Chapter 1
STEVIE
My doctor’s visits filled my time these last four months.
Unfortunately, I lost my waitressing job and my part-time job at the laundromat.
There’s nothing left for me here, so I sell whatever items are worth money, withdrawing what little savings I have, pack up my meager belongings, and head to Moose Grove where Alicia used to live.
Survivor’s guilt has haunted me ever since the accident.
I hope moving to where she’s from will lessen it, or at least I’ll feel closer to her. Maybe I can do something in her honor.
In this vast country, it’s amazing how I grew up in flatlands only to find Moose Grove surrounded by forests, lakes, and endless hills.
It’s gorgeous. I found an astronomically cheap studio apartment near an auto repair shop.
Before heading there, I pull into a gas station to fill up and possibly find some sort of map of the area.
Inside the small, attached store is a shelf of maps and pamphlets. They’re cheap, so I buy hiking trail and lake maps. I add a sandwich, chips, and a box of chocolate chip cookies since I haven’t eaten much since yesterday. On the board by the door is an assortment of flyers.
I point to the board and ask the attendant, “Are these buys, sells, and job offers in the area?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Taking out my phone, I snap pictures of the job offers, along with the other flyers.
At my car, I toss everything onto the passenger seat and remove the pump from its holder, just as a group of bikers comes roaring up behind me.
Loud, big, and tense, they stop to fill up while a few go inside the store.
One guy leans against the gasoline pump, eyeing me.
I turn away to watch the price climb. Bikers are not my scene.
My father was one and left my mom and I for the club life without ever looking back.
They foster a toxic atmosphere. Not all MCs are this way, but the one percent like my dad’s club definitely fit the bill.
“You coming through here, sweetheart, or staying?”
Ignore him. Pretend he’s talking to someone else.
I’m not sure how to handle this type of situation, especially because I’ve never been around bikers. My mother and I stayed far away from them. Although these guys are nothing like what I expected. They’re all freakishly imposing and good-looking.
Because I haven’t responded yet, he adds, “Around these parts, we don’t ignore someone when they’re talking to us.”
I step back, placing a hand on my chest as if I’m embarrassed. “So sorry.” I remove the nozzle and place it in its holder as a blush heats my face. “I didn’t realize you were talking to me.”
He lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, sure.”
Instead of continuing the conversation, I slip into the driver’s seat, fumbling for my keys. There’s a knock on my window, and the big guy is holding up my credit card.
I roll my window down. “Forget something, sweetheart?”
When I attempt to collect the card, he holds it out of reach, asking, “Coming through or staying?”
“Uh…staying.”
He glances at the card, hands it back, and says, “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Stephanie.”
I nod, thanking him for the card. Another dry laugh from him.
I press the gas pedal, gazing at the group in my rearview mirror.
They’re watching me drive away, no doubt memorizing my license plate.
An audible sigh releases from me as soon as I turn the corner and they’re out of eyeshot.
Damn, the guy made me nervous. With taking care of my mom and Noel, and then myself, working several jobs, this altercation is a reminder I live a fairly sheltered life.
Driving slowly toward a fenced-in gravel driveway, I check the address for the third time, only for it to prove I’m at the right place.
The apartment is literally over an auto shop.
As soon as my car rolls onto the gravel lot, the guys in the garage stop working, gawking at me like they’ve never seen a woman before.
A big, burly man comes out, wiping his dirty hands on a towel.
I grab my purse and my phone, and walk over to him. “Hello, my name is Stephanie Adams. Can you tell me where I can find…” glancing at the name on my phone, I continue, “…uh, Gears?”
“Talkin’ to him. Wasn’t expectin’ ya ‘til tomorrow.”
“Yes, well, I left a day early. There was no reason to stick around for another day.”
He gives a slight nod. “Okay then. Need help with yer things?”
I shake my head as I answer, “Oh no, thanks. I can manage.”
“I’m sure ya can, but it ain’t no problem.” He turns to the other men and ticks his head toward the car. “I’ll show ya upstairs.”
To avoid a scene, I check to see if the other men aren’t scrounging through my car, and then I shuffle to catch up to Gears.
The stairs are outside, toward the back of the building.
There’s not much to the apartment. It opens onto a tiny kitchen, with a living room and a bed in the corner.
The bathroom is down a narrow hall. One after the other, two guys pile my things in the living room and leave, but the place appears even smaller with the burly form of Gears still present.
Meaty arms, a pot-belly, and a round face, covered by a beard.
“I’ll need five hundred for two months’ rent.
” In my purse, I shuffle through my wallet and hand him the money.
“Furniture ain’t much, but it’s somethin’.
There’s a grocery store ‘bout a mile down. Do what you want here. Paint. Whatever. Shop opens at eight in the mornin’ and closes at eight in the eve all week.
On Saturdays, we close at five, and we’re closed on Sundays. Hope you don’t mind noise.”
I give a nervous laugh and smile. “Noise doesn’t bother me.”
Gears eyes me, and says sarcastically, “Yeah, ya look like yer wild and crazy.” He walks over to the stove.
“This acts up. If it don’t turn on, give it a kick.
” He demonstrates and then walks to the window, pointing out.
“There are security cameras set up.” Again, his gaze runs up and down my frame.
“It catches everything. Someone come bother you, we got ‘em on camera.” He stands by a little table near the door, writing on a pad of paper. “My number for emergencies.”
“Thanks, Gears.”
For the first time, he gives me a genuine smile and winks. “No problem, sweetheart.”
What is with everyone calling me sweetheart?
I’m left alone. Music blares from the garage as they work on the cars.
There’s not much to the place or my belongings, so it only takes me a half hour to put everything away.
The furniture is dated, and even though the couch cushions lost their bounce, it’s decent enough for me until I find something better.
Grabbing the pad of paper Gears left behind, I read through the job postings from the gas station board.
One in particular catches my eye—a crime scene cleaner.
The company is looking for an addition to its crime scene cleaning crew, and they’re also offering training.
It’s early afternoon, so I call the number, and a woman picks up.
“Thank you for calling Times Up, how can I help you?”
I bite my tongue to prevent myself from laughing at the company name. Dead people’s time is definitely up.
“Yes. I came across your flyer for a crime scene cleaner.”
She cracks her gum. “Oh yeah. Hold on.”
Music plays in the background until a man’s voice booms through the phone. “Jasper, here. You calling ‘bout the job.”
“Yes. It says training is offered?”
“Yes, ma’am. Got a problem with blood and bodily fluids?”
“No. I cared for my mother while she was undergoing cancer treatment, so I’ve dealt with both.”
“Good. Any experience cleaning up after dead people?”
“No, I’m usually not hanging around a lot of dead people.”
He chuckles. “Funny. I like it. See you tomorrow.”
Jasper rattles off an address and time, and we say our goodbyes. I eat and prepare a grocery and cleaning list.
As I’m heading to my car, one guy whistles at me. Gears knocks him upside the head, telling him to get back to work. I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into, but there’s no going back now.