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Trip and Judge had told him to put them elsewhere. If Shade left them behind, the Shirleys would find them and use them against the Fury.
The less men, the less weapons, the better.
Even so, Shade didn’t want to destroy them, just in case the Fury needed to arm themselves in the future. They’d been outgunned the last time. They couldn’t let that happen again.
All the Shirley’s weapons were untraceable for the most part. Not registered, no serial numbers, nothing. Good for the Fury if they got into any kind of war.
He spread out another tarp over the floor of the van, and once he wrangled the bled-out redneck onto it, he wrapped it securely around the body.
Just like when he picked up dead animals for cremation.
Not dogs and cats. But like pigs and goats and the rest of those livestock animals he wasn’t sure why people made them pets.
Wasn’t his business.
Running the crematorium made the club scratch. It made him scratch.
Money he’d been stashing away.
He slammed the side door closed, ran around to the driver’s side and didn’t turn on the headlights until a half mile down the road, preferring to use the light of the moon to guide him in the direction of Tioga Pet Crematorium.
Best fucking club purchase Deacon, the club’s treasurer, ever recommended.
But then Deacon was fucking smart.
Unlike Shade.
Shade shoved the van’s shifter into Park and twisted his head toward the passenger seat. “Ready?”
With a quick glance over at him, Cassie gave him a single nod. “Yes. I swear this never gets easier.”
That was because she had a fucking heart. She cared about people and their pets.
To Shade, this was just a part of the job. Of him being a part of the Fury. He did what he had to do for his club and for himself. To him, this was just another day in the many days since he arrived in Manning Grove and became a prospect. Since he proved himself last fall and earned his patches.
He carefully formed his next words. “Don’t gotta do it. Could teach me how.”
Judge’s ol’ lady shook her blonde head and stared out of the passenger side window to the house they were parked in front of.
The house wasn’t huge, but it was well-kept.
Most people who could afford it preferred to put their pets “to sleep” at home.
They hired them because they wanted their pets treated with respect, even after they were dead. Cassie made sure that happened. Their customers’ pets got treated better than a lot of humans.
He didn’t quite understand it, but then he’d never had a pet. At least not one with fur and any kind of intelligence. He’d named a few spiders and other kinds of bugs that had lived with him in...
No. Not now.
He switched mental gears back to real pets. Like Jury and Justice.
He saw how Deacon and Judge interacted with their American Bulldogs and that always caught his attention.
Maybe he should get a dog.
He’d rather have a loyal dog for a bed companion than one of those sweet butts. Not that he’d be doing the same thing to his dog as a sweet butt.
That would be just wrong. He knew that now.
But when he was a boy he’d seen things...
No. Not now.
He reminded himself to concentrate on the present.
Cassie sighed softly and pushed open the van door. “Can you grab my bag?”
Of course he could. He always did.
Whatever Cassie wanted, Shade did.
He liked and respected Cassie a lot. She was a kind soul. Funny, too. But she was always trying to get him to talk more. She was always asking him questions, trying to figure him out, trying to discover his secrets and what made him tick.
Shit he didn’t share with anyone.
One time she just came out of nowhere and gave him a bear hug, scaring the shit out of him.
When he pulled free, he asked, “Why’d you do that?”
“Because it looked like you needed one,” was the answer she gave him with her pretty smile. Though, that time it was tinged with sadness. Then she simply walked away.
Judge did good with Cassie. Daisy, on the other hand, was debatable. The six-year-old could be a sassy little shit. But the club’s enforcer doted on the girl and he was the one who had to live with the kid, not Shade.
He needed to get out of his fucking head and focus on the job ahead. His thoughts drifted a lot, and it took an effort sometimes to keep them on track.
Like today.
But then, he was tired, which made it worse. He’d started the large animal furnace last night at two a.m. and it didn’t automatically shut off until early this morning. After it cooled down, he had to collect the ashes and put them in a container for disposal.
He hid that container until he found a chance to spread the ashes in one of the far fields on the farm. Eventually those ashes would be turned with the dirt when the Amish came with their plows and draft horses and their pretty daughters.
