Zombie’s Howl-O-Ween (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #14)

Chapter 1

Trixie

Halloween was always a busy time at Schafer’s Deli Shop, my family’s place. Actually, every holiday brought in a lot of customers. Same with football season. Weekends. Then there was the work-week lunch rush.

We sold a ton of meat and cheese trays and the party-size submarines that were three feet long. My job wasn’t glamorous, and I smelled like German sausage at the end of each day. But there was no place I wanted to be more than here, helping my parents.

My dad was an only child like his dad before him. My grandpa opened the deli in Bastion Township over fifty years ago. And since I was also an only child, my dad would pass it down to me like his father had given it to him.

Basically, I’d always known what my future would look like. I’d grown up in the shop, learned the tricks of the trade, and how to run the business.

I was proud of my family’s success. Schafer’s Deli was a household name in our town. The locals loved the food and service we provided. When many small businesses had failed, ours had thrived.

Our regular customers were known by name, and they knew us. It was pretty cool, if you asked me. We were all like one large family in Bastion Township.

And I had no intention of ever moving away and doing anything else.

My gaze darted to a large analog clock on the side wall. In exactly five minutes, Brandon would enter wearing his dark shades, even though it was a cloudy day. He’d be sporting his leather biker vest and a pair of perfectly worn jeans, faded in all the right places.

Butterflies woke in my belly and my heart quickened in anticipation of his arrival.

As it was Wednesday, Brandon, aka Zombie in his club, would order a footlong pastrami sandwich, only meat, cheese, and spicy mustard. He didn’t like veggies on his sandwiches and ordered a different one each day of the week.

No matter how many times I asked him if he’d like the usual, he’d tell me exactly what he wanted as if he didn’t hear me. As if I didn’t have his orders memorized after all these years. He had never veered off his food schedule… ever.

Brandon was strange in an intriguing sort of way.

Super-hot.

And a member of the Knight’s Legion MC, which meant dangerous.

He probably didn’t follow the law like I did.

Not saying the Knights were a bad bunch of guys.

They had protected our small town for as long as I could remember.

They gave back to the community in many ways.

But they were outlaws, and everybody knew it.

“Trixie, I’m running to the bank,” my mother said in her thick German accent as she appeared from the office. “Will you be okay? Papa is making sausage in the back for that club’s Halloween party.”

“I’ll be fine.” I almost groaned out loud but my mother would have scolded me for sounding like a child instead of a twenty-one-year-old adult.

But I so badly wanted to whine.

Each year we would get the same order from the biker club. A massive order for their legendary party. The bill was nearly a thousand dollars with a nice tip tacked on. I couldn’t help but wonder how many people attended the event.

“Good. Call Papa if you need help.” She glanced at the clock. “Be nice to the boy.”

The boy she was talking about was Brandon.

“I am nice to all the customers.” And extra nice to Brandon and she knew it.

She made a tsk-tsk sound as she went to the door. “You make him nervous with all your questions. Just take his order and make his sandwich exactly how he wants it. Nothing more.”

“I will.” But we both knew I would ask him questions. This guy seemed socially awkward to the ninth degree. I suspected Brandon might be on the spectrum, but I wasn’t totally sure. He definitely wasn’t like other special needs individuals in town who were autistic, non-verbal and low functioning.

Maybe neurodivergent? But then, why would he be in a biker club? It didn’t seem right.

My mother waved as she left. Neither of my parents were big talkers, just big workers. Honestly, I was used to dealing with quiet people, which might be why I was drawn to Brandon. He reminded me of my dad. Stoic. No nonsense. Loyal.

The up-and-coming Halloween Bash entered my mind. I wanted to know if Brandon would attend the party.

Would he wear a costume?

Would women fall all over him?

Was he like other bikers I’d heard about who had a different girl every week?

I growled in my throat, feeling jealous and possessive.

Brandon Adams was perfect in my eyes, no matter how quirky and sometimes mean he was. I’d known his name since the one and only time he’d paid with a debit card. That had been years ago, when he first moved to town. It seemed after he joined the club, he started paying with cash.

But I never forgot his name, and I never called him by his road name Zombie, which he didn’t seem to mind.

Next week, I’d have to endure hearing girls I’d known my whole life and that were older than me, gush over the amazing party. And of course, all the hot bikers.

Apparently, nobody under the age of twenty-one was allowed to attend. And you had to be invited. So, the club did have some rules. They couldn’t be that bad, right?

The bell above the front door jingled and my heart stopped. He was right on time just like clockwork.

“Hi, Brandon. How are you today?” I asked in my nicest, sweetest voice.

“Okay.” He approached the counter and stared at the menu behind my head as if he was considering ordering something different.

But he knew and I knew he wouldn’t. Studying the menu was just something he did every day of the week.

“Are you looking forward to the Halloween Bash?” Today, I wouldn’t talk about food. I’d fish for answers to some of my questions.

“No.”

“No? Why not? A ghoulish party sounds amazing!”

He stood there with his gaze diverted away from me. Ugh, I wished he would take off his shades and look me straight in the eyes.

“Do you have a costume to wear?” I asked. “Something cool or maybe scary?”

“No.” He sighed as if annoyed with me.

“You’re not going to it?” I would be over the moon happy if he wasn’t. “I hear there will be a lot of women dressed in skimpy costumes.” Sexy maids and nurses to serve the bikers… So I’d heard.

“Stop.” He slammed his hand on the counter, making me jump.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to talk so much.” Geez, Trixie. Chill girl.

He sighed again. “Ask what I want.”

I wrinkled my forehead. Really? He wanted nothing more to do with me other than taking his order. Why did I even try with him?

“Brandon, would you like your usual Wednesday pastrami sandwich?” Gosh, I felt like an idiot. When would I learn to just ignore him as he ignored me? He was the only customer who required zero engagement.

“Yes. Foot long pastrami. Provolone cheese. Spicy mustard. No vegetables,” he said in a monotone, robotic voice.

“You got it.” It was the same damn thing every Wednesday. I could make it in my sleep.

Without saying another word, I made his foot long, feeling defeated and cancelled. Brandon didn’t give a damn about me, and it was time I pushed him out of my mind.

A minute later, I went to the register where he already had a twenty on the counter waiting for me. The total was $16.99. He never got a drink or bag of chips. And believe me, I’d tried to upsell to this dude dozens of times over the years. But nope, he only wanted the sandwich.

I handed him the bag and took for the money.

“Keep the change,” he said as he grabbed his bag of food. Those were the same three words he said each time he came in.

Keep the change. Keep the change. Keep the change.

Why couldn’t he mix it up? I should research neurodivergent people to help me better understand Brandon.

It was like he was programmed to do and say certain things during specific situations. I supposed it had to do with seeing him differently from others.

Seriously, I had to wonder how he could be in a motorcycle club. How exactly did he contribute?

“Thanks,” I replied and put the bill into the draw and removed three dollars for my tip, leaving the penny in the till. “Have a nice day.” I turned around to go see if my dad needed help.

When I didn’t hear the bell jingle, I peered over my shoulder. Brandon was still at the counter. Odd.

“Did you need something else?” I turned around to face him. He wasn’t the easiest person to read, so I wasn’t sure if he was okay or not. “Brandon? Was there something else you wanted to get?”

“No.”

Of course, a-single-word reply.

If I didn’t feel compassion for his awkward social skills, he would frustrate the crap out of me. I went to counter and stood in front of him and waited patiently to find out why he hadn’t left.

Brandon Adams was tall, lean and muscular. Not tall like a basketball player but I’d guess five eleven at the very least. Clean shaven and not at all like some of the other bikers in town. He had dirty blond hair and intense icy-blue eyes.

And boy was he a hottie, just like the habanero peppers we put in our spicy relish. I’d learned once how potent those little things were after making a batch of our secret relish.

Somehow, I’d gotten capsaicin oil from the pepper on my finger. We always wore food-safe gloves when we prepped and made sandwiches. It could have been when I was cleaning up afterward, I really couldn’t recall.

But I’d found out the hard way that night in the shower. My lady parts had ignited into a wild bonfire, and I’d bet Brandon could do the same under my bed sheets.

As it was, he was setting off little sparks in me right now. I sensed I’d be changed forever if he’d just give us a chance. I so desperately wanted to find out, but doubted it would ever happen.

“Why don’t you have decorations in here?” His question surprised me. Was he serious?

Halloween was in two days, and he’d been in and out all month, and hadn’t mentioned anything about our lack of decorations.

“Brandon, we never decorate for any holiday. Papa doesn’t like it.” I stared at him perplexed. Was he experiencing a malfunction or something? Had I stressed him to the point of not knowing what to do? If yes, I would be absolutely mortified. Should have listened to my mom and kept my mouth shut.

“Oh.”

“Oh? You’ve come almost daily for years. Why would you think—”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, cutting me off.

“Sorry.” I grimaced and rolled my lips into my mouth.

Brandon whipped around on his boot heel and stormed out of the building, kicking up dirt and leaves like a blustery fall day.

What the heck just happened?