of the open doors near the far end of the hallway, it looks like something out of the TV shows my parents watch, except with just three of those metal locker doors.

I open the middle one and this time, I’m beyond grateful.

It is empty and the way I see it, my cousins will never know if there are bodies in the other two.

I pull out the tray and jump up on it before snapping a selfie. The tray is barely back inside the compartment when I distinctly hear someone cry out, quickly followed by a thud and a man’s voice.

It’s impossible to hear what was said, but it’s enough for me to know that I need to get the heck out of here.

Slowly leaning my head out of the door, there’s now a large man in dirty jeans and a leather vest, blocking the hallway that was empty just moments ago. He’s holding open one of the doors, his gaze is fixed on whatever is happening in the room he just stepped out of.

A loud smack followed by another groan suddenly leaves no doubt in my young mind what is taking place. Dad and I have seen every Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwartzenegger movie ever made, so I’ve heard it plenty of times.

“Let’s not forget we have a full house out there,” the man’s voice sounds as rough as he looks. “Finish him and stow him. He ain’t gonna tell us anything we don’t already know. Kid, go down the hall and get a bag and the trolley for his body. We’ll cremate him when the funeral wraps up.”

The moaning intensifies, but I can’t make out any words—I’ve completely frozen in place, my eyes locked on the metal cart that he must be talking about.

Looking around the room, even though I already know there’s no place to hide, I slide behind the door, squeezing myself against the wall as if it could swallow me up.

While I can’t see his face, the size of the man who comes into the room certainly isn’t a ‘kid’. He seems to know exactly where to find the body bag and tosses it onto the cart, it’s the noise he makes when he turns around, that tells me I’m in trouble.

He doesn’t say a word, just takes a step to put us face to face.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Then, just like I had done a few moments before, he looks around the room for a better hiding spot. Loudly exhaling, he shakes his head before continuing. “Don’t make a sound.”

When he pushes the cart out into the hallway, I turn my head to look through the tiny crack between the door and the wall and see his head turn back and forth before he mumbles under his breath. Unable to hear him, I just follow his earlier instruction and stay still.

The sound of men walking toward me, talking quietly among themselves reaches me just before I see them walking past the narrow peephole I have into the hall.

“Dumbass couldn’t have thought he’d get away with that,” a tall thin man with flaming red hair says to a shorter, thicker man with a shaved head.

“He had a steel-jaw though, my fucking knuckles are screaming,” the shorter one responds just as I hear metal groan and realize they just pushed open the back door.

For a few moments, there’s no noise except the beating of my heart, then I hear some rumbling from down the hall.

“…I got it. Don’t you have to get back out to the wake?”

“Yeah, but I doubt Benny is any lighter than he was when he was breathing.”

“I got him. Don’t forget to take your cut off this time,” the man who told me to stay hidden says. He’s made his way back to my line of sight and has paused near the doorway, holding the cart in front of him as if to block the other man.

“No shit. When you finish up, make sure you don’t got any blood on ya, then grab the extra jacket from my office. About time you started shadowing me.”

“Dad, I told you that I don’t want …”

“Don’t care and you ain’t so big yet that I can’t beat the shit out of you.” The hidden man’s words almost make me shudder, until I realize that his tone of voice sounds just like my dad does when he’s proud of me.

“Keep telling yourself that.” The retort comes easily, along with the smirk on his face. “Sure, I’ll be out in a few.”

“Don’t forget to…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Check my boots for blood. I know the drill, old man.”

He walks around the cart and pushes it into the room ahead of him, right up to the metal drawer I had just used to take my photo.

Holding a hand out in my direction, he indicates that I should stay put before he starts to transfer the body from the cart to the shelf.

Right as he starts to slide the body inside, we hear the door at the far end of the hall open and close.

Leaving the body where it is, he crosses to peek into the hallway. “Dad?” he calls out, checking to see if we’re alone.

After a moment of silence, he waves me out from behind the door and stands there glaring down at me. “What the fuck do you think you’re playing at? Do you have any idea what they …”

“I’m sorry,” the words burst out of me at the same time as my tears. “My cousins dared me. And I didn’t know that, I mean, what was happening. The door wasn’t locked.”

“Calm down,” he says, reaching his arm out and awkwardly pats me on the head like I’m a puppy. “What’s your name?”

“Margo Tucker,” I gasp out, trying to control my breathing.

“That your grandma’s wake?” he asks, putting everything together.

“Yes, sir,” I answer, looking up in time to see a smile crack his face.

“No one’s ever called me ‘sir’ before. Everyone calls me Bull,” he says. “I’m still in high school. How about you?”

“Fourth grade.”

“Fourth grade, huh? I can’t remember, are fourth graders any good at keeping secrets?”

I nod my head as rapidly as the bobble head doll in Granddad’s old station wagon.

“You’re not going to blab to your cousins either, are you? Trying to brag?”

“No, sir. I mean Bull.”

“Okay then. I’ll walk you out of here, but you never tell anyone about what you’ve seen, you understand me? The Kings are everywhere, and you’ve seen what they to snitches.”

Wiping my sleeve across my eyes, I take a deep breath and look up at him the same way I do my Dad when I’m trying to play innocent. “What do you mean? I didn’t see anything.”

He studies me for a few seconds before snorting. “Good girl.”

Turning, he shuts away the body and motions me to follow him down the hall, holding up a finger when he opens a door and ducks inside to grab a suit jacket. I look him up and down as he pulls it over his leather vest and quickly point down to his left boot.

“Damn if I didn’t forget to check,” he says, patting me on the head again before pulling a bandana from his back pocket and swiping it over the bloody residue a few times. “Thanks, Margo.”

“My dad calls me Go-Go,” I tell him, wanting him to know I have a nickname also, but I only get a shrug in response.

With that, he precedes me out of the door. At his wave, I dart into the crowd of people and look around. No longer interested with impressing my cousins I hurry to join my dad and granddad.

I spend the rest of the day nestled between them except when Dad sends me to get them coffee or water. It’s those times that I see Bull standing beside his own father.

The man responsible for the scene I overheard in the back area. A man who can easily order a death, then put on a jacket to comfort a mourning family and community.

Never, in all of those R-rated monster movies that I’ve watched with my dad have I ever felt truly scared. Not until now.

“Eli, it’s been a while,” the monster says, shaking my dad’s hand and I can instantly tell Dad doesn’t like him. “I haven’t seen Ashleigh, but it looks her mini-me is here. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

When I step back, desperately wanting to run away, Dad answers for me.

“Not as outgoing as her momma, is she?” The monster’s eyes study my face, as though trying to see inside of me. Unable to meet his probing gaze I keep my eyes glued to the hint of a tattoo that ever so slightly sits above his collar.

“Maybe just more particular about who she talks to,” Granddad responds, this time covering for both Dad and me. “Thank you for pulling this all together, Edward. I see you’re training your son in the family business.”

“My boy looks just like his momma did. Thankfully he got my size.”

“And then some.” It’s when Granddad tosses out that little comment that I see the faintest hint of annoyance cross the man’s face. It’s gone in a flash, but after drawing his eyes away from me, they fall on his son, who quickly moves to stand by his side.

“Stryker, you know Mr. Tucker, of course. This is his son, Eli, and granddaughter, Margo,” the monster politely introduces everyone.

“I’m very sorry for the loss of Mrs. Tucker,” Bull responds, pausing to look at each of us in turn. “I always liked the cookies she’d bake for us in Sunday School.”

I giggle at the thought of him going to church, but a quick jab of my dad’s elbow has me covering my mouth. “She did make the best cookies,” I say, trying to excuse my laugh.

“George, now might be the right time to get up and say a few words. If you’re up to it?” the monster suggests and my granddad nods in agreement.

The rest of the day I avoid my cousins. I know I could easily stop the mocking glances they shoot my way, but I don’t want anyone to know that I was back there.

That might lead to other questions.