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He was by my side when my parents passed and the first one to put me in line when my world imploded when I became the legal guardians of my sisters.
“Saw you had a new drop off at the garage today. What’s that about?” He asks after he takes the last swig of his beer.
“Had a call yesterday about a man interested in refurbishing his ’69 Vette.”
“Nice. You interested?”He catches Gypsy’s eye and holds up his empty bottle. She’ll have a new one to him within a minute.
“Told him I would need to look at it before I did anything. Said I would call him next week when I had the time to get away from the shop.” Chains gives me a raised eyebrow, and I know he is waiting for what I have to say next. It’s probably because he can sense my frustration as we talk. “Damn man shows up today with the car on a flat bed and wanted a quote on the spot.”
“What the hell?”He questions, and I just shrug.
“Yep. Told him it’ll still be next week”. I shake my head and roll my eyes. What more can I do? I backed up as it is and this old timer thinks I can just put him to the first of the line. Nope. Sorry, man, but that is not how it works.
“I have no doubt you’ll have it sorted out,” he tells me as he stands and grabs his fresh beer from the bar and heads over to oversee the pool game between Pie and Hollywood.
I turn around, resting my arms on the bar and Gypsy is right there giving me the eye, but I ain’t got time for that shit tonight. I’m tired as all get out. I just want to finish my beer and then call it a night in my room, too tired to drive to the house.Being the VP of Dead Demons MC and running Demon’s Garage has taken all the energy from me this last week. While I would usually go to my house for the night, my sisters have grown in the last six years and I find it easier to stay at the clubhouse most nights.
Marley’s now on her own after getting a degree in business, while Madison and Macy work to finish theirs. When they are all in town, I make more of an effort to be there every night.
Getting up from my stool, I nod my head to the men at the bar and head to the back hall of the clubhouse, ready to end the day.
The club converted an old warehouse on the outskirts of town into the clubhouse. It was a disaster when we bought it, but it had land and a garage with six bays at the other end of the plot. We figured we would have a place for the bikes and to start one of the legit businesses we wanted to start: Demon’s Customs. Chains gave me full rein to work with the builder on what I needed and wanted to start the garage.
I knew what I wanted and how I thought it should run, but faced with the additional responsibility of running my own garage, I learned really fast I couldn’t do it on my own. Without the help of the guys and my Aunt Betty, Demon’s Customs would have tanked within the first year.
Navigating down the dark hall, I make it to my room at the end of the hall. Unlock the door, step in, and lock it back up. I don’t need any house bunnies tonight, just a shower and bed. I turn on the light and survey my place, making sure everything is where it is supposed to be. No one should have come in, but I am paranoid about people touching my stuff.
Satisfied with what I see, I hit the bathroom, strip down to my boxer briefs and climb into bed. Before I let my head hit the pillow, I check my phone one last time and see that I have a few missed texts. Clicking on the text icon, it opens up to the group text I share with my sisters.
Marley, Madison, and Macy all text goodnight. I send off my reply and plug my phone into the charger, my head cushioned by the pillow within seconds.
* * *
I stare at the garage in front of me. Nothing seems out of place, but the camera notified me this morning that there was movement in the fenced area out back. It was hard to catch the image since it was in the top corner. It could have been a dog, but I want to check it out as soon as possible since I have a gut feeling that it’s a two-legged trespasser instead.
The garage is not open to the public on Saturdays, but the guys and I come in to work on projects most of the time, allowing us to not fall too far behind. Within minutes of getting the notification, I hopped in the shower, got dressed and walked out the door, well before the rest of the guys had even opened their eyes from their debauchery the night before.
The Georgia sunrise peeks through the trees and cast a morning haze over the area. I pull up the camera on my phone and watch the area where I saw the movement from. The trespasser shouldn’t have heard me as I walked over from the clubhouse, so I watch for any movement to confirm my suspensions.
When nothing happens, I walk to the fence, unlock the padlock, and watch out across the lot as I let myself in. Hanging the lock on the fence, I close the door and leave it unlocked, since we will be working.
My eyes travel back and forth, looking for anything out of place, but it’s hard to see anything amiss when the lot has about fifteen cars lined up and a few shipping containers lined up along the back.
Making my way to the back entrance, I insert my key and twist the handle, but stop short when I hear a loud bang from the area where the shipping containers are.
Swiftly, I turn in that direction and take silent steps against the dirt and grass. My eyes sweep back and forth, looking for a sign of what caused the disturbance. I make it about fifty yards from the shipping containers, when the unmistakable sound of chain-link fence scrapping together catches my ear.
I run full speed between the shipping containers, coming to an abrupt stop at the fence line, and watch as a figure runs through the woods. From this distance, it looks like a teenager, but I can’t get a good read as they weave through the trees.
“Hey,” I holler, trying to get them to stop. I can’t climb the fence, since the top is barbed wire and I don’t want to deal with that pain in the ass. “Hey, you,” I holler again, but watch as the figure disappears behind a large gathering of dense trees.
I pace the fence line, looking for the source of my recent intruder. Behind the last storage container, I see where the fence has been cut from the ground to about four feet high and twisted back to allow someone to come and go as they please.
“What the hell?” I ask aloud to myself as I bend down and pluck a hunk of fabric from the twisted metal.
ChapterTwo
Bailey
