Warrior (Forgotten Rebels MC Book 4)

by Beth D. Carter

  Minutes later, he spotted the man he was meeting. Tall, on the thin side, the brushing of gray peppering through his hair placed him at middle age. Not that Masterson cared. He was here for a job.

  “Thanks for meeting me in the cemetery,” the man said. He stood at the base of a tombstone, with the name Cabot embedded into the granite marker. The dirt had been recently tilled, leaving a mound to indicate a body had been freshly laid to rest. “Not many people realize the Cabots came from this area of Missouri. And no one suspects the new grave is my greatly confused nephew, Warren.”

  “Is this where you wish to conduct our business?”

  The man shrugged. “Good as place as any, I guess. This all started because Warren couldn’t contain his greedy little hands.”

  “You do realize I’m the one who put him there.”

  “You were protecting the future of the Cabot name,” the man said dismissively. “I don’t fault you for doing what I hired you to do. The girl you saved—”

  “Cherry.”

  “Yes, she’s now encased behind a wall of men willing to die for her. Her sister, however, has no such protection.”

  “You’re talking about the one with the garage. Church.”

  The man nodded. “Church and Cherry. Atrocious names, but what do you expect from a teenage mother?” The man gave a humorless chuckle before running a hand over his short, peppered beard. “I need your services one more time, Masterson. Double the pay if you can accomplish what I need you to do.”

  “Of course,” Masterson said, nodding his agreement.

  “Good.” The man looked down at the grave. “The Cabot name will be made whole again.”

  ****

  Sunlight stabbed through the Church’s eyelids, rousing her from slumber. She shivered a little and snuggled down into the warm sleeping bag, hoping to get a little more shut-eye, but the rocking of the boat signaled that Darrell was up. A moment later, she heard a stream hit the water and knew he was peeing. The urge hit her as well and she sighed, opening her eyes to fully embrace the dawn and to wait until he was done. No privacy existed on a small fishing skiff so modesty was something to check on the dock.

  “All yours,” Darrell said.

  She sat up and turned to look at him. “How’d you know I was awake?”

  “I saw you trying to burrow back down.”

  Church unzipped the bag and rose. “Okay, turn your back.’

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m not into golden showers.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I completely agree with you on that.”

  When he turned his back, Church unzipped her jeans, wiggling them down far enough so she could sit on the edge of the boat to relieve her bladder. The tight grip she kept on the rope bracket was the only thing keeping her from falling into the water. She peed quickly and then pulled her pants up.

  “It’s all good,” she said, alerting Darrell she was decent.

  “Ready to head back to shore?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I need coffee.”

  “Amen to that.”

  He hauled up the anchor and a few minutes later they were speeding across the lake, the early morning breeze made even chillier by the high-speed return to solid ground. Church scratched her scalp and couldn’t wait to get back to the shop to take a hot shower in the tiny bathroom attached to the office.

  Once they approached the boat ramp, Darrell throttled down the engine and expertly maneuvered the craft alongside the dock. He cut the engine just as she stepped out of the boat and secured it with ties.

  “Thanks for the sleeping bag.”

  “Thanks for the company.”

  Church stuck her hands in her pocket, feeling suddenly awkward. Her fingers brushed over a rigid card and she pulled it out. “Oh, here, you can pass this along to Wick.”

  She held it out and Darrell took it, reading it out loud. “Doctor Carleen Brogan. Pain management. Who’s this?”

  “She wants to open a drug rehab center and seemed interested in the club since your members are vets.”

  He frowned. “Does she know how the club was making money not too long ago?”

  “I don’t talk club business, especially to strangers,” Church said. “I told her I’d tell Wick and I’m fulfilling that promise through you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You could just walk over and give this to him. Maybe visit with your sister.”

  “I’ve heard horror stories of their honeymoon phase.” She shuddered in remembered horror. “From Joe-Joe, no less. I never want to hear about that again.”

  “Fair enough.” He chuckled and glanced back at the card. “You know, maybe a drug rehab isn’t such a bad idea. Maybe it’s what the Forgotten Rebels need.”

  She snorted. “Good luck trying to sell that to a bunch of old men who had gotten a taste of tax-free money.”

  He sighed and stuffed the card into his back pocket, effectively ending the conversation. He turned to grab the ice chest that housed her catfish.

  “You want these?” he asked.

  “You take them back to the club and have a big ‘ole fish fry,” she said, holding out her hand. “But I’ll take my ten bucks.”

  He sat the chest back down before untying the rope that kept secured his boat to the dock. Church put her hands on her hips.

  “Our bet—”

  “You’ll get your Hamilton when we get the frog legs,” he assured. “What are you doing tonight?”

  She frowned. “I told you I’m not going on a date with you, Darrell.”

  “Well, good, because I didn’t ask you for a date, did I?” He smirked. “Don’t flatter yourself, Church Hallelujah.”

  He waved and fired up the engine, backing up before she could think of a clever retort.

  “How did you know my middle name?” she demanded. “Wait! Darrell, get back here! Was it Cherry? Huh? Darrell!”

  He waved one more time and was gone, leaving behind a long wake. She crossed her arms, glaring at his rapidly shrinking retreat.

  “Goddamn it, Cherry,” she muttered. “That was supposed to be a fucking secret.”

  Chapter Four

  Darrell glanced at the card in his hands, took a deep breath, and then knocked solidly on Wick’s door. The President of the Forgotten Rebels MC barked out an enter order, which grated on Darrell’s nerves, but then again, just about everything Wick did was irritating. However, having to deal with the man came with the territory, at least if he wanted to stay in the club that his father had helped form. Truth was, Darrell felt slightly lost among the men he’d known his whole life and he couldn’t determine if it was from shipping off to war for the past eleven years, or if he was simply pissed that the club had taken a drastic one-eighty from what the founding members had intended.

  He opened the door and stepped into the office, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Wick sat behind a big desk with folders and paper strewn all over it, cluttering up every available space. His dark hair brushed the tops of his shoulders and hung in his eyes where one eyebrow disappeared when he raised it in surprise. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk so Darrell sat down, ready to do battle.

  For a few seconds, neither of them said anything as they stared at each other. Darrell realized it was a contest, one he’d be glad to play, but that wouldn’t help the platform he wanted to propose.

  “So,” Darrell began, trying to push aside the animosity he held for Wick. “I went fishing last night with Church and she gave me this card for a doctor who wants to open a drug rehab center down here in the Bootheel.”

  Wick blinked. “You went fishing with Church?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Was it like a date?”

  “No,” Darrell replied. “And that wasn’t the point I was trying to make.”

  “I know, but Church?”

  Annoyance flashed through Darrell. “What’s wrong with Church?”

  “Nothing,” Wick said quickly. “But she’s kinda, you know … off-pu
tting.”

  “Why, because she’s not groveling to be a piece of club pussy?”

  “Not what I said,” Wick replied, shaking his head. “She’s been at that garage now for months and not once in all that time has she come over to visit her sister. Her twin.”

  “It’s not like Cherry can’t strut her ass across the street just as well and visit her instead, right?” Darrell asked sharply. “So let’s get back to why I came in here. I wanted to talk to you about this doctor’s interest.”

  He held out the card and Wick leaned forward to take it.

  “You said a drug rehab? Why specifically this area?”

  “I don’t know because I haven’t talked to her yet.” Darrell fiddled with his prosthetic’s stump sleeve through his jeans, tracing over the top of the cup. The reality of it kept him grounded and helped keep his emotions from spiraling out of control. “Listen, you know how I feel about our side business. I can’t condone drug running when I saw the effects of addiction in physical therapy. Now, this club was formed for vets coming back from military life so I thought … maybe … we can somehow get back to that principle.”

  He expected Wick to shoot his idea down. After all, the man had taken the club’s presidency from Darrell’s father on a platform of drug running to make money. Yet much to his surprise, Wick didn’t say one sarcastic word. Instead, he frowned as he reread the card.

  “Do you remember what happened to Abbott?” Wick asked softly.

  It wasn’t all that long ago when Abbott Carney had been the victim of someone under the influence. “Yeah.”

  “I never realized the side effects of running meth,” Wick murmured. “Not until I saw Abbott fighting for her life. She can hardly stand to be in the club because men are smoking pot, never mind being around the more hardcore stuff. We can’t run drugs then deny our members from using the product, so she avoids the club, and since I’m here a lot, I don’t get to see my woman all that much. Abbott made concessions and accepted that me being president of the MC is part of my life, but lately I’ve found myself asking what have I done for her?”

  He sat back in his large leather chair and stared steadily at Darrell, who didn’t know where Wick was going with the insightful reflection. He decided to add one of his own.

  “After the third surgery on my leg, the doctors finally released me to rehab and one day this female soldier, who had lost her arm, was wheeled in.” Darrell frowned as he remembered the woman. “She’d just had the ninth surgery on her arm because the blast she’d been caught in had damaged a large portion of her torso. They’d doped her up on all kinds of opioids. I saw her again about six months later, and she was nothing but a shell needing her fix. She told me in one of her tripped-out moments the drugs made her glad she lost her arm, and all I thought was that she was happy she was like this? That’s when I started refusing my pain meds. I didn’t want to be happy that I lost my leg.”

  Wick glanced away. “That’s fucking awful.”

  “Yeah. It was.”

  Wick didn’t say anything so Darrell didn’t volunteer anything more. He waited patiently, still touching the cup that covered his stump. Finally, after a few minutes, Wick gave a slow nod.

  “All right,” he said. “I want you to talk to this doctor, hear what ideas she has about this rehab center she wants to create. If you think it’s something credible, something that the Brothers would be interested in, then come back and we’ll talk more.”

  Shock filled Darrell, rendering him mute, so he nodded his agreement. This was more than he ever thought Wick would concede. At best, he thought he’d have to argue harder, maybe even make a deal to get Wick to listen, so to have the man basically give him a green light was almost unbelievable. Wick held out the card and Darrell took it before rising and quickly leaving before he had a change of heart.

  ****

  The next morning, Church rose early. She had to run by the auto parts store to pick up an alternator before officially opening the garage. The clerk behind the counter gave her a perusal up and down that made her palms itch to punch the leer right off his face. Instead, she paid for the part and held her head up as she left because calling the man a dickface probably wouldn’t endear her in the future if … when … her garage became busier.

  Joe-Joe waited for her by the locked office door, with a sour look on his face. She parked in her spot and turned off the engine before hopping out of the cab. Tucking the box that had the alternator under her arm, Church ignored him as she unlocked the office door.

  “You’re late,” he grumbled, following her through the door. “Five minutes late.”

  “I can see that my five-minute delay created a mass panic to the people waiting to get their oil changed,” she replied sarcastically. After walking through to the garage bays, she placed the box on the tool chest near Carleen Brogan’s car. “I’ll be sure to dock the five minutes from my paycheck.”

  “Smart ass,” he muttered, limping slowly behind her. “What’s this? You buy a piece-of-shit German car?”

  “It’s a customer’s car,” she said. “I had to stop by and get a part for it.”

  “A real customer?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “As opposed to a fake customer?”

  He shrugged. “Some people make things up to impress others and I’m a good catch, you know. With my penis pump I can last all night long, baby.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  She pointed a finger at him. “If you ever say those two ‘p’ words again, I will gut you, got it?”

  He saluted her mockingly. “Yes, ma’am, but you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “I’m missing throwing up in my mouth,” she said, opening the three bay doors by flicking up the electric switch. The doors creaked upward, letting the morning sunlight filter inside, framing Darrell as he stood holding a pink box.

  “Doughnuts!” Joe-Joe cried, limping forward. “How’d you know I wanted some?”

  “Because you told me to go buy them,” Darrell said. He blinked as Joe-Joe snatched the box and made his way to his usual spot on the sofa. “I thought they were for all of us.”

  “You thought wrong,” Joe-Joe cackled and stuffed his mouth with a glazed one.

  “You’re a manipulative old man, aren’t you?” Darrell questioned.

  Joe-Joe flipped him off and picked up a second sweet treat. Church scrunched her nose up as he started eating the second one. “How are you not diabetic?”

  Joe-Joe shrugged as an answer because his mouth was stuffed.

  Church rolled her eyes.

  “Wanna go get some coffee?” Darrell asked her.

  She tapped the hood of the Mercedes. “Work beckons. Why don’t you take Joe-Joe and make yourself a pot across the street?”

  “ButIammaheretohireyou.”

  Church shook her head. “What?”

  “He said he’s here to hire you.” Darrell sat down next to Joe-Joe and snatched a doughnut for himself even as the older man swatted at his hand.

  “Yep,” Joe-Joe said once he swallowed. “You said you needed customers and I’m here to give you one.”

  Church reached inside the car and popped the hood latch. “Someone you know?”

  “Yep,” Joe-Joe replied, pointing his thumb at himself. “Me.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “You don’t ride anymore. Hell, you can barely walk.”

  “I need you to take me to the doctor’s today.”

  “You told me your doctor’s appointment is on Tuesday. You don’t remember that conversation?”

  He reached into the breast pocket on his flannel shirt and pulled out a card. He frowned as he read it. “Oh, you’re right. Tuesday. Well, Goddamn it.”

  “You’re senile, old man,” Darrell said as he tried to snatch another doughnut. Joe-Joe snapped the box closed as a car pulled up to the front. Carleen Brogan sat in the passenger seat and waved.

  “Who’s that sweet butt?” Joe-Joe asked, smacking his lips like he’d just se
en a juicy steak.

  “Down boy,” Church warned. “She’s my customer.”

  “You were telling the truth?”

  She tossed him a glare before turning back to greet her one and only client so far. She really didn’t count Darrell because she had a feeling his request to change his transmission around was more out of pity than a real desire to have his dad’s bike up and running. Obviously, Carleen hadn’t learned her lesson last night because she had on another pair of high-heeled sandals that made her wobble over the gravel driveway.

  “Yoohoo!” Carleen called out. “Have you thought about asphalt? Seems like it would make a sound investment.”

  Church bit the inside of her lips so she wouldn’t snap out a sarcastic remark. I need this job kept playing over and over in her head like a sacred mantra. Finally, the doctor made it inside and that was when she noticed Joe-Joe.

  “Oh,” she said, stopping abruptly. “I didn’t know you had another client.”

  “They’re not clients,” Church said. “The old one is a boil on my sofa.”

  “And the young one?”

  “That’s Darrell.”

  It took Joe-Joe two tries, but he managed to get to his feet after a little huffing and puffing. He thrust the pink box at Darrell when he stood and made a gentlemanly bow toward Carleen. “I am Joe-Joe, my fair lady.”

  Carleen smiled. “Dr. Carleen Brogan.”

  “Brains and beauty,” he said, fluttering his eyes.

  “The vests you two are wearing, are you perchance bikers from across the street?”

  “You’re Dr. Brogan?” Darrell asked. He sat the box down and stood. “Church gave me your card and I talked to Wick, the Forgotten Rebels President. He’s interested in hearing about your rehab proposal.”

  “Rehab?” Joe-Joe frowned. “Do you know how the Rebels make—”

  “I’ve got your alternator!” Church practically yelled, trying to get Joe-Joe to shut up. Does the man have no filter on his mouth? She looked beseechingly at Darrell.

  “How about a coffee run, Joe-Joe?” Darrell asked, picking up on Church’s pointed hint.

  “No need,” Joe-Joe said, pointing out the bay door. “Here comes Heart.”