Squatch
Rolling Thunder Birmingham
Candace Blevins
Squatch © August 2020 by Candace Blevins
All rights reserved under United States of America copyright law, and the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
Cover design © 2020 Candace Blevins
First Edition July 2020
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Contents
Connect with Candace
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Epilogue
Bibliography
Only Human Excerpt
About the Author
Connect with Candace
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Description
The men of the Rolling Thunder MC take care of their own, and that includes employees. When Kitty finds herself in a jam, she calls on Squatch for help — not because she thinks he’ll be able to help her more than the other bikers, but because she trusts him the most.
Squatch has always been partial to the little tiger shifter who dances like liquid sex onstage, yet is so bashful when she isn’t working, but the unspoken code is that the brothers don’t date their employees. However, while Squatch helps Kitty with her little problem, the two spend more time together than either anticipated, and sparks fly between the tiger and the wolf.
But Kitty has a history she didn’t share with the bikers when they hired her, and when her past catches up to her, she doesn’t trust even Squatch enough to ask for help. She thinks her only option is to run, but she doesn’t know wolves mate for life, and Squatch’s wolf has claimed her.
Other Books in the Birmingham RTMC series:
Dementor
Bobcat
Frost
Squatch (2020)
Chapter One
Kitty
I usually work until four in the morning on weekends, but things had been slow, so I’d left a little before three with Dementor’s blessing.
I’d come home and crashed, and then my inner cat woke me twenty minutes later — we both heard and smelled the humans in our lair. I looked at the gun on my side table, but I didn’t want to use it. I’d shot people during the riots, and it made a horrible, bloody mess. I slid jeans on and clipped the holster onto my belt though. Just in case. I’ll never be anyone’s victim again.
I’d been naked in bed, and now I had on jeans, a holster, and a gun. No panties. No bra. No shirt. I didn’t care, at the time. Wolves don’t usually care much about nudity because they spend time naked before and after their change. It’s a group activity for them. Not so much for tigers. We’re solitary. Or, we’re supposed to be. My family isn’t, but we still don’t all change at the same time.
It’s true I take my clothes off on stage for a living, but I’m still not comfortable running around naked when I’m not working. I didn’t even think about it on this night, though. I needed to get to the bad guys before they realized I was awake. I put the jeans on because I needed them to hold my holster and weapon, so I could shoot the bastards if it was my only option, but I was hoping to get rid of them without bloodshed. I didn’t want to have to replace the flooring and carpet to get the smell of blood out of my apartment.
The first room you walk into in my apartment is a giant living room/eating area, with a galley kitchen partially hidden by a wall. I stepped into the hidden portion of the kitchen, looked around, and grabbed my cast iron skillet. Blunt force trauma to the head should kill them without bloodshed. Right?
I peeked around the corner and saw two men. One was unplugging my gaming consoles and putting them into a little cloth wagon, the other had my big-screen TV off the wall. I waited for him to set it on the floor by the door before I acted — I didn’t want him to drop it. He propped it against the wall and turned towards my kitchen — probably to steal my microwave. This was the bigger of the two men, and since he was coming towards me, I figured he won the toss-up on who I hit first. I waited until he was close before I stepped into his view, leapt towards him, swung, and hit him so hard the cast iron skillet rang like a bell.
The asshole went down like a lead balloon, but I didn’t stop to check on him. I could see the other man reaching toward his waist, so I propelled myself to him and swung again. He had his gun out and was in the process of aiming when the skillet made contact with his skull. I’d hit him much harder and I was pretty sure I’d cracked or broken something important.
I stopped and listened. The asshole in the kitchen’s pulse was strong and racing, but the smaller man’s pulse was thready and weak. He’d also pissed himself. So much for not making a mess.
I have a box of disposable gloves in my bathroom because I have to dye my hair every time I change. I walked back there, put some on, went to my kitchen for garbage bags, and realized these assholes weren’t going to fit into a regular kitchen-sized bag. I grabbed two of them anyway, and put one under the pants-wetter’s butt to try to keep the piss from soaking even more into my carpet. His heartbeat told
me he’d likely be dead in the next few minutes, so I went to the other man. I didn’t think he’d wake up anytime soon, but I also wasn’t sure he was going to die from the head wound. I put the other garbage bag over his head and down around his arms. The bag inflated and deflated a little as he breathed. Too much air was moving for it to asphyxiate him. I grabbed a third bag out of the box and used it as a rope around his throat.
He started thrashing around, trying to breathe, and I worried he was waking up. I grabbed the skillet and hit him in the head again. And again. And again. I smelled blood, but it was in the garbage bag, so that was okay. It didn’t smell like a lot of blood, so I wasn’t worried about it leaking out.
I looked at the time on my microwave — 4:17 — and stood and listened to his heart. Still strong, and much too fast. The rotten, putrid scent of fear permeated my apartment, along with the sharp tang of the other man’s piss. The man in the living area’s heart had stopped beating, so I didn’t worry about keeping an eye on him.
My focus was entirely on the asshole in the kitchen, who was still trying to breathe. I watched the bag suck in and out over his mouth and nose. Thankfully, the asshole never regained consciousness, so I stood and watched until he ran out of air in the bag and finally died.
His heart stopped beating at 4:23. My first thought was to wrap the men up in something and toss them in the dumpster, but I’d recently been questioned by the police about a dead body found in the dumpster. I’d had an alibi for that one, but I wouldn’t have an alibi this time.
I took the garbage bag off the throat of the man in my kitchen and put his legs into it. He was tall, and two bags weren’t enough to fully cover him. I took the box into the living room and used two garbage bags to contain the man in there as well. He was shorter, so I could tie the two drawstrings together and he was mostly contained.
I needed help. Bobcat had been clear that I was to call the MC if I was ever in trouble. He’d tried to get me to move out of this apartment and into one he deemed safer, but this was my home and I’d be damned if anyone would chase me out of it. The rent was cheap, it wasn’t far from work, and all my stuff was here.
With Bobcat away, I should call Dementor, but I hadn’t been around him enough to trust him.
I blew out a breath, went to my bedroom for my phone, pulled up the app Squatch had put on my phone a few days after I was hired, and called the giant werewolf. Well, he’s a giant in human form. I’d never actually seen him in wolf form, but I assumed he’d be big as a wolf, too.
“Yo.” His deep, growly voice always went straight to my clit, but I couldn’t let that sidetrack me.
“I have a situation.”
He didn’t say anything for a few beats. It sounded like he was walking into another room.
“You okay?”
“Physically? Yeah, but I’m going to need help to keep it that way.”
“Looks like you’re at your apartment. You just need me, or is this going to take more of us?”
He didn’t ask me why I needed him, he only asked how many people to bring. My eyes teared up a little, but I pushed my emotions down. I worked for them and they protected their people. That was all this was.
“I’m not sure. The emergency is over though, so you can figure that out once you’re here.” I blew out a breath. “We probably need a truck. Something that can be cleaned after we move something. Possibly large garbage bags, if you have them. My kitchen-sized bags aren’t enough.”
“How many somethings are we dealing with?”
“Two.”
“Sit tight. I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
Chapter Two
Squatch
My inner wolf was thrilled she’d called me when she needed help.
We aren’t supposed to fall for our employees — especially not the strippers and working girls. The MC doesn’t have rules against it, but we’re all advised to keep emotional distance with them. We pay them if we want to fuck them, and we don’t get involved. Simple.
But this little tiger pulled at my emotions and there was nothing I could do about it.
Daffodil was still in my bed. I roused her, walked her home, and then stepped into the clubhouse control room. Mad Dog was manning it, leaned back in his chair, scanning four rows of five monitors. Watching.
“Kitty says she has a situation. I don’t know the details. She seems to think it’ll require a truck that can be cleaned, and extra-large garbage bags. I’m gonna take the van. She seems calm, so I’ll go alone.”
We have a black van with no textiles in the back. Looks normal from the outside, but the back of it has seen more bleach than a blonde’s head.
He nodded and flipped a switch so whoever was on patrol wouldn’t hear him talking to me. “How’d she sound?”
If she was panicking, I’d need someone else to help with body disposal. It usually takes two people to get rid of the bodies and their vehicle. Also, if she was going to fall apart because she’d killed someone, then she couldn’t know where the bodies were taken.
“Sounded solid. I’ll make a determination on site.”
Another nod. “Let me know if you need help.”
“My phone’s home. I have a burner with the app running.”
I wore a ballcap on the way to her apartment, and took a route without traffic cams. I didn’t for sure know why I was going, but it’s always good to cover your tracks if you’re headed to do something illegal.
There were no parking spaces open near her apartment, but her car backed out as I neared, and I backed into the slot. She parked nearly a football field away in the next closest empty spot. She wore jeans, sneakers, and an oversized black hoodie, pulled up to hide her long dark-blonde hair. I smelled a gun on her, but I didn’t see it.
If she had the presence of mind to park me close to her apartment, she was probably in good enough shape I didn’t need to call another brother for help.
Neither of us spoke until we were in her living room. Two dead bodies. I was impressed that she’d started with the garbage bags. She’d not only killed them, she’d tried to handle disposal on her own as well.
“They broke in and were stealing my shit.”
I shook my head and pulled a signal blocking sleeve from the pocket of my hoodie. “Phone?”
She went to her bedroom, returned with it, and I put it into the sleeve. “Anything else voice activated? Television, remote, Alexa, Google?”
She looked at the TV leaned against the wall near the door. “It’s unplugged.”
I looked at the body near me, sniffed towards the other one, and walked into the kitchen to take a closer look.
“Castle doctrine says you can use deadly force for people inside your home. We can call the cops and you might get hassled a little, but you won’t be arrested.”
“No cops. They were in my business for weeks when I had nothing to do with a death.” She sighed. “Plus, I didn’t kill the guy in the kitchen with the first strike, so I hit him some more, after the fact. I don’t know if they’ll be able to figure that out or not.”
I felt my eyebrows go up, and I met her gaze.
She crossed her arms and didn’t look away or down. “I’d killed one of them already, so the second one had to die, too. I’m not dealing with the cops when dead bodies are involved. I’m just not.”
“Okay. No cops. What did you use?”
“My cast iron skillet, and I know you’re supposed to get rid of the weapon, but I won’t. It was my great grandmother’s skillet. No soap and water. No bleach. I’m not messing with the seasoning. I was able to take what would fit into my backpack with me when I left home. Not much made the grade, but that pan did. I’m keeping it.”
“I’m assuming the bottom of the skillet made contact, not the inside?”
She put her hands on her hips and it made me want to kiss her until she melted.
“Yeah. Okay,” she said. “Maybe a good salt scrub, some time in the oven, and then a good re-seasoning?”
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“We’ll talk about that later. Maybe oil on the bottom and burn it off with a flame before the salt scrub and re-seasoning. Velvet might have some ideas, too. Do you know who these guys are?”
“They have ID. Address is a few streets over. Same address. Same last name. Forty-eight and twenty-three. I’m guessing father and son.” She nodded to two wallets on the coffee table, and I looked at her hands. She was wearing clear gloves.
“When did you put the gloves on?”
“Before I handled either body or the garbage bags.”
Is there anything sexier than a kick-ass kitty-cat who handles her problems and keeps her head? She only needed me to help with taking out the garbage after the fact.
I had her sit on her sofa before I opened my backpack and lined the items we’d need on her coffee table beside the wallets. Heavy-duty extra-large garbage bags. Thick rubber gloves. Bleach. I’d brought actual body-removal bags, but left them in the backpack since we weren’t going to use them. If she’d shot them and we needed to keep the mess from spreading, we’d have needed them.
Squatch (Rolling Thunder MC Birmingham Book 4) Page 1