Warrior (Forgotten Rebels MC Book 4) Read online

  She placed a hand on her hip. “I’ve got no other connection with The Forgotten Rebels except a brother-in-law who happens to be a member.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. You could’ve stayed in Springfield. Or left Missouri. Instead, you buy the broken-down garage close enough to throw stones into the front yard.”

  He had a point. She had every opportunity to walk away from the drug community of southeast Missouri and the memory of Ricky, but the thought of leaving her sister was an admission she didn’t want to think about too closely. “This garage was a sound investment.”

  “I have no doubt you got a great price for it. But good luck in having the rednecks of this town trusting a woman with their cars.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that one,” she said. “Bunch of fucking misogynists around here, that’s for sure. If that’s the case, why’d you hire me?”

  “Because I’m not a fucking misogynist,” he replied. “But also because I think we’re alike. Neither one of us really fits in anymore, do we?”

  She blinked. It was odd that she’d been thinking the same thing a few minutes ago. She cleared her throat. “You don’t have to worry about your bike. I’ll take care of it.”

  “I know. Thanks.” He turned away, as if ready to leave, but hesitated. She cocked her head, waiting. He turned back around and stuck his hands in his front pockets. “Hey listen, I think I’m going to go fishing later on tonight. Any chance you might wanna tag along?”

  Immediately, Church took a step back, shutting down. The last thing she ever wanted to do was lead him on thinking she was looking for a good time.

  “I don’t think so,” she replied stiffly. “I don’t date.”

  His laugh startled her. “You think I’m asking you out on a date? Uh, no. Definitely not.”

  Her ego didn’t like the wound, even though it was what she stated. “Why definitely not?”

  “Because one, you’re my friend. I would never ask you on a date. And two, if I actually did ask you on a date, going night fishing wouldn’t be the ideal romantic setting. Between the bug spray and having to pee into the lake, it really doesn’t set a seductive tone.”

  When he put it that way, it made so much sense that she dropped her guard and grinned at the mental picture of hanging her ass over the side of the boat. “That’s true.”

  “You’ve told me stories of when you fished with your granddad so I thought you might enjoy the evening.”

  Church remembered all the times she, Cherry, and her grandfather had gone fishing. Her sister had been the better fisherman, sitting quiet and still, watching the bobber in the water until a fish nibbled enough to get caught. She, on the other hand, used to love casting the line, only to reel it in and do it all over again. Looking back, it had been some of the best moments of her childhood. Long before Ricky had shown up to destroy everything he touched.

  “Yeah, okay,” she said. “Now get out of here so I can put in a little more work before closing time comes.”

  He gave her a mock salute then headed back toward his home turf. He still limped a little, as if not used to the steel leg which had replaced flesh and bone. Once upon a time, he’d probably been free-spirited and proud, but now his posture was one of self-preservation. What made Darrell McBryde tick? What made him not give up the home and club he’d gone to war for in order to become a member?

  She looked at his bike and an idea floated through her mind. With a small smile gracing her lips, she picked up a ratchet with new determination.

  Chapter Two

  Twilight quickly came and went, and Church washed her hands in the large garage sink to rid herself of the sticky grease. The stuff under her nails was a lost cause. She was due to meet Darrell in about an hour at the lake, and she wanted to stop and pick up some sandwiches to take with them. Experience had taught her hunger usually set in around midnight, and being out on the lake with rumbling tummies wasn’t comfortable.

  A sedan pulled into the gravel parking lot, an ominous knocking noise coming from somewhere in the engine. The death rattle faded as the engine turned off and Church eyed the elegant-looking woman who stepped out from behind the wheel. Long legs encased in pantyhose and high heels, which wobbled precariously over the rocky terrain. Shockingly bright-red hair lay coiled high on her head, accentuating her delicate cheekbones. Based on the elegance and class oozing from her rigid posture, Church would’ve bet a hefty amount of cash the woman wasn’t from Stevens.

  “Hello!” the woman called out. “Are you Church Farlander?”

  “Yeah,” Church replied cautiously. “Can I help you?”

  “Oh yes, please! As you probably heard, my car is making this terrible noise and the guy at the gas station directed me to you.”

  “Somebody referred you to me?”

  The woman nodded. “Well, he first directed me to this other garage near the gas station, but I didn’t like the look of the owner who came out.”

  “You mean Miller Goff?”

  “I don’t know his name, but when he mentioned you, I liked the fact you’re a woman. Men can be such animals when it comes to fixing cars, and I’d rather not be fleeced because I don’t know how an engine works.”

  The woman’s candid explanation about summed up the entire male chauvinistic attitude of southeast Missouri.

  “Yeah, all right,” Church said. “Pop your hood for me and let me take a quick peek.”

  “Thank you,” the woman replied, sounding relieved. Through the open window, she bent and pulled the hood release. Church grabbed a shop light and hung it on the hood as she gave the engine a quick, cursory inspection.

  “I was surprised to find a woman mechanic was in this town,” the woman said as she came to stand next to Church’s bent-over body. “And such a pretty one. You can imagine what it feels like as a woman traveling alone through some of these small towns. I hate to use the word hillbilly but sometimes it’s so appropriate, you know?”

  “I think you mean rednecks,” Church muttered. “Big difference from hillbillies.”

  The woman opened her mouth to say something but at that moment the low hum that had been cruising in the background suddenly intensified as two motorcycles roared up the road to enter the Forgotten Rebels compound across the street. The unbaffled pipes drowned out even the thoughts in her head, which she was grateful for because she was never good at small talk.

  “Is that a motorcycle gang across the street?”

  “Club,” Church corrected. “Not gang.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “It’s a bunch of old veterans growing even older together. So yeah, there’s a difference.”

  “Veterans? Oh, I’d love to talk to them.”

  Church straightened and frowned at the woman who stared transfixed at the closed club doors. The elegant woman was the last person she’d have thought was a groupie.

  “About what?” Church asked.

  “I’ve been traveling through southern Missouri trying to scout out a place to set up a rehab center. I know the addiction rate is really high among vets.”

  Church blinked. That wasn’t at all what she expected to hear. “You a doctor?”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry! Yes, I’m Doctor Carleen Brogan.” She reached into her pocket and came out with a thin rectangle case. She popped it open, pulled out a card, and held it out.

  Church glanced at it. “Pain management? But you said you wanted to open a rehab center. Doesn’t that kinda go against your bread and butter?”

  “Yes, but my brother died from an overdose so I’m now on a personal crusade.” She gave a half-shoulder shrug. “Perhaps it was fate my car decided to die and I found you. You probably don’t know how it feels to have the person you love die over something so stupid, but it’s a pain that devastates you to the bone.”

  Yeah, in fact, she did know. All too well. She remembered the mocking laughter as Ricky held her down as he hurt her. Yet Church shied away from the flashes of memory that Dr. Brog
an’s words evoked. She didn’t need a thaw right then so instead she slid the card into her back pocket and nodded toward the clubhouse across the street. “The president of the club is a man named Wick.”

  “Wick? Like in a candle?

  “Chadwick,” Church clarified. “But his club name is Wick.”

  “Ah. Do you know him?”

  “I’ve met him,” she hedged.

  “Do you know him well enough to set up a meeting? If there’s a chance to talk with him, I’d really appreciate it.”

  Church frowned. “I … I don’t know—”

  “Oh, I promise not to be one of those judgmental, pushy doctors,” Carleen said. “I’d just like to play the idea of a rehab center past him and see what he thinks.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

  “Really? But what I’m proposing will benefit the veterans. Please? This is very important to me.”

  Church sighed. “I’m actually meeting one of the members tonight. I’ll run it by him.”

  “Oh, wonderful! I’m lucky you’re dating one of them.”

  “No, not a date. We’re just friends.”

  “Well, regardless, I thank you,” Carleen said softly. “Really. I appreciate it.”

  The good doctor’s gratitude made Church very uncomfortable, so she decided to get back onto even ground. “From the way this sounded as you drove up I’d say the problem is the alternator.”

  “Is it fixable?”

  “Yes, although it’s too late to get a part now. I can get one first thing in the morning and swap it out.”

  Carleen smiled, showing blinding white teeth. “That would be great.”

  “Do you have a place to stay?”

  “I have a room at the Stevens Hotel.”

  “If you’d like, I can drop you off there. Stores open up about ten so I should have it fixed by about noon.”

  “Wonderful. My day has completely turned around. Thank you so much.”

  It didn’t take long for Church to lock up. She grabbed the woman’s large suitcase and plopped it on the bed of her truck. Carleen lifted her skirt a little to give her legs more maneuverability to climb up into the cab. Church hid her amusement. Although Carleen Brogan seemed to be way out of place in the small town of Stevens, Missouri, it was nice finally having a legit customer.

  ****

  Church watched as Darrell steered the aluminum jon boat up to a wooden pier at the boat launch. He wore cargo pants and a t-shirt that showed off a few of his tattoos, and a hokey hat complete with hooks and bobbers decorating it. Completely silly, but it made him … cute. He threw her the docking rope and she quickly tied it off before he cut the engine.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yep.” She lightly kicked her cooler that rested by her feet. “Got sandwiches, water, and beer.”

  He made his way to the boat’s edge and held out his hand for the cooler. “Ah, I see you’ve done this before.”

  She handed it over. “Once or twice. My grandfather liked to fish on this lake.”

  “Well, I got us sleeping bags, more water, more beer, and chicken hearts.” He proudly held up the packet still wrapped in plastic with the grocery store stamp.

  “What are you gonna do with those?”

  “Catch catfish, hopefully.”

  “Nothing in these waters likes chicken hearts,” she said with a smirk. “Except the turtles.”

  “Oh yeah? So how do you explain catching the biggest catfish Missouri has ever seen?”

  She held her hands about three feet apart. “Was it this big?”

  “Bigger,” he bragged, puffing out his chest a little. “So big its tail hung out of my cooler. Biggest damn catfish ever.”

  She shook his head in amusement at his boast. “While you reload your empty hooks after the turtles eat your chicken hearts, I’ll be catching the fish one right after another.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s your secret weapon?”

  Church stepped onto the forward deck of the boat and bent down to her cooler. She opened it and held up a package. “Hot dogs.”

  “Hot dogs?” he asked skeptically.

  She shrugged. “What can I say? The cats love the dogs.”

  He snorted. “Wanna make a little wager? My chicken hearts against your hot dogs.”

  “There isn’t anything you could offer that I would want,” she replied dryly.

  “Money?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I stand corrected.”

  “Ten bucks?”

  “A whole ten bucks? Gee, how can I say no?”

  He held out a hand. “It’s a bet, then. The other pays ten dollars to the winner. The ice chest is right over there to hold our prizes.”

  She shook his hand firmly. “No crying when you hand over that Hamilton.”

  As she settled into one of the seats, Darrell unmoored the boat then started up the engine and slowly eased back from the dock. Once they cleared the shallow water, he revved up the thirty-horsepower engine and off they shot across the lake. Lake Wappapello was a reservoir packed with all types of fish. Although catfish wasn’t her favorite, she would happily collect the ten dollars when her hot dog bait outperformed his.

  A patrol boat had passed them, and Darrell raised his hand in greeting and the ranger simply drove by. Most people leave the lake once the sun started its descent, but a handful of fishermen were still out and about. Church’s grandfather was one of those men who liked to stay out all night and the sisters had spent many a chilly night on the water. Church breathed deep as the cool wind whipped through her hair, glad she’d worn a thick sweatshirt. Days could be hot and sweaty but night could be downright cold. Islands lay in the middle of the large manmade lake and Darrell headed over to island number three, which lay to the east. The deep bellows of bullfrogs echoed all around once the engine shut off, and Church saw another boat back in the marshes, probably gigging. One delicacy of the region was frog legs, and just thinking about the fried meat made her stomach rumble.

  “Now I want frog legs instead of sandwiches,” she mused.

  “We catch any fish tonight, I’ll treat you to them tomorrow,” Darrell said.

  “So a frog leg dinner is now also on the betting table, along with the ten bucks?”

  She tried hard not to read too much into the betting change. Not a date. Not a date.

  “If you say so.” He grinned, showing her his humor over the bet. He left the wheel and dropped anchor, securing them in the spot. Then from a side compartment, he pulled out two fishing poles. “I’ve got a spinning reel, a spin casting, or a bait casting. You have a preference?”

  “I’ll take the spin casting.”

  He handed it over to her and they both settled in the boat to add their bait. Church glanced at him, amused at the chicken hearts he put on the hook. As if sensing her stare, he looked at her and their gazes clashed. She immediately turned away because the last thing she wanted to do was face the attraction she felt toward him.

  Church nestled into the lumpy boat chair and kept her string taut. The direction of the water helped with that. She had a couple nibbles, but every time she reeled in, the hot dog had a few bites taken out.

  “How you doing?” Darrell asked.

  “Well, they’re biting,” she replied. “Nibbling from underneath, I’m guessing. What about you?”

  “No comment,” he said as he put another chicken heart on the hook then cast it far in the water.

  A few minutes later, Church’s bobber took off and she gently pulled on the pole to cement the hook. She reeled in her catch and liked the size of the catfish, so she grabbed a pair of pliers to pull the hook out of the spiky fish, making sure not to stab herself. She slipped the fish on the ice to keep it fresh while they continued through the night. Then Church rebaited her hook and expertly flicked the line into the water.

  “Don’t let that lucky catch go to your head,” Darrell warned.

  “I won’t,” she assured him, smiling. Once more
she settled back and relaxed.

  When Darrell popped open two beers and handed one to her, their fingers briefly touched, and she flinched, hastily retreating back to what she considered her side of the boat. Darrell didn’t say anything, he simply left her alone to fish in peace, even going so far as to practically ignore her. Slowly, her heartbeat returned to normal as she realized Darrell wasn’t going to come after her, or attack her. Not that she really believed that on a practical level, but her psyche flinched away from any type of male contact. Ingrained self-preservation still drove her to protect herself at all costs.

  Yet she decided not to drink any beer. Alcohol slowed reaction time and she’d be damned if she made herself vulnerable again. She tipped the beer over the side of the boat and let it drain out of the can.

  “Don’t like the beer?” he asked.

  She jumped and turned to look at him, the moon offering enough light for her to see the question in his face. “Sorry. I don’t trust alcohol.”

  “Alcohol … or me drinking it?”

  “Not just you.” She put the empty beer can into the designated trash bag. “I also don’t trust me on it. I learned early on that trying to escape the bad by drinking it away doesn’t make it disappear. It only makes the hangover worse.”

  “Yeah. That’s kinda how pain meds work, too.”

  They fell into an easy comradery and ten minutes later, she reeled in her next catch.

  “I see this is going to be a long night,” Darrell said with a sigh.

  “I did warn you,” she replied, chuckling. “The extra money will be a welcome addition to my coffee fund.”

  Darrell simply harrumphed as his bait disappeared one more time.

  Chapter Three

  Masterson drove into the city limits of Stevens, Missouri, heading down Business Route Sixty through the heart of the small town. At the beginning of the long road stood the resident Wal-Mart while the other end contained what clearly seemed to be the lower income housing. That was his destination and it didn’t take him long to bypass the rundown homes and head toward the cemetery located on the outskirts of town.