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“Now, sweetheart, give Crys a kiss. Let her taste what’s she’s gonna get shortly.”
The two women didn’t even hesitate. Their mouths locked together and Shade could see the exchange of tongues.
Then he heard Crystal’s over-the-top noises.
Yeah, he would stick to his fist tonight. And thoughts of a strawberry-blonde that he was pretty sure didn’t come in a box, like Crystal’s color.
After the ladies were done kissing each other and teasing Easy, his brother adjusted himself and his jeans and climbed off the table.
“Hope they ride me so hard there ain’t nothin’ left of me in the mornin’. So, might be late to work tomorrow. Just sayin’.”
“Hear you, brother,” Shade answered.
“Oh, yeah, guaranteed you’ll be hearin’ us all night.” He grinned.
Great.
He’d have to put in his earplugs tonight. He was pretty sure Easy and the two women wouldn’t be the only ones making a racket in the bunkhouse. Most nights it got pretty fucking loud. Especially when Billie was ripping someone a new asshole.
That was one sweet butt Shade avoided. He had no fucking clue how she ever ended up being Whip’s girlfriend, even for the quick minute she was.
The young brother was almost as quiet as Shade. Almost. But the baby-faced biker certainly didn’t look like a guy who’d like his sex rough or kinky. Or his woman to dominate him.
But then, what the fuck did he know.
With that said, Billie was a good addition to the stable since, every once in a while, his brothers liked to get their hands dirty. Or they liked to play the way Billie wanted to play.
Whatever they were into.
Didn’t matter to Shade. Everybody had their thing.
Easy tucked a lit hand-rolled between his lips, draped his arms over both women and, with a last jerk of his chin to Shade, headed toward the bunkhouse.
Shade picked up the empty box that had contained the Shirley cremains, tossed it in a nearby fifty-five-gallon drum, poured a little moonshine on it and lit it with his Zippo.
He stood and watched the thing burn, making sure all the evidence was reduced to ashes just like the man he’d scattered in the far field.
One more Shirley down. Too many to fucking go.
Chapter Three
Chelle heard the motorcycle before she saw it. She expected it to speed by, even though she lived on a quiet street on the edge of town. She had come home from work, changed quickly and decided to head outside to weed the front garden while waiting for the man from the crematorium to deliver Pumpkin’s ashes.
Damn cat.
She’d cried almost all night over him. Her eyes had still been red and baggy when she arrived at work this morning.
All because of a cat who lived a long life. Eighteen spoiled years.
He’d been around Josie’s whole life. Most of Maddie’s, too.
Her husband never liked cats, but then he hadn’t been around when she brought the kitten home from the animal shelter.
Pumpkin helped teach her girls responsibility and also how to be kind to animals. Though, sometimes they fought over whose bed the orange tabby would sleep in. However, that wasn’t their choice. Pumpkin always made that one on his own.
Chelle knelt on a foam gardening pad while pulling some stray weeds. She couldn’t afford to hire someone to do it for her. She used to make the girls help for some spare cash, but now Maddie was busy with college and her job. And Josie was busy with high school, her part-time job and her extracurricular activities. Ones Chelle hoped would get her into a good college and maybe even land her a scholarship to help pay for that education.
She and her husband thought a college degree was important for their future, so they’d started funds for both girls as soon as they were born. Luckily, her daughters always had a good work ethic and worked summer and part-time jobs when they could. Though, any money they earned went to their cars. Chelle couldn’t help pay for both.
Not on her salary.
It would’ve been cheaper to find a spot to bury Pumpkin instead of spending the money on cremating him, but...
She wasn’t ready to let that damn cat go.
She used the back of her wrist, avoiding her dirty gardening gloves, to wipe away the sting in her eyes.
She was done crying over that damn cat.
She sniffled. Damn it.
Pumpkin had managed to wrap his little paws around her heart the second she saw him in the cage with his littermates.
She ripped out the next dandelion from between the flowers with more force than necessary and tossed it into the five-gallon bucket next to her. Then, with a groan, she rose to her feet.
God, once she hit forty it seemed everything on her had started to fall apart. Forty seemed to have been some magical number. Now she was forty-one.
And still alone.
