Chapter 6
CILLA
“Bono, if you don’t stop with that shit about bottles of beer, I’m going to block you out and not allow you back in. You comprende?” I am on my last nerve with this asshole. He’s been singing this damn song since I opened my eyes.
*Okay, Cilla. I’ll stop, but I need you to tell my brothers anything I find out*
“Bono, I’m doing that anyway, so give me a break will you. I’m tired. I’m working early shifts and blocking you all out mentally is having a detrimental effect on my energy.”
*I’m going to see what that ZeBach is up to, but I’ll be back later*
I’m thinking, of course you will, as he disappears from my mind. Looking at the time, I need to make a dash for it, or I’m going to be late for work. I don’t want Shelby thinking I’m not up to the job by not being reliable.
Three hours later and the rush for breakfast service is over. Shelby hands me a glass of iced mint tea, which she makes for herself more than for a customer. “Thanks, Shelby,” I quickly take a sip and sigh after the stream of cool liquid lines my throat.
“Tracy is making a lamb dish. Some Mexican thing. I’m not sure the customers will go for it, but she can try it as it isn’t a substantial amount of meat she’s using.” Shelby leans back in her seat, and I can see she’s tired.
“What is it she’s making?” I ask because I know nothing about Mexican food.
Grinning, Shelby replies with such a look of amusement that I’m sure I’m going to be no more clued in on what it is than I am now. “It is lamb barbacoa. Tracy said she’ll serve it as warm tacos or with a flatbread.”
Now, I am still the same clueless idiot as I was before she told me.
Taking out her phone, Shelby typed for a moment before handing it to me.
It was a picture of the dish. Now, it looks good and I reckon I’m going to ask Tracy to let me have one.
Oh! I wonder if she can leave the jalape?os off mine?
“Do you think Tracy will keep one for me to try, without the jalapenos?” I asked Shelby, but before she could reply a plate was placed in front of us on the table.
Tracy grins. “Here you go. Pick off the jalape?os, Cilla.”
I do just that and take a bite and wow, this is good. I chew slowly, savoring every bite. My eyes are closed, and I swallow slowly before looking at Tracy. “That is good. Oh, yeah, that is good. I love it, and I can imagine they are going to be popular.”
Tracy hands me a small serving of sour cream, and I spoon some on top of the lamb. Taking another bite, I cannot hold back the hum of pleasure from the taste.
Giggles have me opening my eyes slowly, right before scowling at Shelby and Tracy. “Oh, you like it, Cilla.” Shelby laughs again.
I cross my eyes at her right before taking another bite. “Can you write me the recipe so I can make some of this, Tracy?”
Tracy takes a card out of her pocket and hands it to me.
“I knew you and Shelby would want to make these, so I wrote the recipe and kept it simple. The ingredients will make ten servings. You can make less. It really is up to you. Make it in the slow cooker and it’ll be great when you get home from work. ”
“Did you make it in the slow cooker?” Shelby asks.
Tracy grins. “I didn’t. I used the stove. But you can use the slow cooker, just remember will need five or six hours. You can make it ahead of time if you cover and keep it in the fridge. Oh, and you can freeze it. But freeze the meat and the liquid separately.”
Taking the card, I stick it down my t-shirt and tuck it into my bra. No way am I losing that out of my pants pocket. “Thank you, Tracy. I will make this and hope it turns out as well as yours has, but this will sell, Shelby, I’m sure.”
Shelby nods as she finishes her taco and looks at Tracy. “Give it a go, Tracy. Make sure you price it up accordingly and make it a Wednesday special or something like that.”
“Okay, I will do. I’ll put these on sale for the lunch crowd.
I made thirty of them because I can imagine they will sell in twos, rather than as a single taco.
Especially the men, they’ll not just want one.
” Tracy walks back to the kitchen still mumbling to herself, and I quickly finish my taco and get back to work.
Now, I’m sure you guessed that the tacos sold like hotcakes and were gone within twenty minutes of being introduced to the lunchtime crowd. An enormous success, and it was easy to see Tracy was excited at the reception they had.
Finishing my shift, I quickly change into my day clothes of jeans, t-shirt, jacket, and pumps.
I put my work clothes into a bag and head out.
I want to get the laundry done when I get home, but I have to stop at the grocery store on the way.
I need to get the ingredients for this lamb whatever it was called.
Once I’ve gotten everything from the grocery store, I hurry to the small butcher on the corner of the street. It’s a nice shop and I like to support them by purchasing there instead of at the supermarket.
I’m excited when I get the lamb, after I have shown the butcher what I want the lamb for, I make my way back to the truck where I’m going to quickly make my way home.
Passing a man on the sidewalk who bumps into me hard enough that I stumble and drop my bag I hear Bono scream in my mind that he is the bomber.
I take my phone out and take photographs of the asshole as he’s walking away, but I’m thankful he turns my way to check if the road is clear to cross and I get a clean photograph of his face.
“Gotcha!” I think as I grab my bag and rush to my truck. I head home and quickly place my groceries in the fridge. I throw everything in the washing machine and set it going before picking up my keys once more and heading to the truck.
*Are you going to tell them? Cilla, are you?*
“Bono, shut up. I’m going to the clubhouse now, so be quiet while I drive.”
At the gate of the clubhouse, a young man asks what I want, and I keep my voice as calm as possible when I respond, “I’m here with a message for Tracker or Finger. Whoever is available, but it is important.”
I wait patiently while he uses his mobile to contact someone. Opening the gate, he waves me through with a slight smile. Now, he’s not said who I’ll be seeing, but it doesn’t matter as long as I show someone this man's face.
Jumping out of the truck, the front door of the clubhouse opens, and a man appears who I’m not sure I’ve met before. But if I’m honest, they all seem to look similar, tall, broad, and lethal looking.
“Hi, Cilla, come on through to Pres’ office. Do you need a drink or anything?”
“Um, no thank you,” I reply as I lean forward and read the patch on the front of his vest. Noticing my glance, he speaks again, “I’m Coin, the treasurer of the club. I know we’ve not met before, but it’s nice to meet you, Cilla.”
“Oh, thank you. Nice to meet you too.” Now, I don’t know why I can’t keep my mouth shut, but I blurt, “Your Uncle Sole said you have to be checked by the doctor. You have a hernia in your future if you don’t get it looked at now.”
Coin jerks to a halt and looks at me with so much shock that I struggle not to laugh. “How the hell do you know of my Uncle Sole? The man’s been dead for nigh on twenty years?”
“Well, he’s standing behind you laughing his ass off at you right now.
He’s a handsome devil,” I state, and as I’m checking out his Uncle Sole, I can see the asshole is preening at the attention.
Shaking my head in disgust at myself for checking out a freaking dead guy, I step toward the door that has President on it.
After knocking and walking in when I hear my name, I glance back at Coin, who is still standing with such a look of shock on his face still that I giggle as I walk into Tracker’s office.
Tracker is leaning forward over his desk, elbows on the desk and hands steepled. But it’s the smirk on his face that catches my attention. “Are you messing with my men, Cilla?”
I don’t even try to hold back the smile. “No, but his Uncle Sole had a health message, so I passed it on. I hope he didn’t piss his pants?”
That is when I giggle at the even broader smirk Tracker has on his face and at what he shouts. “Coin, you piss your pants and you are going in the shed. Not having any weak-ass pussies on my officer team.”
“Fuck off, Pres. My pants are perfectly dry.” I giggle again as I hear Coin walking away but mumbling to himself about being in the sandbox, so why would a ghost make him piss his pants!
“So, what is it you came about, Cilla?” Tracker asks, turning our conversation from playful to serious.
I take out my phone, find the pictures I took, and hand my phone to Tracker.
“I literally bumped into this man on Main Street. He was mumbling to himself, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Bono screamed in my mind that this is your bomber.
This is the man who is going to set the bomb here at the clubhouse. ”
Now, I’m not sure how to describe what happens, but the aura around this man changes from normal to ice-cold in seconds. His eyes are hard and show no sign of life in them. He stares at the picture, and then once more flicks through them before looking at me. “Are you sure about this, Cilla?”
*Tell him Operation Zombie*
“Bono said to tell you Operation Zombie.”
Tracker jumps to his feet and heads for the door. Right as he steps into the hallway he bellows, “OFFICERS TO CHURCH, NOW!”
I’m wondering what the heck Operation Zombie is, but I am not stupid enough to ask.
I’m sure it’s something to do with their military careers.
Nobody in their right mind wants to ask or know what happened to our military when under command.
I pick up my phone, which Tracker had laid on the desk, but he reaches out and takes it from me.
He doesn’t snatch it. He takes it gently enough not to shake me.
“I’m going to send these pictures to Keys, Cilla. He can run facial recognition and see if we get a hit on this guy. If you see him anywhere, you stay away from him. You hear me? He wouldn’t think twice about getting rid of you to keep his identity a secret.”
Nodding in response, I understand what he’s telling me. “I’ll do that. But if Bono finds out more, I’ll tell you. I have your contact in my phone and Finger’s too, so I’ll reach out.”
“Stay and have supper, Cilla. I’d like to speak with you again when I’ve spoken to my officers. Can I keep your phone until then?”
“Yes, of course.” I’m led through to the kitchen where an enormous table is being prepped ready for the meal.
Tracker places his hand on my lower back as we step into the middle of the room. “Jo, this is Cilla. She’s going to stay for supper tonight. Can she stay with you until we eat? I’m just holding officers’ church, but we won’t take too long.”
“Okay, Pres, no problem,” Jo replies and gives me a friendly smile.
Tracker walks out of the kitchen, and I take a seat, feeling out of place. Another woman walks into the kitchen and gives me a smile. “Anna, this is Cilla. She’s staying with us for supper. Make sure the brothers don’t leave her a small plate when you hand out the meal.”
We get to talking about general things, and I tell them about Tracy and her lamb taco thing.
When asked what was in it, I dig into my bra where I’ve kept the damn recipe.
I used it in the grocery and butcher shop, but both times stuffed it back in the bra for safety.
Jo and Anna both laugh at where I’ve tucked it but admit they have a habit of doing that too.
“Is the Fluff eating?” Anna asks Jo and I’m wondering what fluff they are talking about.
“Now, you know we don’t call them that anymore, Anna,” Jo shakes her head, but it’s easy to see she’s amused.
Turning to me she explains, “Fluff is what the brothers used to call the club women. But it went when two of the Fluff of the time were found to not be so cute and sweet. Hence, they became club whores, but none of us in the kitchen and cleaning staff liked to hear that, so we petitioned Pres to call them club women, and that is what they are now.”
“How many kitchen and cleaning staff are there?” I gingerly brave the question.
Jo smirks, “Four. There are two cleaners and two cooks.”
I blink a few times as my mind tries to work out that four women who are domestic staff petitioned Tracker, the hardened biker to change the name of the women who, well you know what they do.
“Four of you petitioned the president to change the name? And he did it?” I am flabbergasted.
“Yes, and yes. Our Pres is one hell of a man, and he listens when spoken to. He isn’t shy about coming forward and expects us not to be.” Anna picks up a pile of dinner plates and lays them out on the counter ready to serve the meal.
Men appear, and the conversation is over, but I’m still boggled that four women could even make a petition, never mind serve it to Tracker!
I’m sitting quietly, looking at the steak, roasted vegetables, and nice chunk of fresh bread that I’ve been given, to notice who sits beside me.
But looking at the person it’s a man I’ve not met before.
He’s tall even sitting I can tell that. Dark hair and gorgeous brown eyes.
He winks because I’ve been quietly observing him.
Now I’m blushing to my hair roots and feel like a fool.
“My name’s Brewer. I guess you are Cilla?” said questioningly.
“Yes, I’m Cilla.” Now, before I can say more a misty person appears behind Brewer and grabs him around the neck.
I jump to my feet and hold my hand out, throwing as much of my aura as I can.
“Bono, stop this asshole!” I shout. The men in the room are looking around to see who I’m shouting to.
But I’m more concerned that Brewer is turning red and showing a tinge of blue.
“Get the fuck off him!” I close my eyes and throw every thought I have at the phantom, and imagine he is thrown back.
To my shock that happens, and I hear Brewer gasping.
Bono appears and launches himself at whoever this attacker is, and I hear the surrounding room in a ruckus, but I’m struggling with my energy.
I didn’t realize throwing my thoughts like that would zap my psychic energy, but that’s exactly what happens, and I see dark dots right before everything turns black.