“Sup, bro?”
“You helped Shelly set up that off-shore corporation last year,” I said, cuttin’ straight to it. “You able to access records’a purchases she made under the company?”
“Sure, could do it in my sleep. Why?”
“Just do it, brother. Look for any land or houses purchased in the past year near Whistler.”
I hung up without another word, knowin’ Curtains was already on it, and the results would be texted to me in the next few minutes.
“You think she’s hidin’,” King confirmed, noddin’ slowly. “Okay, let’s head up there now, and we should have the info we need by the time we get there.”
“You don’t think they killed her too?” Carson asked as we broke into a jog headin’ back to our bikes.
I snorted. “Shelly’s smarter than Jelly. She’s the kinda woman’s got a backup for her backup plan.”
“This is not lookin’ fuckin’ good,” King murmured as Carson fell back a step to avoid some trees.
“No, brother, it’s not,” I agreed, but some part’a me––the part that made outlaw a good fittin’ mantle over my shoulders––gnashed its teeth like an overaggressive dog on its leash. I was almosthappyRooster’s lot was comin’ for us ’cause I wanted any fuckin’ excuse I could get to go at him.
And if that had a whole lot to do with avengin’ the marks I’d seen collarin’ Blue’s throat a few days ago, well, so much the fuckin’ better.
The cabin was a prettylittle pinewood number at the edge of a development near Lost Lake outside’a Whistler Village. Unlike her home in North Van, it was wreathed with neighbours, so I went in alone first with King, Carson, and Pigeon followin’ one at a time, slinkin’ through the shadows to surround the house in case’a any issues.
I went right to the front door.
The sound’a children’s laughter could be heard through the pane’a glass.
Shelly’s face, when she caught sight’a me through it, was brittle enough to crack in half.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she hissed as soon as the door was open, slippin’ out to close it behind her.
She was barefoot in a little cardigan set that made her look like a Stepford wife, but there was watercolour paint on her cheek from one’a her kids, and she tended to curse worse than some’a my brothers.
I’d always liked the contrast in her.
“Hey, Shell,” I said affably, leanin’ a shoulder against the wood post. “You don’t call, you don’t write, so I figured I’d come see what the hell drove you outta town without a word to your dear old friend, Boner.”
“Jesus.” She shook her head, eyein’ the neighbourin’ homes ’fore reluctantly takin’ my hand to drag me inside to the first room on the left.
Apparently, havin’ me inside was better than bein’ seein’ chattin’ it up with a tatted biker even though I’d ditched my cut.
“What the fuck happened, Shellster?” I asked, softenin’ my tone ’cause I noticed her hands shakin’ as she closed the double doors’a the office for privacy.
She was pale when she turned to walk around the desk and took a seat, her usually immaculate nails chewed to the quick. When she finally locked eyes with me, they were bloodshot and ringed in dark circles.
“They came to my goddamn house, Boner,” she said through bared teeth. “Charlie and the kids were home playing in the back. He said some guys were watching them, ready to take action if I didn’t ‘hear him out.’”
Anger turned my insides into serpents, hissin’ and coilin’ in my gut.
Shelly was a drug dealer and a damn good one, distributin’ through a high-end network’a execs, stay-at-home mums, and bored university students, but she was still a mum and a good one at that. Fuck, she’d started this gig with us to pay for aides for her daughter with Down Syndrome.
“Who?” I gritted out.
“Said his name was Rooster. Called himself a ‘friend’ of the club.” She rolled her eyes and opened the drawer to pull out a pack’a cigarettes. After puttin’ one in her mouth, she offered me the pack, but I shook my head. “He wanted to renegotiate the deal I had with you. As in, drop The Fallen and take up with the White Raiders. I told the fucker I hadn’t even heard of his precious White Raiders, and he did not like that.”
She lit the cigarette, the cuff of her sweater fallin’ back to reveal a vivid bruise on her wrist.
Fuck.
