Chapter 9
NINE
SUGAR
“Fuck,” I groaned. Since the storm was twelve hours early, we had a lot of shit to get done on top of dealing with a dead body and the bitch who killed it. We didn’t have the extra time for either.
“We need to get them over to the clubhouse and get this room cleaned,” Biscuit said. “And we gotta start getting shit ready for the storm.”
“Biscuit, text Bush and Cookie. Have each one bring a golf cart. And tell one of them to bring a poncho or some black trash bags. Biscuit and Bean will take the body back to the clubhouse with whoever gets here first. Sugar, you take her on the next cart. Beaver, ride back with them and keep doing what you’re doing at the clubhouse.
I’ll stay here and wait for the cleaners. Then I’ll call Mom,” Whisker ordered.
While waiting for Bush and Cookie to arrive, I started gathering Matthew’s shit. He didn’t have much with him, but I did find a large envelope in the nightstand. The first thing I pulled out was a one-way airline ticket for Matthew Heinz.
“Hey, Prez,” I called, reaching inside for the rest of the contents. “You might want to see—Oh, fuck no!” I turned my head away in disgust. I didn’t need to see more than the first picture to know what the rest were.
“Might want to see what?”
“Here.” I handed everything to him. “I found it in the nightstand. Plane ticket, cash, and at least one picture of a naked child. I’m not looking at the others.”
Whisker put everything back in the envelope, but not before he glanced at the top photo. He looked at Matthew and narrowed his eyes. “I would’ve made you suffer more.”
Before I could point out the last name on Matthew’s plane ticket, Cookie arrived with black ponchos, trash bags, puppy pads, and duct tape.
“Slit taught me this trick,” he said as he covered Matthew’s abdomen with a puppy pad and secured it with duct tape.
Then he folded another pad and taped it around Matthew’s gaping neck.
“Keeps the blood from spilling everywhere when you need to move a body. Works pretty well for short distances. No one will see it under the poncho.”
He was right. When Biscuit and Bean lifted Matthew’s poncho-covered body and walked it out as if they were assisting an inebriated guest to the hotel shuttle, they didn’t leave a drop of blood behind.
Bush arrived right after the first cart left, and I went inside to get Kalani. Restrained or not, I didn’t trust the feisty bitch. She was quick, clever, and a little unhinged. It would’ve been hot as fuck if she hadn’t stabbed me.
Meh. I’d still fuck her.
“Time to go,” I told her. I was going to help her sit up, but she made herself bounce on the bed and did it on her own. Slipping the poncho over her head, I pulled it down to cover her bound hands. “You gonna be a problem?”
She shook her head no.
I looked down at the rope tied around her ankles. “I’m gonna cut that,” I said and flicked open my knife. “Before you think about kicking me, I stab too.”
She nodded once in acknowledgment.
I bent down to cut the rope fully expecting her to kick the shit out of me and found myself a little disappointed when she didn’t.
“Let’s go.” With my hand underneath the poncho, I held onto her upper arm and led her to the door.
“Keep her with you until I say otherwise,” Whisker said.
I looked to my left, then my right, but there was no one else he could’ve been talking to except for me.
Motherfucker.
“Yes, Prez.” I knew why he chose me to babysit her. Because she stabbed me once and got away from me twice. He knew good and damn well I wouldn’t let it happen a third time. But fuck, it was already close to midnight, which meant she was going to be with me all night.
The clubhouse was a replica of Charli’s Place.
When Cooter found the property, he offered to build a new hotel for Charli so he could use the original building for the clubhouse, but Charli thought it was ridiculous to rebuild the hotel and renovate the existing one when he could build a new clubhouse exactly like the hotel if he wanted.
So, he hired a crew to recreate Charli’s Place with the necessary changes and additions to make it suitable for a clubhouse—like the basement with cells.
Situated on opposite ends of thirty acres along the coast with dense foliage between, the hotel and clubhouse looked like mirror images overlooking the ocean.
I considered my options of where I could take her and decided on my room. I wanted to be comfortable, and I really didn’t think she would try anything and risk Birdie’s life, even though she didn’t seem to care much about risking her own.
When Bush came to a stop in front of the clubhouse, I walked her up the stairs to my room.
Our rooms were connected to the main house by a covered breezeway.
The two-story building had four rooms on each floor that were setup like studio apartments, similar to the luxury suites at Charli’s Place.
I was on the second floor in the room closest to the clubhouse.
Once inside, I led her to a chair and removed her poncho. “Sit.” To make things easier, I used the duct tape Cookie left behind to tape her upper body to the chair. Then I secured each ankle to a leg of the chair. The entire time, she didn’t utter a word.
Since I couldn’t do anything else to help prepare for the storm, I made myself comfortable on the couch and turned on one of the weather channels.
Though there wasn’t much to do aside from setting up the flood barriers.
We stayed prepared for natural disasters because we lived on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with temperamental weather and the world’s largest active volcano.
As I listened to the weather reports, I waited for her to say or do something.
I wasn’t expecting unwavering silence and compliance.
She hadn’t made a sound and had barely moved since I taped her to the chair.
It was unnerving, and fuck her for making me uncomfortable in my own damn home.
After an hour, I’d had enough and got up to demand some answers from her.
Her head was lolled to the side and her eyes were closed. As I got closer, I realized she was asleep. After killing a man and getting captured by a motorcycle club, the bitch was asleep.
I slapped my hand down on the table beside her and leaned close as I yelled, “Why the fuck did—”
Her head shot up, and she slammed her forehead into mine, sending pain radiating through my skull. I reached for my head as I stumbled back a few steps. “What the fuck?”
She stared at me, seemingly unfazed.
I wanted to strangle her. For a few seconds. Maybe longer.
Inhaling deeply, I tried to get a handle on the rage building inside me. “Why aren’t you talking?” I gritted out.
She slightly tipped her head forward and arched an eyebrow.
I wanted to scream. Then I remembered the conversation I had with Bean about the same thing. “You told her you’d break her jaw if she made any noise.”
Fucking hell.
“You can talk,” I said. “Don’t fucking scream or yell or try to get anyone’s attention, but you can talk. Until I say you can’t.”
“Is your name Sugar?”
“Yes.”
“Sugar, you’re kind of a mess.”
This bitch.
“You’re definitely a cunt.”
She tried to shrug, but the tape made it difficult, which I found to be hilarious until my laughter didn’t piss her off like I thought it would.
“Why the fuck did I what?” she asked.
It took me a moment to realize what she meant. She was really messing with my head.
“Why the fuck did you stab me?” I asked with far less aggression than I had the first time.
“Oh,” she said and rolled her eyes. “Because you interrupted my murder attempt by grabbing me from behind and covering my mouth. I responded accordingly for the situation.”
“I didn’t know you were there to murder him. I thought you were an escort!”
“You could’ve asked.”
“When?” I almost yelled. “You stabbed me within seconds.”
“When you threatened to break my neck, you could’ve asked me what I was doing,” she said simply.
“Are you fucking serious?” I asked, throwing my hands in the air.
“Yes.”
Her unwavering calm was pissing me off.
“If you’re not supposed to be on our property, I’m not fucking asking you what you’re doing first.”
“And that’s why I stabbed you,” she said. “Hold on, I thought you thought I was an escort. Do you manhandle all women trying to make a living or just sex workers?”
Inhaling deeply, I tried to find some patience. “I thought you were an escort until I saw you trying to pick the lock.”
“So, for all you knew, he had a rape fantasy I was fulfilling.”
I stared at her for several moments trying to figure out what she was possibly thinking.
“If you’re just going to stare at me, I’m going to close my eyes again.”
“No,” I said before I could stop myself, not that I would have. “You’re not. You don’t get to come here and cause chaos—twice—and get to nap.”
“I’m not napping. I’m setting a boundary the only way I can,” the bitch said with her eyes closed.
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Cute. You’re trying to use therapy-speak on me.”
“Trying? Pretty sure I did, but yay for you for knowing what therapy-speak is.”
My familiarity with therapy words wasn’t a choice, it was mandated, but that wasn’t information I freely shared.
My past was complicated, or my feelings about it were.
I went to prison fully believing I was doing the right thing to protect my family.
Later, I learned the truth. I had been lied to by the person I trusted the most, the person I was trying to protect—my brother.
I shook my head to clear him from my thoughts and turned my back to the woman driving me batshit crazy. She stabbed me and would be dealt with. It didn’t matter if she slept while we waited for that to happen. Because after hearing what she had to say, I’d rather she kept her eyes and mouth closed.