by Elle Boon
When he’d met Burt several years ago, Keys had given him a loan so he could keep his junkyard where he’d been renting space for his stuff. Calling it his personal belongings seemed wrong, since there really wasn’t anything too personal about cash, and electronics mixed with clothes and shit you could replace. No, personal meant things you cared about. What he did care about was Burt losing the place so he’d given the old man the money he needed so the city couldn’t take the place from him.
“What kinda trouble?” Keys asked, walking in after Burt, looking around the small but clean living room.
Burt walked into the kitchen area that held a fridge, small stove, and table for two, opened the fridge and pulled out two beers. “Oh, some punk ass kids messing with the gates trying to get my babies here mad enough the city will come and take them away.” He popped the tops off both bottles then handed one to Keys.
“Thanks.” Keys took a long swig. “Why would they do that? The city I mean.”
Burt guzzled half his beer, sitting down heavily in his chair. “Damned if I know. Those two are like little lambs with more bark than bite.”
He wasn’t so sure about that, but he wasn’t going to argue with Burt. They finished their beers, then Keys stood. “Thanks for the beer and for letting me keep my shit here.” He shifted toward the door.
“Where you heading?” Burt asked from his spot, wiping sweat from the bottle.
Keys cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
Burt pointed the bottle toward him, moving it up and down. “Anytime you’ve ever come here, you looked different. You still wearing similar clothes, but you never said you were taking your shit, which leads me to think you’re heading somewhere.” He drank the rest of his bottle. “Don’t get many folks I consider friends, but you, you I do.”
Huh, Keys hadn’t thought Burt would put him in that category. “I don’t know yet. Guess I’ll decide when I get there.” He’d rebuilt a Harley he’d bought for next to nothing. The old bike was probably worth a pretty penny now, but it was his pride and joy he’d have to be in dire straits to sell.
“Well, if you don’t have anywhere in particular you gotta be, I got that extra place in the back. It’s not much but it’s clean like this place. I don’t abide by no drugs. Women, you can have them if you want so long as they don’t mind my dogs. That is if you want to stick around until you figure out where you want to go.” Burt got up, dug inside a canister on top his fridge. He turned with a set of keys.
“Thanks, man. I don’t know what my plans are.” He wasn’t going to lie to him.
He nodded. “Figured as much. You helped me when I needed it, I repay my debts.”
“If someone comes looking for me I don’t expect you to get in between me and them,” Keys warned him.
“Do I look fucking stupid, boy?” Burt puffed out his chest.
A laugh escaped Keys at the thin man as he tried to appear big. “Nah, you’re obviously smart as a whip inviting a dumbass into his home.”
“Tom and Lucy like you, that means you can’t be too bad. Now go on, get out of my house. I got to get to bed. Need my beauty sleep don’t you know.”
Keys shook his head, took his empty bottle with him. “Tom and Lucy are horrible judges of character, old man. I plied them with treats the first time I came here.”
“Nah, treats are raw steak. That shit you gave them they barfed up.” Burt waved him away, ambling into the back of the trailer. “Lock up on your way out. Lucy, Tom, come,” he yelled.
Both dogs followed Burt as Keys walked out, the humid air hit him immediately. He kept to the shadows, making his way to the back of the lot Burt had told him where the trailer sat. Of course he’d known about the place in question having scoured the area before renting the train car where he’d stored his shit. He wasn’t willing to leave his Harley or his computers. Like Burt had said, the place was small, looking rusted on the outside, but the roof was good with a small porch on the outside that could be moved away if he had a mind to do so. Keys walked around the place, looking it over, checking for weak spots. Satisfied, he went to the train car, unlocking it he peered inside. Everything looked the same. He went over to the floor safe he’d installed, spinning the lock until it opened. Inside sat the backpack with his computer, the one he always updated on each leave. Next to it was the duffel where he kept his weapons. He was glad old Burt never broke their trust. Sighing, he left, locking it back up and went back to the trailer.
A YEAR LATER...
Keys woke up knowing something wasn’t right. He rolled out of bed, grabbing his discarded jeans from earlier with one hand, while he reached for the Glock under his pillow with the other, making sure the magazine was full. He kept his head down as he shimmied into the jeans, stuffed his feet into his boots and shrugged into a black T-shirt. Not sure what he’d be up against, he grabbed the Sig Sauer, checking the clip before sliding it into the back of his pants. Neither Tom nor Lucy were barking, which had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
He didn’t go to the only door, instead he pulled the makeshift exit he’d created when he’d first moved in next to his bed. The metal lifted noiselessly since he made sure he kept it oiled for emergencies. He slid out, his boots landing on the dirt ground beneath his trailer. Keys had to duck low, getting onto his stomach to make his way out. Flashes of memories from a time not long ago where his team had been killed threatened to drag him under, but he had a will of iron, pushing the memory back.
“This is it. Only one way in. Go,” a deep voice ordered.
Keys waited, watching several sets of feet move up the rickety stairs. The escape exit he’d made would be undetectable to those who entered unless they were really good. Keys didn’t think they were as good as him.
“Empty, man.” A voice called from inside.
He made note they hadn’t referred to one another as sir, or soldier.
“Shit. Does it look like he’s been there?”
At the question, his eyes narrowed. Before the man could come back, a low growl sounded.
“Whoa, easy. Good, doggy.”
Shit! Tom didn’t sound happy. Where the fuck was Lucy?”
“I thought you took care of the dogs?” the man growled.
“I did. I’ve got the blood right here to prove it.”
“Clearly you didn’t, asshole.”
“The fuck, man. Either this place is like that fucking movie where they come back from the dead, or he has two because I slit that bitch’s throat.” The asshole’s voice sounded smug.
Keys barely kept from rolling out and shooting every fucker he could see. Tom’s angry growl was closer. Dammit, he didn’t want the dog to get killed but he knew with a certainty he was going to see the same fate as Lucy if he didn’t do something. Where was Burt?
“Just shoot the fucker and lets go. He’s obviously already left this shit hole. Did you find anything in there?”
“No. If he’s living here, he’s cleaner than my aunt on Sunday.”
Footsteps sounded on the steps, his door clanging as if someone let it shut on its own. He stayed where he was, counting feet, waiting.
“What about the old man?”
“This is bullshit. I thought we were told they had money stashed here, enough to set us up for life.”
“Fuck. So this is a dead end? He ain’t gonna like that.”
Keys catalogued their voices, hoping his cameras had picked up their images and voices. They may not be able to track him, but he’d find them.
“We gotta burn this place. And kill that fucking dog,” he growled.
A shot rang out followed by a whine. Keys inhaled slowly. Knowing there was nothing else he could do, he moved to the hole he’d dug in the middle of the trailer. He thought of old Burt and sent a small prayer up, then he moved the piece of metal away from the hole, eased in and pulled the metal back over himself. When the fire went out, he’d have to move quick and get his shit and get gone, again. Fuck, his
life was filled with one big shitstorm after another. Only this time his life got a lot more complicated.
Before he could change his mind, he shoved the cover off his makeshift escape, rolled out from under the trailer on the backside. He looked around, getting his bearings. “Fuck it, todays a good day to die, motherfuckers.” Keys pulled both guns out. With one in each hand, he stepped around the trailer, spotting three men. One held a glass jar with what looked like a long fuse in it in one hand, a lighter in the other. The deep rumble of motorcycles drew the others attention, but Keys didn’t stop to look, he fired, shooting the glass jar first making the liquid inside spill down the man’s body. His next shot was the man’s kneecap.
In rapid fire, he shot the other men, taking a bullet to the leg and another grazed his arm, neither slowing him. He tried to place the shots he aimed so that they weren’t killing ones, moving with the shadows closer to Burt’s trailer. In their neighborhood, cops wouldn’t be coming anytime soon, but he didn’t want to be around when they did show up. At the foot of the stairs, Lucy’s body lay. Anger burned through him at the senseless loss.
He looked back at the men lying in the dirt, their moans as they scrambled for the guns he’d shot out of their hands made him itch to finish them off. His boots thudded against the stairs as he took them two at a time, the coppery scent of blood hit him when he crossed the threshold. “You stupid, bastard,” he muttered, looking at the man who’d been the only friend he’d allowed himself to have. The living area showed signs of a struggle. Burt’s always organized space had the coffee table overturned. The small end table with the lamp was busted. But the thing that had Keys ready to kill was the sight of Burt in his recliner, his eyes staring straight ahead, a bullet hole in his forehead showing how his life was ended.
Keys looked around the room, trying to see what if anything they’d taken. Not that Burt had anything of value lying around. Why those fuckers had thought he or Burt would have enough money to set them up he had no clue.
“Your friends are getting antsy out there.”
Keys looked behind him. “Heard your bikes earlier. You need to go back out and keep on riding, King.” He met the other man’s gaze.
“You know that ain’t happening. Burt called me an hour ago. He asked me to come over, said he had something to talk to me about. Fuck, I told him I’d be right over, but I got tied up.” He looked at Burt’s body. “I might’ve been able to save him.”
The heavy thud of someone coming up the steps had Keys aiming his gun at the door, the other he trained on King.
“Yo, you might want to put that away before I get really angry. Besides, your friends outside done pissed me right the fuck off and I might’ve killed one of them, so we already have a body to get rid of. Wheels is on his way with a cage, King.”
“Why would Burt call you if he had a problem?” Keys looked at King.
King glared at Keys. “Put the gun down. prospect.”
He’d met King when he’d gone to get a tattoo after Burt had told him about a guy he knew. Burt seemed to know everyone. He’d known the other man was in a motorcycle club, had seen his cut and the other men with their bikes lined up outside. “This ain’t your problem,” Keys said, lowering his guns.
“Yeah it is. First of all, Burt was a friend, a brother. He didn’t deserve to go out like this. Second, you’re a prospect, which means you’re one of us. I sponsored your ass. You saying you don’t want in? Think real hard, Keys. Royal Bastards are good to have on your side.” King kept his voice low, looking toward Burt once again. “Traeger, that cage here yet?”
“Just pulling in, Pres.” Traeger stepped out on the porch as the sound of a truck could be heard.
“Fuck, you boys are all gonna get your asses arrested.” Keys shoved a gun in the back of his pants, the other in the front.
“Nah, this ain’t our first rodeo. Get a blanket, Traeger,” King said, waving toward the back.
“I got it.” Keys stepped around the mess in the middle of the floor. “The men outside, they still alive?” he asked King.
Traeger shook his head. “They were going for weapons on their bodies. Duke took out two, I did one. Another was gasping his last breath when I got to him. Those shots though, fucking A, man, those were the shit.” Traeger moved back inside after waving to someone outside.
Keys jerked his head up and down, walking away without answering. He didn’t need to explain to any of them he’d purposefully shot the men where he had so they wouldn’t die. “Tom and Lucy, the dogs, I gotta bury them.” He said as he came back with Burt’s patchwork quilt from his bed. He and King laid it out on the floor, then put Burt in the middle before carefully rolling him up in it.
“Wheels done loaded them up. Damn shame, but he was good people. Looks like he put up a fight.” King looked around the room. We’ll need to close this place up tight.”
The next several hours reminded Keys of his life before, when he was burying bodies in the jungle. Only this time, he was taking bodies to a gator farm. How King knew of one outside of Los Angeles he didn’t know but made a mental note not to piss the guy off. They’d loaded their bikes on one trailer, while they all piled in another vehicle, dead bodies, and all. If someone would’ve told Keys he’d be driving around with the President of the Royal Bastards and a few other members with a half a dozen dead men in the back, he’d have told them they were crazy. Yet here he was with the sun rising, driving away from a gator farm after watching a bunch of big fucking gators have a feeding frenzy until there was nothing left to see but swishing tails. “What about Burt?” he asked.
King looked in the rearview mirror. “What do you mean?”
Keys looked down at the floorboard. “Someone is going to come looking for him.”
“Nah, he already had shit in place for when he left this world. I’ve known that old man since I was a kid. My old man was a prick on the best of days.” King waited for Wheels to get off the freeway before continuing. “Burt was a brother. He didn’t leave the club so much as aged out. Said he couldn’t sit on a bike anymore on account of arthritis making it too hard for him to hold the handlebars or some shit. Do you know how old he was?” King asked.
He knew it would be rude to say he didn’t give a shit. Hell, he hadn’t known King was that close to Burt. The old man hadn’t talked about anyone other than his dogs and Betty, his ole lady who’d died. “I’d guess he was in his eighties?” Hell, that was as good a guess as any.
“Eighty-six. My old man would’ve been sixty-five this year. Burt was the old timer who was the mechanic for them. He could get anything they needed with no problem and fix their bikes, and anything else they needed him to. They liked that about him. He was also loyal to a fault. I knew about you before you showed up here a year ago.”
Keys didn’t know where King’s story was going so he waited.
“Burt told me he trusted you and felt safe with you there.”
This time he did snort. “Yeah, look where that got him, dead.”
King nodded. “That’s not on you. You didn’t pull the trigger. You want to stop running and start living?”
Keys sat up straighter, eyeing King. “How do you mean?”
“I know you came from shit and I know you were a SEAL. I also know you’re a genius on the computer, right?” King asked.
He shrugged, knowing full well Burt had been telling secrets. Computers were his thing, which was only one of the things he excelled at. “Yeah, I do alright.”
This time Traeger snorted. “Asshole, we know you got a system that would make those alphabet guys envious. We also know you would fit right in with us if King was willing to sponsor you. So, what’s it gonna be? You want us to drop you at the first bus stop, or you want to join our brotherhood? There’s more than just riding bikes and banging chicks, although that’s a perk.”
“I got cameras back at the junkyard. I want to know why they were there. What the fuck they thought we had?” Keys growled.
�
��And that right there is why Burt left you all his worldly possessions and why you’ll make a good Royal Bastard, brother.” King held his fist out to Keys from the front passenger seat.
On the knuckles the letters FRBF were tattooed. Keys raised his fist, bumped his knuckles with King, then Traeger. “So, there’s no bro hug or any shit like that right?” The initials on the knuckles stood for Forever Royal Bastards Forever. On the other hand he had FRSF, which stood for Forever Royal Sons Forever, the name of their club before being patched over to the bastards. Keys looked at his own knuckles, bare of anything except scars.
Wheels snorted from the front as they continued to drive back toward the junkyard he’d called home, knowing he’d be grabbing his shit again and finding another place to call home. One day he hoped he’d be able to stop running like King said.
About Elle Boon
Elle Boon is a reader first and foremost...and of course if you know her she's the crazy lady with purple hair. She's also a USA Today Bestselling Author who lives in Middle-Merica as she likes to say...with her husband and Kally Kay her black lab who also thinks she's her writing partner (She happens to sit next to her begging for treats and so takes a lot of credit). She has two amazing kids Jazz and Goob and is a MiMi to one adorable little nugget named Romy or RomyGirl (greatest job EVER) who has totally won over everyone who sees hers (If anyone says a hair bow is too big they're crazy). She’s known for saying “Bless Your Heart” and dropping lots of F-bombs (I mean lots of F-BOMBS but who is keeping track?).
She loves where this new journey has taken her and has no plans on stopping. She writes what she loves to read, and that’s romance, whether it’s about Navy SEALs, HOT as F**K MC heroes, or paranormal alphas. #dontlookdown is a thing you will need to google. "wink" With all her stories you're guaranteed a happily ever after, no matter what twisted thing her mind has come up with. Her biggest hope is that after readers have read one of her stories, they fall in love with her characters as much as she does. She loves creating new worlds, and has more stories just waiting to be written. Elle believes in happily ever after and can guarantee you will always get one within the pages of her books.