The Biker's Bunny, page 7
My fingers tighten around the bottle. “Who?” I snarl.
“Petal. Daisy. Briar. A fucking flower.” He shakes his head. “Can’t rightly recall.”
“Rosie?” Jealousy burns in my gut and through my veins. She’s not mine, but the thought of her whoring herself has me wanting to ride out and tan her ass raw when I find her.
“Sounds about right,” Levi confirms it before he takes off.
God damn it. I promised myself I’d stay away from my brother and his club. He doesn’t know who I am, and I swore Rosie was better off without me. I’m not good for either of them, but like a moth to a fucking flame, I’m being drawn back to West Virginia.
“Expect you’ll be riding out tonight. Got a job for you not far from there.”
“Told you. I’m done with that shit.” Been searching for the perfect retirement spot. It sure as fuck isn’t located in West Vir-by-god-ginia.
“Big money.”
“Don’t need the money.” I’ve been wanting out of the business for years. I set out to do what I wanted. I found my brother. Got enough to take care of my Ol’ Lady and kids.
“I’ll call Drisco. I’m sure you’ll bump into him at that Bunny Mansion.”
Fucking Drisco is psychotic, and I don’t want that piece of shit anywhere near Rosie or my brother. Merc should have put him down years ago. He’s a rabid animal.
“What’s the job?”
He reaches behind the bar and gives me a slip of paper with an address on it.
“What’d this one do?”
“Her and her man likes the boys they foster a little too much. There are rumors, but no one will do a damn thing about it.”
My jaw ticks. Bile hits the back of my throat. Merc knows what was done to me as a kid. Why I was sleeping in the dumpster behind this bar at thirteen. The reason why I was sticking a needle in my arm. Trying to disappear. Was how I got with Alisha.
Merc knows how hard I’ve struggled with the demons of my past. Knows that I was sodomized. The reason I take these jobs.
It’s an unspoken secret between us. One I know he’ll carry to his grave.
“Hit was taken out by the family of one of their victims. Kid was caught up in the system. His grandma was trying to get custody but had to go through the courts to prove her relation, by then it was too late. Boy had run away. At least that’s the story that was given. Found his remains in the woods. They said it was suicide.” Merc shakes his head. “The grandma gave her life savings to get this done proper.”
My nostrils flare. If only anyone had given half a shit about Beni and me. I can’t bring the boy back, but I can take out the sick fucks responsible. “Give the woman her money back. This one is on me.”
Merc whistles but nods.
It’s settled.
I finish my beer so I can get to my house to gear up and see Leticia.
As I’m climbing on my bike, my cell rings.
“Yo.”
“Daddy?” the panic in her voice puts me on alert.
“Letti, what’s wrong?”
“When are you coming home? I’m hungry.”
“Baby, where’s your mom?”
“In her room. Been there all day.”
“Take the phone to her.”
“Can’t. Door is locked.”
“Fuck.”
“Mom says you’re not supposed to say that.”
“I know she does. I’m on my way. Go to your room and lock the door. Don’t come out until I tell you to. Okay?”
“I’m scared.”
“I’ll be there before you know it.” I end the call and ride like hell.
God damn Alisha.
When I get home, all the lights are off save the one in Letti’s room.
The second my bike shuts off, my princess is running out the front door.
“What’d I tell you?” I kiss her temple and hug her to my chest.
“I knew it was you.”
“I get that, but when I tell you to do something, I expect you to listen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, but I’m going to need you to listen to me now.” She nods. “Go back to your room and turn on one of your movies. Listen with your earbuds. I’ll come get you once I check on your mom. I know you’re scared, but I’m here now and I swear to you everything is going to be fine because you’ve always got me. All right?”
Fuck me, this bitch better not be dead and make me a liar.
“Straight to your room.” I stand in her doorway and wait until she’s got her earbuds on. “Letti,” I call her name a few times to make sure she’s got her volume up.
Satisfied, I make my way down the hall to the main bedroom. I bang my fist on the door. “Open up, Lisha.”
Nothing.
Bang.
Pound.
Thump.
“Alisha, open the fucking door.”
Mother fuck me. I take a step back and plant my boot in the center of the door. It takes me kicking it three times to make my way in.
The covers are thrown back. She never made the bed. Her phone sits on the nightstand.
“Alisha,” I yell and notice the bathroom door is shut, but it’s not locked.
I yank the door open so roughly I nearly break it off the damn hinges.
Here she is. In the fucking tub, passed out with a needle in her arm.
“Wake up,” I snap at her. She doesn’t move. I step further into the room and what I’m seeing stops my damn heart. Her blonde hair piled on her head. Track marks on her same arm where the syringe is sticking her. The bathwater dark. A bloody handprint stains the side of the tub.
The cunt overdosed and lost the baby.
Fuck.
Sitting on the porch with my arm wrapped around Letti, I do my best to console my girl.
Red and blue lights flash against the windows, illuminating the entire neighborhood.
I press her face into my chest as they wheel Alisha out on a gurney, her body zipped up in a body bag.
At times, I hated her, but I never wanted this.
The detective said she probably bought a bad bag. She’s the third this week.
Chapter Twelve
“I don’t want to.”
“Get out of the truck, Letti.”
“No. I don’t want to, and you can’t make me.”
“Stop being a brat. I told you it’s temporary. I’ve got a couple of things to take care of and then I’ll come back to get you.”
“I want my mom.”
“I know you do, but she’s gone. All you got is me.”
“You don’t even like me.”
“That’s not true. Who told you that?”
“I heard Mom on the phone.”
“Well, whatever you think you heard, you heard wrong. I’m your dad and there’s nothing in this world more important or special than you. Don’t you ever think any different.”
“Okay.” She sniffles.
She opens her door and I grab her bag out the back.
Holy and Hazel stand on their front porch, appearing confused.
They’ll understand soon enough.
“What’s going on?” My brother has his arms crossed, having no idea that our worlds are about to collide.
“This is my daughter, Leticia. She prefers to be called Letti.”
Hazel smiles at my girl. “Do you like cupcakes?”
“Do they have sprinkles?”
“Sure do. Come on and I’ll let you have the biggest and best one.”
“Go on.” I nudge Letti to go inside with Hazel.
“Explain,” my brother grits the word out through his clenched teeth.
“I got something I need to do. Letti needs somewhere to be until I get my shit sorted.”
“And that’s here?”
“You’re the only person I can trust to take care of her.”
“You don’t know me that well.”
“Know you well enough.”
“How do you figure? You’ve been gone for months. We’ve met a few times in passing. You just show up at my door with some kid expecting me to take her on. Better have a fuckuva good reason.”
“Because we’re blood, man. You’re my brother.”
“You’re not my club brother. Disrespectful to assume you have a right to call me brother.”
“Not like that. No. Benicio. It’s me, Xavier. Last time I saw you, a social worker was taking you away. When I was seven years old, our mother used to leave me alone to watch you. You’re all I’ve got.”
“How long have you known?”
“Over a year.”
“Fuck you.”
“Our mother was a whore who left us to rot in a motel room. She didn’t give a fuck about us. No one did. You don’t have to accept me or like me, but my little girl needs you right now. She just lost her mom. Died with a fucking needle in her arm. Like our junkie mother.”
He stares at me long and hard, likely wondering why he never saw our resemblance before.
“Fine.” He reaches for her bag. “I’m not doing this for you, comprende?”
I nod. He’s doing it for my kid.
I drive by the Whitaker house in the white truck I rented. Stuck a copycat vinyl logo of one of the local utility companies on the sides and swapped out the license plate.
Been watching them for weeks, getting down their daily habits. Making note of their work schedules. Every morning the kids in their care catch the school bus at fifteen till seven. The man works the night shift at a slaughterhouse where they process pork. The woman doesn’t work.
It’s Sunday morning. They stuck all the kids on a bus for Sunday school. I watched their neighbors leave their houses dressed in their finest to pay their respects to the Lord. I park the truck and approach the house dressed in a fake uniform, complete with a company badge and clipboard. The mask I’m wearing slides down my nose slightly, but the ball cap I’m wearing keeps my eyes hidden. As I get closer, the music grows louder.
The yard is nicely kept. The kids have bicycles stored on a rack, and I wonder if they actually allow them to ride them or if they are used as a method to taunt them. I gained access to the house three days ago when the wife had gone to the store. What I found inside had me itching to take these freaks out then, but I have to do it today while they are together and the kids are out of the way. Around the side of the house, I pretend to be reading their electric meter while I case their positions inside. The man sits at the kitchen table drinking coffee. His cunt of a wife dances around him, cooking breakfast, singing along to ‘Love is Strange’ by Mickey and Sylvia.
I only recognize it because Dirty Dancing was one of Alisha’s favorite movies of all time.
Love is fucking strange alright. He’s shirtless, showing off his fucking white pride tattoos. She’s plump with greasy, bottle dyed orange hair that washes out her complexion. How they were approved as fosters is beyond me.
They don’t look like they wash their own ass. Some motherfuckers are so dirty on the inside it seeps out their pores. Erin and Joe Whittaker. 104 Willow Creek Road. Married for ten years. Joe has two daughters from his first wife. They live with her. Would be willing to bet my life’s savings that they don’t visit for a reason. I found a hidden room in the basement behind a shelf full of canned food. Joe likes to make home movies. Erin may not actively participate but the nasty cunt knows what he’s doing.
I leave my clipboard by the meter for now and ready my taser.
Erin’s leaned over, hugging her man from behind. Neither of them sees me coming through the back door. Knife in one hand. Taser in the other. I stab her right kidney while hitting him with the taser on the left side of his neck. She cries out as his body jerks. I twist the knife deeper as she cries out, unable to move. I’ve got her pinned from behind, in turn pressing Joe against the table. The fucker is too confused and weak to push off from the table.
Using a stupid app, I’m able to disguise my burner number as their own house line. Something else I found out the past week is their local police department and emergency services have one of the worst rated response times in the state due to lack of funding and under staffing. The sheriff will be in church when he gets the call.
By which time there will be a train rolling through, blocking the crossing across from the church. Cutting off access to the only road out of that holler. Giving me more than enough time to finish up and be out of town.
I place the call, allowing Erin’s cries to be heard long enough for the operator to establish something is very wrong in the Whittaker house this morning.
Satisfied with my progress, I end the call and inject them both with a lethal cocktail. One that will paralyze them while they wait for death to claim them. Now to set the scene. Murder suicide. Joe killed his wife, then himself. At least that’s what the report will say. She confronted him with his filthy, sick secret. I smear a few of the Polaroids from the secret room with Erin’s blood.
With her arms tied to the chair across from his, it will appear as though there was a fight in which he stabbed her before tying her up.
“Everyone will know about your house of horror. Your sick perversions will be front page news. But the best part is you won’t live to see any of it.” I wrap Joe’s hand around the gun, the one registered to him, and squeeze on the trigger. The bullet hits the middle of her forehead. A chunk blows out the back of her skull and splatters on the wall. I move to the side of him, then lift his hand to his temple, repeating the motion. Squeezing the trigger with his own hand.
“Burn in hell.” I go to make my exit as the smoke alarm blares from the grease fire starting from the bacon burning on the stove. I grab one of her cheap oven mitts, and let it catch in the flames as the build higher. Lighting the curtain over the kitchen sink, I leave. Confident the fire will spread, creating another problem for the sheriff when he finally arrives.
I pick up the latest newspaper.
Headline:
Apparent Murder Suicide Rocks Small Town.
It was a gruesome discovery for Sheriff Randal Terry. Emergency Services responded to a call from 104 Willow Creek Road. Home to the Whitaker family. Known for fostering local children. The family may sound familiar. One of their foster sons was found slain after running away from the home.
When the first responders arrived on the scene, the first floor of the home was in flames. Inside were the bodies of Joe and Erin Whitaker. Thankfully, no children were home at the time of the fire. Preliminary reports state they believe Joe murdered his wife then took his own life. Friends and neighbors are in shock. No further information is available at this time. Sheriff Terry is expected to give a press release next Friday.
I toss the paper in the trash and climb onto my motorcycle.
Chapter Thirteen
Fuck me. Merc was right. The old fart is rarely wrong, but I had my doubts. I stare up at the grand mansion he told me about. Bunny Mansion. I snuff out my cigarette, wondering if Rosie’s in there now. Is she spreading her legs for any man who pays?
Never thought Murder and his good ol’ boys would dip their wicks into this shit. I got nothing against a woman performing the world’s oldest profession, but it’s a slippery slope. None of my business. Yet here I am. Call it curiosity. Jealousy. Whatever it is, I’m here.
I stomp through the front entrance and glance up at the fucking crystal chandeliers, wondering where the damn security is for this place. I drove right up on my Harley without seeing a soul. Place appears to still be under construction. Bunch of tools and materials are stacked in the far corner.
Front door is unlocked. I could be anyone. Should have checked in at the Devil’s Playground first, but I had to see this shit for myself first thing. Biker’s owning a fucking mansion. Sounds like the start of a terrible country song.
Marble floors. Fancy crown molding. It’s like entering another world. I admit, I can see the appeal. Bet some rich assholes would pay top dollar to roll in the sack with wild pussy. The only kind of pussy an MC attracts. Even if a bitch has some sweet to her, she goes feral for a bad man with a big dick. It’s nature. Basic chemistry.
Heels clack across the floor. A brunette with an hourglass figure approaches me, wearing a skimpy black bra with coordinating panties. “Who the hell are you?” She eyes my vest, and her face softens.
“Rosie around?”
“She’s probably at the clubhouse. Can I take a message?”
“Nah. I’ll find her.” I’ll fucking find her and tan her ass till it glows red.
I dig my cell out of my pocket and dial Holy. “I’m in town. I’ll be around later to check in on Letti. I got more business to square away. Tell Hazel I appreciate her.”
“Later,” he says. The past month we’ve been talking mostly through text and when I call to talk to my girl. We’ve got a long way to go, but it’s a start in getting to know each other as family. As blood.
Next, I call up Murder. “I’m in town.”
“Saw you on the security feed at the mansion.”
“Was wondering where your security was?”
“Out of sight, but present. Can’t have them getting distracted by the bunnies.”
“Heard that.”
“You need a room, hit up the clubhouse. I’m sure there’s a bed somewhere. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The call ends as I hear a kid in the background babbling something incoherent. Murder may be a family man these days, but he’s still got a club to run.
I swing by the clubhouse. The prospect waves me through. I’m sure Murder called ahead to let him know to expect me. Last time I was here, he offered me a place in the club. I like my freedom too much. Being a nomad comes with the territory of the role I play. Things have changed, though. I’ve got a kid to worry about. She needs stability.
Shit, I can’t give her on my own. Not without people who give a fuck at my back.
I park next to Bank’s and head inside. Too damn cold to be riding, but I’ll deal. This time of year, I’m normally out west soaking in the sunshine. The blast of music hits me square in the face, along with the heat.
