Taming Crow (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club)

BOOK: Taming Crow (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club)
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Taming

Crow

HELLS SAINTS MOTORCYCLE CLUB

 

Paula Marinaro

 

 

 

Also By Paula Marinaro

 

Raine Falling

Chasing Claire

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

 

Text copyright © 2015 Paula Marinaro

All rights reserved.

 

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

 

Cover design by Dawn Brundige

This book is dedicated to the memory of my father, Charles Pomakis, who will always be the hero in my life's story

Chapter 1

“Running away from it ain’t gonna solve anything.” Prosper Worthington slammed down a hard fist.

“I ain’t running,” Crow snarled back. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, boss. Just not feeling it. You know that I’ve been thinking about going nomad for a while.”

The Hells Saints soldier and his president sat glaring at each other from across the scarred wooden table.

“You’re not
feeling
it? Not feeling what? The boys? Me?” Prosper glowered. “This club is the only real family you’ve ever known. We go back way too far for you to start this bullshit now.
I’
ve got your back on this one, Brother. Wandering around the country aimlessly and alone ain’t gonna fix what ails you. All those goddamn years ago, that situation with Raine and Claire’s folks, Maggie and Jack? Running away from that didn't help me one damn bit. You think it's gonna do you any good? You’re dead wrong.” Prosper snorted in irritation and disgust.

“And what’s the alternative?” Crow Mathison shot back. “You think that staying here and watching Raine’s belly grow big with another man’s baby for a second time is something that I can live with? I know for a goddamn fact that you couldn’t do it either if you were me. You really want to take that trip down memory lane? Because I’m pretty sure that you did exactly what I’m doing. Only you did it a hell of a lot sooner.” Crow leaned back and watched Prosper’s big hand clench and unclench while a muscle jumped near his jaw bone.

The boss was definitely pissed.

And he wasn’t the only one.

Crow knew that they were stirring up a history that was better left buried. But Prosper had started this and, now that it was out, shit had to be said.

“Once was bad enough. But you got to know that if I stick around here too much longer, I'm going to shoot myself or the first sorry bastard who gets in the way of my leaving. Either way, boss, you're going to be down a soldier,” Crow ground out.

“That bad?” Prosper asked with a sigh of resignation.

“Worse,” Crow spat out.

The two outlaw men glared at each other in silence as the weight of that truth fell hard. Prosper moved first. He pushed himself out of his chair and laid his hand firmly on Crow's shoulder as he headed over to the bar. He grabbed a bottle of the good stuff and sat back at the table, sliding a filled glass over to Crow. The men shot back the whiskey and felt the burn in their bellies as they regarded their glasses in silence.

“You still got that piece of property?” Prosper asked out of the blue.

“Yeah, Jaci’s been looking after it.” Crow glanced up at him in surprise.

“Bitch has moved on now, ain’t she? Left that to you to deal with?”

“Yeah she did. I got it in the divorce settlement.” Crow reached to fill the glasses again.

“How’s that work? You got a piece of property that you never go to see?” Prosper prodded.

“I got someone handling business for me —” Crow shot back the booze. “The same guy who’s been managing the property for years. Green for taxes and repairs goes out; rent money comes in and evens up the balance. Far as I can tell, it's all good.”

“Seems to me like you should be handling your own,

Prosper said.

“Yeah, I guess it probably wouldn't hurt to go check that out. I know there's a tenant in the cottage, but the main house has been boarded up for a while.” Crow scrubbed a quick hand over his face.

“Heading up there would be a good way to kill two damn birds with one stone,” Prosper said. “You can handle the shit that needs to be handled and take some time to clear your head. You still want to go rogue when you get back, we'll talk. Come to think of it, that crazy bastard Jury has his Saints chapter about sixty miles past where you're heading. It wouldn't be a bad idea to check in with your MC brothers while you're up there. I haven't brought this to the table yet, but there's a meet coming up soon. I'll fill you in on what's been going down, and you can deliver my proxy vote. I'll put in a call tonight to let Jury know that you'll be representing us.” Prosper lit a joint, drew deep and passed it to Crow.

“We got trouble?” Crow took the offered joint.

“The way it sits now, no one's sure. The presidents and I have been keeping this tight between us, but we've been watching shit brew up for a while,” Prosper told him.

“What kind of shit we talking about?” Crow narrowed his eyes.

“It’s the goddamn Aces. They seem to be sprouting up everywhere. Recently they’ve started to bleed into the Colombian territories, and that's causing some concern. Especially for the southern brothers. I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. Latino and Hispanic clubs have been giving us trouble for a while. If they ain’t up in our business they’re going after each other. Yeah, brown has been a real pain in my ass. If the Aces want to move in on that… well…might just be the right play for us to back that. But Jury has got his panties all in a knot over boundary issues and some other shit. He's riled everyone up, and now he's called a damn powwow. That junkyard dog Derringer is coming up from Miami to be there and Beast is making a rare fucking appearance from the Keys. Between those two hotheads you're going to have to be my eyes and ears. And my goddamn voice of reason. Gives me a headache just thinking about it.” Prosper’s mouth formed a hard line.

“I’m down with whatever you need, boss. But are you sure you don’t want to make that trip yourself? You know that you’re the only one that those two old bastards will listen to.” Crow pointed out.

“That's why I want you to sit proxy for me. I want to get a clear read on where everyone lands on this. I know that me being there ensures that my way of thinking gets Jury and Derringer's vote ‘cause those tough old pricks owe me, but for everyone else it just becomes a pissing contest.”

“Yeah. I hear ya.”

“Another thing,” Prosper added after a pause. “Until we’re sure how the Aces are looking to expand and re-charter their club, I want you to lie low while you’re out on your own. When you’re with our Saints brothers in Fallsview that’s a different story, but you’ll be what… about an hour from their clubhouse? I don’t want you riding lone wolf with our chapter’s colors. Find a way to make that work.”

“I've never hidden who I am, boss.” Crow snarled. “And I sure as shit ain’t gonna start now.”

“Did I ask you to?” Prosper snarled back. “There's just no goddamn reason to announce that you're a sitting duck either. Don't you think you're going to have enough going on without worrying about a nine millimeter pressed to the back of your hard head? Just do what I say without arguing with me for once, Crow. Jesus. Take the van with the hitch and trailer for the bike.” Prosper let out an exaggerated sigh, then narrowed his eyes. “And when you come back? Come back real clear on that other thing too.”

“Yeah, and what would that be?” Crow asked, but he knew what was coming.

“You gonna make me say it?” Prosper looked at Crow with knowing eyes.

When Crow locked his arms across his chest and remained stubbornly silent, Prosper heaved a disgusted sigh. “You give yourself as long as it takes. This club is your home and the men in it are your brothers. It ain’t going anywhere without you. Take all the damn time you need to do what needs to be done. But when you come back? You come back knowing this,” Prosper paused and looked Crow straight in the eye, “Raine is Diego Montesalto’s woman. Thinking any other way is a big fucking mistake. She loves him, Brother.”

“Could be she loves me too,” Crow shot back.

Prosper’s thickly muscled shoulders slumped just a little. Then he used the name he reserved for talks like this. For the times when it did them both good to remember the bond forged between a homeless, hungry Apache boy and an outlaw on the run from a broken heart.

“Could be, Gaagé. Could be she does,” Prosper’s gruff voice softened. “But you had your shot. And she made her choice. Diego will kill you now if you make a move toward his woman. She’s out of your reach. It’s done. You’re going to buy nothing but misery for yourself, and trouble for this club thinking any other way. Now go get the fuck out of here, clear your head and get your shit in order.”

Crow looked down at the last shot of whiskey, then he reached out and tossed it back.

“Yeah, I hear ya. I know what I have to do, boss.” Crow frowned as he stood. “I just don’t know if I can do it.”

Prosper lay his hand hard on Crow’s shoulder in a show of deep understanding and solidarity.

“Just put one foot in front of the other, Brother, and the rest will follow.”

Chapter 2

Crow grunted at the early morning sun streaming through the cheap curtains of the twenty-four-hour motel he had pulled into the night before. He took a long, hot shower, got dressed and made a couple of phone calls before settling up at the front desk. Then he watched on as greed lit up the proprietor's eyes when Crow threw him a couple of extra bucks to allow the van to park in the empty lot for a few days. Finally he unhitched the Harley from the trailer and rode out to meet the attorney at his office. The building sat on the main street of a town that boasted trendy boutiques and overpriced bistros. The upscale stores that now crowded the thoroughfare replaced the once low-key, serviceable shopping district that Crow remembered and the whole new vibe put him on edge.

“Good morning, Mr. Mathison.” Patrick Murphy extended his hand.

“Crow’s good.” Crow responded with a tight grip and felt a measure of surprise when the man returned the handshake with a strength that almost matched his own.

“Then I’m Patrick,” the attorney said with a smile. Then he motioned for Crow to seat himself in the plush leather chair.

“What kind of time are we looking at?” Crow glanced at the large ornate clock on the wall.

“This usually takes about an hour or so, unless you have any questions as we go forward.” The man moved to the side table, and poured out two cups of coffee.

“Cream? Sugar?”

When Crow shook his head, Patrick handed him the black coffee and sat down at his desk.

“I just want to make sure Jaci signed what she needed to sign. She’s never been exactly reliable when it comes to holding up her end of shit,” Crow said.

“I can assure you in this case she has done exactly what is legally required. Have no doubt, you’ll leave here today as the sole property owner of both houses and the land.” Patrick handed him a pen. “Let’s get started.”

Crow read through legal documents in the small office for what seemed like forever. He thought the parade of white pages would never stop. He signed the deed, the transfer of tax declaration, the affidavit of title, and a host of other blue-backed legal documents. Finally he put his pen to paper for the last time.

So we done here?” Crow pushed his chair back and stood.

Patrick stood as well, and looked Crow straight in the eye.

“Yes. That covers the transfer of ownership process. If you don’t mind me asking, though, I’d be interested to know what your next move is going to be.”

“I plan on selling it,” Crow said without hesitation.

“I understand.” Patrick frowned slightly.

“You see a problem with that?”

“I believe that it would be in your best interest to reconsider putting up a for sale sign on the lawn just yet,” Patrick said.

“You do, huh? And why’s that?” Crow’s eyes narrowed.

“Your wife…”

“Ex-wife,” Crow growled.

“My apologies. Your
ex
-wife,” Patrick corrected himself, “really hasn’t taken much of an interest in the place over the last few years. I’m afraid if you are looking to get fair market value for the property as is, you will find yourself sorely disappointed. I've been drawing a salary for managing that estate for years now and I appreciate your business. But if you have a few more minutes, I would really like to bring you up to speed on where we stand with the overall value and a few other things.

“I drove by the property when I pulled into  town," Crow said. “It was dark as hell, but I've got some idea of what I'm facing. How bad is that going to look in the light of day?”

Patrick hesitated.

“By any chance, have you ever see that television show called ‘Life after People’?”

“Christ,” Crow muttered.

“Exactly. Too bad too,” Patrick continued. “It’s a beautiful house situated in a highly desirable area and has a good-sized lot. The rental cottage and the pond add considerable value to the package. My office receives a question at least once a week concerning the sales status. In the past, I have emailed those inquiries out to Jaci as they come in. I can start to do that with you, as well, if yo
u’
ll provide me with an address. In the meantime, you may want to look over what I have to date. I’ve kept track of the interested parties in a file folder with names, dates and contact information. In all likelihood we could probably begin scheduling you with introductions today if you think that’s something that you’d be interested in.”

At that, Crow sat back down and pulled out his smokes. Patrick reached into the desk drawer, grabbed an ashtray and a stubby cigar along with it.

“You think you could get me a fair price?” Crow asked after lighting up.

“That would be difficult.” Patrick puffed.

Crow threw him a hard questioning look.

“I have to be honest with you,” the attorney continued. “You said you drove by the house last night? I know you may not have been able to see much, but I’m hoping that you saw enough to know that I’m not wrong. I’m aware that the interior of the larger house has been left unfinished, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Some folks prefer to come on in and do their own thing, but…” Patrick paused.

“But what?” Crow ground out.

“But honestly, the fact that the exterior has been left in the condition it is in proves problematic.”

The attorney considered Crow through a ring of cigar smoke. “If you really think you might want to let it go for an
as
is
price, then I’d like you to consider selling the property to me. Based on what I think your offers will come in at, I’d be more than happy to write you a check right now. But I do believe that sooner than later you’ll regret selling so far under the property's actual value.”

The attorney paused at Crow’s nod.

“On the other hand, if you're willing to put in the time and money to do the repairs, I can guarantee you that you'll more than double the current selling price. Another alternative would be to hire someone to do the work, but that will cost you and cut into your profit margin considerably.”

When Crow remained quiet Patrick took a moment and then continued.

“As I said, I'm more than happy to discuss what I would consider a fair market price with you and take it off your hands today.”

Crow sat back down and drew deep on his cigarette while he considered his next course of action.

“I guess I'll get a better idea what I'm dealing with after I get that layer of grime off the exterior and cut down some of those goddamn trees,” Crow said after some thought. “I suppose I should put the time in to do that much. But from what I saw last night, and from what you're telling me today, it ain’t gonna be cheap.”

Murphy regarded him silently for a moment. “I’m having another cup of coffee. Would you like one?”

Without hesitation, he held up his cup and Patrick poured out the fresh brew. Crow was more than a little surprised when the somewhat straitlaced attorney reached into a drawer behind his desk, and pulled out a bottle of Glenmorangie.

After he had poured a healthy shot of the expensive single malt into his own cup, he gestured with the bottle towards Crow. Crow glanced at the clock and saw that it wasn't even ten a.m. yet. And although Crow wanted to keep his head clear for the business at hand, the truth was that he could sure as shit use a stiff drink, maybe a couple.

“Hit me and leave the bottle on the desk,” Crow answered.

The attorney and the outlaw shared a brief look of understanding. Crow got the distinct impression that Murphy was pleased with Crow's renewed interest in the property.

“I've got a few more files here that we should go over, then,

Patrick riffled through the neat pile on his desk. “I haven't looked at the account for a while, but Jaci gave me the go ahead to invest some of the capital. The investments paid off well. To be honest, they’re still paying off well, and I think you’re going to be pleased to find that you have a nice cash flow to work with.”

That surprised Crow. He couldn’t have imagined that there was much of anything left for Patrick to have invested. He vaguely remembered setting up the account years ago as a means of providing for repairs on the property. With all the work that Crow knew the cottage needed, he thought the income from the rent money made it a wash financially. A little extra scratch was good news. Crow sat back, enjoyed a long pull of a fresh cigarette and took a couple of sips of the perfectly blended coffee. He willed himself to relax—things were definitely looking up.

“Here we go.” Patrick found the file, opened it and slid it over to Crow. “You’ve got the rent income and what’s left in escrow for the cottage renovation. Jaci never touched it. Except for municipal bills. As you can see on line twenty-seven, there's a substantial amount of money sitting in that account.”

Crow raised an eyebrow at the amount listed.

“You mean that’s the number minus the green that you had to put in for the renovations to the cottage, right? That had to cost a few bucks,” Crow asked as he looked over the file.

“What renovations?” Patrick looked at him.

“That cottage was in pretty bad shape when we bought it,” Crow said. “Then it sat empty for years. I was surprised as hell when Jaci told me she had rented it out. I just assumed that she had put the scratch into it to make it livable.”

“Yeah, barely livable,” Patrick snorted.

“You wanna explain that?”

“Let me just say that your ex-wife is a very savvy business woman.”

“Why do I get the impression that you don’t mean that in a good way?” Crow raised a brow.

Patrick drew long on his cigar and sighed.

“I’d like to preface what I am going to tell you with the fact that Jaci rented out the cottage against my advice. Despite my misgivings, she hired a couple of college students to paint the place, bought some used furniture and a few rugs. Then she paid a photographer a substantial amount of money to take some shots at good angles and put it all up on the internet for her. Within a week, Melissa Raymoor and her son were knocking at my door with a deposit plus first and last. I thought she would take one look at the place and renege. But she told me that she had already been out to see it and, even though the place wasn't quite what it was represented to be, she wanted to rent it just the same. I knew the cottage was at least fire safe. I had insisted that upgrades be made to the electric wiring a couple of years back.”

“You had to insist on that? What the fuck was the problem? The green was sitting pretty in that account. Why didn’t Jaci use it?”

“I think she thought that she could take the money and use it for other things.” Patrick looked pointedly at Crow.

Crow put the coffee mug down hard. “What stopped her?”

“I set up the account to be very specific. She couldn’t touch it unless it went for upkeep and repairs,” Patrick told him. “After she found that out, she lost all interest in the property.

What a fucking surprise.

“That cottage look like…what the hell did you call it… ‘Life After People,' too?” Crow wanted to know.

“Your tenant put a lot of time and money into it,” Patrick told him. “Melissa did what she could with paint and decorating. If memory serves, she even tried her hand at some landscaping out in the backyard. I guess you could say that she put a woman's touch on the place—it looks pretty good. On the surface anyway.” Patrick paused for a moment. “Like I said, the wiring's all been upgraded, but I think it'll need a new roof soon, and I thought I felt a spongy spot on the kitchen floor the last time I was there. The foundation is stone, and I'm pretty sure the basement floods on a regular basis. Plumbing hasn't been upgraded, but the pipes are all copper and there's not a lot of lime in the water, so they should be okay. The town put in a sewer line a few years back. We’re tied into that.”

“So this tenant? She pays on time and shit? Does she work?” Crow asked.

For the first time since he got into the office, Crow noticed that Patrick looked uncomfortable.

“No problem with the rent money at all,” Patrick assured him. “I don’t think Melissa’s ever even been a day late. And yes, she works… out of the house. She actually put up a small outbuilding at her own expense and runs a business out of that.”

“She’s running a home business? We got insurance for that shit?” Crow asked.

“Yeah, you’re all set. I put a little extra on the property to cover it. ” Then Patrick looked at Crow. “Having that business allows Melissa to stay home and take care of her boy. I hope you won’t have a problem with that.”

“What kind of business?” Crow asked.

“Massage therapy,” Patrick answered.

Crow snorted. He knew what massage therapy meant.

“So I got a hooker living in my backyard, giving blow jobs in a goddamn shed and long as she pays the rent, you been good with that?”

Patrick look at Crow startled for a moment, then chuckled. “Melissa is a licensed massage therapist. From what my wife, Elizabeth, tells me, she’s a pretty good one too.”

Patrick chuckled again as he took another gulp of his whiskey-blended coffee.

“Something funny?” Crow arched a brow.

BOOK: Taming Crow (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club)
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