“Well, hello, handsome,” the hot guy said, licking his lips.
“Alright, enough!” I barked, running a hand down my face. “This ain’t a goddamn circus. Braveheart, go find out what Worm wanted. Donut, detach your entourage before I charge them admission. And, Thore”—I hesitated, glaring at themountain of unapologetic Irishman leaning lazily against the doorframe—“for the love of all that’s holy, cover that thing up before we all need therapy.”
Thore smirked, completely unrepentant, as he sashayed back into his room. “Don’t blame me if I’m irresistible.”
As the door slammed shut, I groaned aloud, “Why do I even bother?”
Sitting quietly, drinking coffee in my favorite spot in the bar, I watched as my brothers milled around, getting the bar ready for a new day when Worm slapped his computer down on the table before taking a seat.
“Did some more digging, boss, and I think I found who Garland owes money to, but the guy is dead.”
“Dead men can’t collect money, Worm.”
“No, but if the debt was passed to a relative, they could.”
I leaned back in my chair, the creak of the old wood echoing softly in the bar, and looked at Worm’s eager face. “Alright,” I said slowly, “who’s the lucky heir?”
Worm’s fingers tapped rapidly on the keyboard as he brought up a file. “Name’s Elias ‘Eli’ Ross. Lives out in some small Podunk town about an hour north. He runs a small auto shop on the edge of town.”
I raised a brow, letting the name roll around in my head. “Elias Ross. You sure about this?”
Worm nodded emphatically. “Positive. I cross-referenced the records, boss. It all checks out. Garland’s debt got handed down to him, whether he knows it or not.”
I exhaled sharply, glancing toward the bar where the others were still setting up. “Alright, Worm. Good work. Get meeverythin’ you can on this Ross guy. I want to know what he eats for breakfast and the color of his damn shoelaces.”
Worm grinned, saluting me with a mock seriousness. “You got it, boss.”
As he scurried off, I swirled the bitter dregs of my coffee in the bottom of the mug, feeling the weight of this new revelation settle in. If this Elias Ross had any clue about his inheritance—monetary or otherwise—it was bound to stir trouble. And trouble, as I knew all too well, had a way of following me like a shadow.
Sliding my chair back, I stood, stretching out the tension knotting my shoulders. “Gator!” Juju’s voice boomed across the space, breaking my train of thought.
I turned to see my vice president sauntering in, his ever-present swagger in full force. “What’s up?” I asked, hiding a smirk as Juju tossed a set of dice onto the bar.
“The bones are talkin’, my friend,” Juju said with a cryptic grin, his Creole accent thick. “And they’re sayin’ our journey’s about to get real interestin’.”
I shook my head, chuckling softly. “When isn’t it, Juju?”
It didn’t take Worm long to learn everything he could about this Elias Ross fella and, with an address in hand, Braveheart, Donut and I headed out to meet this Ross fella and introduce ourselves.
An hour later, we rode up on some run-down auto body shop. The place looked older than dirt and when we cut our engines, I would never admit it, but something felt off. Standing, I swung my leg over my bike and watched as a fat brawny redneck that definitely had one too many beers strolled out of the only bay, wiping his bruised and swollen hands on a dirty rag.
Narrowing my eyes, I whispered, “Watch your backs. Somethin’ ain’t right here.”
“Wha’ ya want? I don’ work on bikes.”
Stepping toward the fat fucker, I said, “Lookin’ for an Elias Ross.”
“Whacha’ lookin’ fer my dead brother for?”
“Dead?” I questioned. I could have sworn Worm told me the heir was Elias Ross. Looking at Donut, I said, “Call Worm and tell him to double check his information,” when I distinctly heard someone moan.
Turning back to the fat fucker, I asked, “You got someone in that bay?”
“That ain’t none of yer business. Get lost, biker trash. Don’ wan’ yer kind around here.”
Standing my ground, I quirked an eyebrow at the fucker. “My kind?”
He took a step closer, his bulk blocking the faint light spilling out from the shop. “Yeah, yer kind. Yer nuttin’ but a bunch of butt-fuckin’ pussies. Now get lost!”
