Keys To My Cuffs (The Heroes of The Dixie Wardens MC Book 4) (9 page)

Kettle was a member of The Dixie Wardens. He was also a firefighter with Benton Fire Department.

Originally, we’d met while on the job. He’d been the one to persuade Trance and I to consider joining The Dixie Wardens. Then, when we’d decided to prospect, he’d had his best friend sponsor us.

Adeline was Kettle’s old lady, and the woman who felt it necessary to poke her nose into everybody’s business.

She was also hormonal. Hence, why I didn’t say what I wanted to, and bit my tongue on the snappy retort that had nearly spewed out of my mouth.

“I’ve gotta piss,” I said to no one in particular and left.

I heard the murmurs that followed my exit from the room. I knew they were worried about me. Honestly, though, I didn’t give a shit.

I walked into the clubhouse, and was instantly assaulted with the smell of pine needles.

The women of the club decided to put up a Christmas tree the size of an elephant. It reached the roof’s ten foot ceiling and then curled over.

The women had wanted their husbands’ to trim the top, but it was too much work to find a thirteen-foot stepladder, and was decorated only on the bottom.

It looked incredibly silly, in my opinion. Then again, I wasn’t a big fan of Christmas. I didn’t celebrate it like everyone else did.

My mom was a single mother and always worked over the Christmas holidays.

Then when I joined the Coast Guard, I never went home on holidays. Even now, I’m not sure we would even know what to do with holidays.

Seeing a tree was new to me. Before all the ladies started arriving, Christmas’ had been just another day, and now I had to deal with the fucking Christmas carols.

I hadn’t been aware I detested Christmas carols until Baylee, our VP’s wife, brought that shit and put it on the loud speaker.

Now I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that N’Sync and Beyoncé would never be one of my go-to artists.

“Why do we have to listen to this shit?” I grumbled as I watched Baylee start to throw a hand full of tinsel at the tree.

“Because it gets you in the Christmas spirit?” Baylee teased.

Baylee was a good woman, and a perfect old lady for our vice president, Sebastian. She was a paramedic on the Kilgore, Texas fire department with a morbid sense of humor. Her
cheery
personality balanced out Sebastian’s serious one. They complemented one another nicely. They had something special; something that I hadn’t even realized I’d wanted until I saw the two of them together.

But the same could be said for each man in the club that now had old ladies. I hoped that I could find that with Channing. I just had to get through this week, first.

“Is this group a boy band or a pussy band?” I asked as I walked to the tree and picked up one of the ornaments.

It was a fire hose made out of spun glass.

“This is The Backstreet Boys...haven’t you ever heard of them?” Viddy asked in surprise.

I turned to find her with an arm full of threaded popcorn.

“I don’t listen to pop. I don’t think my radio’s octave can go up as high as these men are screeching,” I said as I plucked a piece of popcorn out of the bowl Adeline was bringing in.

Adeline and Viddy were twins. They looked exactly alike, except for Adeline’s numerous tattoos. Black hair, white creamy skin, banging curves. Although Adeline’s were a little more pronounced now that she had a baby.

Saylor, Kettle and Adeline’s daughter, was now three months old, and the reason Adeline’s boobs looked like cantaloupes. Not that I looked too hard. I valued my face too much.

Kettle was a possessive asshole; especially when it came to his wife and her assets.

“How much longer until we’re riding?” I asked Silas, who was sitting at the bar.

Silas was the president of the MC, and the closest thing to a father I’d had in recent years. He was brash, rude, and had a zero tolerance policy for bullshit.

I suspected that, at one time, he was a member of the CIA or FBI, but had
never been able to get him to admit to it. Although, that wasn’t for a lack of trying. The man was just an iron vault when it came to his personal life. Very rarely did I see him show any emotion, even when it came to his own son, Sebastian.

“As soon as the men get their balls back and get their women on their bikes,” he said dryly.

“Well,” I huffed a laugh. “Guess we’ll just try for next year then.”

He chuckled and tipped up his beer. “Speaking of girls. How’s your girl?”

I didn’t even bother asking how he knew I had a girl. Nobody else did, but Silas had ways. Ways that he didn’t ever feel the need to explain.

“She’s pissed,” I said as I reached across the bar to grab a beer of my own. “To say the least.”

“I’d imagine. You left her for three months, without a word, when you went to Florida. It’s understandable,” he agreed.

I was about to reply when my pager went off, stealing my concentration.

Mother fucker. That only meant one thing.

A homicide.

Damn, but I’d really needed the outlet of riding my bike for a good hour.

I couldn’t take it with me to Florida because I was supposed to be keeping the attention off me. I’d gotten back last night, and only had a short ride from the airport to the restaurant. Then from the restaurant to my old place. All less than twenty minute rides.

My side was burning from the knife wound I’d gotten
while checking my mail yesterday. The little fucker Pedro. He was all of sixteen years old and looked like an innocent little teenager in his Chino’s and polo shirt.

Fool me once and all that bullshit.

“Got a homicide?” Silas asked with a raised brow.

Pulling my phone out, I called the station and confirmed that it was a homicide. In fact, it was a double homicide.

“What’s the address?” I asked the dispatcher.

“5004 Oak Street,” she relayed.

“Have the techs arrived yet?” I asked as I pulled my keys out of my pocket.

I’d been back less than twenty-four hours, but I should’ve known they’d call me if a murder happened.

They had a rotational pool of detectives at Benton PD, and I hadn’t been there to answer any of the calls in well over three months. It was no surprise that I was the first on the list. Especially with the holidays.

Crime scene specialists, however, didn’t get holidays or rotational pools. They got every single murder, every single time. Rain or shine. Day or night.

“Yes, sir. They’re already
in route,” she affirmed.

“Okay, thank you,” I said before hanging up.

“Murder?” Silas asked with a raised brow.

I sighed. “Yeah. Have fun without me.”

I slipped out the back to avoid any questions.

Everyone would probably think I was avoiding the runs again, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

I’d been so overwhelmed with work lately that I’d had to bail on every single one of the events they’d had planned. Birthday parties. Dinners. Baby showers. Barbeques. Fun runs. Hell, I didn’t even get to go to Sturgis this year. I’d gone every year since I turned eighteen. I wouldn’t have missed that one for the world.

Everything that I’d missed, lately, they’d contributed to me ‘changing.’

I had possibly changed, but I wouldn’t have missed that many important functions if I could’ve helped it. If anything, I would’ve attended just to avoid the questions that my lack of attendance would’ve caused.

I ignored the worried stares that followed me out of the parking lot, only pausing long enough to wave before turning right on Vine Street and heading in the direction of Oak St.

I had to clear my mind of all my problems and get my game face on. I’d nearly had them all locked inside the box I kept them in my head when I arrived, but as soon as I walked into the murder scene, every one of them popped back into the forefront of my mind again.

“Fuck.” I said desolately.

The scene in front of me was gruesome.

Two victims. Both females. One was older, but the only reason I knew that was that the victim had graying hair. The other woman had black hair. They were both naked. Both shot in the forehead with what looked to be a .38. And both had defensive wounds.

The first victim was on the couch, and the second on the floor near the front door.

“32 year old female. Linda
Coolridge
. The older lady in the kitchen is her mother, Lucille
Coolridge. 54.” The first responding officer said softly to my right.

“That’s the woman that hires for V. S. Construction,” I said numbly.

The same woman who’d been a small part of taking Varian Strong down, albeit unknowingly.

She hadn’t realized, at the time, that
she’d hired an undercover cop that was planning on taking down the business she worked for. She’d been sweet. Way too sweet to have what I’d suspected was done to her.

I turned to find Tunnel Morrison, the newest member of The Dixie Wardens, standing to my right as he held a notebook open. His eyes moved up to my face, and he knew, without even saying anything else, that this particular case went from horrific to
fucked up beyond belief.

Tunnel was a fellow cop, as well. Although he wasn’t actually on the undercover case with me, he was aware of some of the details, as were most of the cops at the station. It was hard to keep something like that quiet after the arrests had been made. Especially a case that was influential in putting away the rapist that had been ravaging our small town.

“You have a note.” He continued.

“A note?” I asked sharply.

He nodded solemnly. “It’s on the body of the secretary. Pinned to her chest with a knife.”

I cleared my throat. “Have the techs swept this yet?”

Tunnel shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Alright, well get everyone out. Don’t let them come in. Keep everyone off the grass. Treat everything outside like the crime scene, too. You’re going to need to set up a police line as far back off the property as you can. Keep the press out of my hair, too. Nobody but you and the crime scene techs come in here, got it?” I ordered.

He nodded and left to do my bidding while I walked to the body on the couch and read the note that was stabbed through the poor girl’s chest.

‘Two a day will die until you withdraw your statement and get the fuck out.’

Mother. Fucker.

By the time I pulled into my driveway that night, I was feeling anything but happy to be there.

I was about to make the hardest decision of my life, but I could see no other way around it.

After letting out Lucy, I shrugged into a black hoodie, black sweat pants, and a black skull cap that covered my blonde hair.

Taking a deep breath, I snuck out my back door and scaled the fence in between Channing’s place and mine.

I knocked on the back door, thankful to hear the reassuring beeps of the alarm being deactivated before she swung the door open.

“Didn’t you think to ask who the fuck it was?” I barked.

She slammed the door in my face.

“I deserved that,” I muttered to myself before opening the door and closing it behind me.

“What’s the arm code?” I asked.

“Fuck you,” she snapped.

I sighed. “No, really, what is it? I don’t want you to ever have this inactivated.”

“Fuck you. Like I already said,” she said again, much calmer this time.

I ground my teeth together. “Channing.”

She turned back around and came back to the panel before she started punching numbers. 3-8-2-5-6-5-8.
Which
corresponded to the letters, F-U-C-K-Y-O-U. Literally, those were the numbers she’d used on the keypad.

“Nice,” I said dryly.

She shrugged. “The big man with the scar thought so too.”

“Max came? I expected Gabe,” I said as I followed her into the room.

“They did come. They also fixed my door for free.”

Max and Gabe were members of Free. They were both ex-Army, and helped run a secret side business that helped women get out of abusive situations that they found themselves in. They never asked for anything in return, and they’d been there a lot for the club’s needs in the past months.

Gabe had said he’d get to the system as soon as he could, but I hadn’t expected him to fix the door, too.

“How’d he fix the door?” I asked.

I hadn’t seen any other way to fix it besides hack the top half of the door off, but I also wasn’t a carpenter.

“He got a saw thing and hacked the top half of it off,” She explained.

I closed my eyes, and then laughed for the first time since this morning.

“Shit,” I said. “I could’ve done that!”

“He said you could, but he also said you caught a bad call this afternoon, so he’d do it for you,” she said quietly.

I looked absently at my wrist. 2130 hours. I’d spend over nine hours at that crime scene. I’d spoken with neighbors. Searched through their house. Talked with the first responders. The medical examiner. The paramedics on scene. Then the chief.

Needless to say, this day had been utter shit, and it was about to get worse.

“I need to talk to you, honey.” I said gruffly.

“Have you had dinner?” She interrupted.

I shook my head. “No, but I really do need to talk to you.”

She started going through her fridge and pulling out the mixings for a salad, a Tupperware full of what looked to be spaghetti, and a beer.

She handed me the beer, and shoved the Tupperware in the microwave before putting some salad in a bowl, all the while studiously ignoring the large elephant in the room.

“My mom died during Hurricane Katrina,” she blurted.

I blinked at her for a few seconds before I apologized. “I’m sorry, Channing. That had to be awful.”

She shrugged. “It is what it is. My dad checked out after that, left me and my brother alone to drive 18-wheelers. He had to work his ass off to support us. I’ve been alone a very long time.”

My stomach started to sink as the point of her conversation started to hit home.