Keys To My Cuffs (The Heroes of The Dixie Wardens MC Book 4) Read online

  We’d survived, but only just barely.

  We relocated to Ruston, Louisiana, much to my brother’s annoyance. My dad had found a job as a truck driver, and left my brother and I home alone nine out of twelve months a year. My brother was a year older than I was, but he acted as if he was four years younger.

  When I turned eighteen, I’d moved out to go to school in Monroe, about an hour away from our new home. I’d graduated with a cosmetology degree within a year. Ever since, I’d been working my ass off.

  My newest gig, which brought me to Benton in the first place, was an unusual one.

  After struggling for two years trying to make a clientele, I branched out, trying my hardest to save up for my future house and pay my insurance out of pocket.

  I had asthma. And with the changing of seasons, I ended up having attacks that sent me to the hospital at least once a year. I also couldn’t lapse on my coverage, or I’d never get it again without paying outrageously for it.

  My car groaned as I pulled it into my usual parking spot at the back of the building and died once I no longer had constant pressure on the gas.

  It coughed, sputtered, and shook as it wheezed its final revolution before I turned the key and shoved my shoulder against the door. My car was a beast.

  It was a 1975 Pontiac Firebird with gold worn out paint and black accents. It had a T-top, and it was my baby.

  I had the best of intentions when I’d purchased the vehicle off the side of the road when I was twenty, but as the years went by, I only had enough money to keep the car working. Not make it pretty.

  There were springs coming out in the seats, I’d replaced both seatbelts with junkyard finds, and the dash was so cracked that it didn’t even resemble much of a dash anymore. And don’t even get me started on the engine work the car needed.

  Angling myself out of the car, I stood and bent inside for my purse.

  Hitting the lock with the palm of my hand, I slammed the door hard, glad to see that it actually closed all the way, and walked inside.

  The smell was always the first thing to get me when I walked in the door.

  The sickly sweet scent of flowers.

  I hated flowers now.

  After seven years on the job, I could never see another flower again and be happy.

  In fact, I’d go as far as to say I loathed flowers.

  Why, you ask?

  Because the smell reminds me of death.

  I am a beautician.

  My clientele were dead people.

  Black Water Funeral Home had been my home away from home for over five years now.

  Walking down the back hallway, I keyed in my entry code and walked into the back room. We called it the locker room. This was where we housed all the bodies. This was where all the magic happened.

  I was alone when I entered, which was how I liked it.

  The only person that was usually here at this hour was Brittany, the mortician.

  However, she was nowhere in sight when I arrived; so I stowed my purse and jacket in the staff lounge room and walked to the computer to pull up who I was to work on first.

  Ahh, a Mrs. Rose Abernathy, 23.

  I blanched when I saw the cause of death.

  God, I hated suicides.

  I guess all I could be thankful for was that she hadn’t shot herself. Instead, she’d hung herself, which was nearly as bad, but easily covered with makeup and clothing.

  Pulling up the picture the family had sent over, I set the lap top on the table beside the work area I’d be making Rose beautiful at, and walked over to cooler number three.

  You’d think that after five years at this job I wouldn’t be so paranoid, but every single time I opened the coolers, I held my breath.

  I don’t know what I expected. To find her alive?

  One thing I didn’t do was watch shows about zombies. I had enough of an imagination as it was, I didn’t need to be adding to that over activeness.

  Rose was a cute girl, and it made my heart hurt to think that something so awful had happened to her that she thought the only way out was by taking her own life.

  Once I had her at my station, I washed her hair.

  The hardest thing about working on dead people was that they didn’t sit up, which made it infinitely harder to do anything. I also had to have a lot of upper body strength, because picking her up to wash her was quite literally dead weight.

  When I had her about two inches off the table, a belch of air released from her lips, startling me.

  Once again, after five years of this shit, you’d think I would be expecting that little puff of released air. But no, not me. I shrieked and stepped back.

  “Gets you every time,” a dry voice said from the doorway.

  I turned, not surprised to see her there watching me and glared.

  “Go fuck yourself,” I snapped.

  Brittany laughed.

  She had a smoky laugh that sounded so sultry and smooth. At 53, she was a bombshell. Tall, much taller than my own 5’7. She had the most to die for body with big boobs, long legs, and a narrow waist. I liked to call her the real life Ethnic Barbie doll.

  Her black hair emphasized her Guatemalan heritage. Long and silky. She reminded me of Laura Croft: Tomb-raider, with the way she always wore her hair in a ponytail, and the long main hung to her ass even then.

  She didn’t dress like Laura Croft, though.

  As a mortician, she had a very ... gross job. Which was why she lived in Carhartt Overalls. She looked cute, and she hated when I pointed that fact out to her.

  “You don’t say that to your boss!” She mock glared.

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Where have you been?”

  She grimaced. Her eyes screwed up at the corners as she pursed her lips, as if she tasted something foul. “The owner wanted to see me about my hours.”

  “What about your hours?” I asked in surprise.

  “He says I haven’t been here as much as I used to and wanted to see why. He said Joshua complained about how much he was having to do since I wasn’t ‘doing my job.’”

  Her face showed the disgust in her tone.

  I looked at her sympathetically. “Joshua is a dick, and always has been. You’re here nearly fifteen hours a day. Your husband already doesn’t see you enough as it is. Your kids either.”

  “Ever since JJ left, I haven’t had much to go home to. Cabe works all day long. We’re lucky to even see each other some days. But I get tired of no human interaction. That’s why I’ve cut down my hours. I’ve been going to a bookclub. We discuss romance novels. You should come with me some time,” She said happily.

  Brittany was married to The Chief of Police for Benton, Cabe Warren. He was a beast of a man, and took no crap. But he had a lot of responsibilities, and worked well into the night. Although, it worked for them. They’d been together since they were sixteen and seventeen. They’d had kids when they were 18 and 19. And their youngest, JJ, had just graduated from college and moved into her own place.

  They were ‘free’ according to her. Not that they utilized that. They still worked just as much now as they did when their kids were young.

  “Anyway, he wanted to make sure I was ‘alright,’” She shivered. “Yick.”

  She felt the same way about Gustavo as I did. Although, she hadn’t shared those feelings with her husband.

  Wanting the get the subject off Gustavo, I changed the topic. “Did you get anything good today?”

  “There’s been a suicide, which I see you already found. And a couple of MVAs. They’re going to need some...work.” She grimaced.

  Yick.

  I hated watching her work, but she sure was a genius. She was a magician with putty, wire mesh, and cardboard. She could fix pretty much anything deformity wise, and I made them pretty once she was done. We worked well as a team.

  We’d worked together for a little over a year now, and I couldn’t imagine
working with anybody else.

  “What time are you leaving?” I asked.

  She looked at her watch when a deep voice said from the doorway behind her, “Now.”

  We both jumped.

  Her husband was standing at the door looking forbidding.

  He had on a simple pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. It wasn’t the clothes that made him look authoritative. He just was. And the badge on the front of his jeans, with the large black gun at his hip only added to the effect.

  When I was sixteen, I’d been pulled over by what I thought was a cop, and then nearly sexually assaulted. If it wasn’t for some kids from my school hearing me scream, and then coming to investigate, I would’ve been raped.

  Ever since, I’d had a deep fear of cops; Cabe was no exception.

  I knew it wasn’t a rational fear. I knew the guy who’d done it was only dressed in a costume, but everything that happened left a stain on my sixteen year old soul that told me I couldn’t trust cops. No matter what.

  My eyes widened, and my palms dampened. If I looked in a mirror, I’m sure my pupils would be dilated as well.

  Cabe took in my reaction to him, just like he always did, and stayed far away from me. He knew how uncomfortable I was with him, and that was what made my reaction to him seem so stupid. I knew deep down that he’d never hurt me, but my rational mind and my logical mind didn’t seem to connect at times.

  “H-hi, Mr. Warren,” I said, putting the table and the dead girl between us.

  He smiled sadly at me. “Hello, Channing. How are you today, sweetheart?”

  I shrugged. “I’m okay.”

  His mouth kicked up at the corner, transforming his hard face from granite to a softness I didn’t often see in him. “You look kind of like crap.”

  I laughed; I couldn’t help it.

  Not many men were so candidly open with women. I liked a man who wasn’t afraid of a woman going off on him when he told her she looked like crap.

  “Cabe!” Brittany chastised. “You don’t tell a woman she looks like crap!”

  He chuckled. “Sorry.”

  He didn’t sound very sorry, but that was okay. I liked a man with balls.

  “It’s okay. I had an asthma attack a couple of days ago. The old allergies are kicking up again since it started raining so much. Not to mention spring is right around the corner,” I told them.

  “You ready, pretty girl?” Cabe asked his wife.

  She smiled dreamily at him, making me long for someone to look at me like that, and walked into his arms. “Yep. I am.”

  “Bye you two. Have a good date night.” I told them.

  After they relayed their goodbyes, I got back to work, spending my night with the peace and quiet of the dead.

  Chapter 3

  If you think a minute goes by fast, you’ve never had a transvestite try to strangle you with a coat hanger because you called him sir.

  -Life lesson

  Loki

  “Anything new?” My boss, Cabe Warren, asked me.

  I stepped up to my blinds and flicked them open with two fingers, peering out at the dangerous neighborhood.

  “No. He came to the neighbor, but she got in her car and drove off before it got out of hand. The guys a fucking creep,” I growled into my phone.

  We all knew that he was dirty; I just hoped he didn’t ‘piss where he slept.’ I didn’t need another complication like the hot woman next door, or her shitty brother. I also didn’t need to worry about my target raping the women in his neighborhood. But I was.

  “Have you made contact with him yet?” He asked.

  I watched as my neighbor came out with a bucket and the water hose as she got ready to wash her car. Not that the car needed it. It was too rusted out for a wash to make a difference, but she did it every Saturday like clockwork.

  “Met him last night when I was walking Lucy,” I confirmed.

  Lucy was my three-year-old Rottie. She also thought she was a human, and never met a stranger.

  Which chapped my ass when the piece of shit Varian bent down and scratched my dog with his filth stained hands. I didn’t want those hands anywhere near anything of mine. Inwardly, I was snarling in outrage. Outwardly, seeing the faded jeans that I picked up at the Goodwill, black motorcycle boots, needle marks, shaggy hair, and the stained white t-shirt, he dismissed me as less than dog shit. Which was what I wanted.

  I wanted him to think I wasn’t a threat, but more of a...possible business associate.

  If he saw the ragged clothes, the shitty house, and the less than stellar car, then maybe he would think I was desperate, and could be bought.

  But I couldn’t come on too strong, otherwise he’d be suspicious of my motives.

  Instead, I stayed in a house with a foreclosed sign out front, and worked on my truck all day so I could make it look like I had no job and very little ambition.

  Then, when I walked into his construction office on Monday morning for my interview, he’d know I was in dire straits.

  Hopefully.

  “Good,” Cabe said. “I’ve got to get back to work, and so do you. What time’s the interview next week?”

  “Monday at nine,” I sighed.

  “Good, I’ve had taps put on V.S. Construction’s phones again. Surveillance will start once you get officially hired. Talk to you later,” he hung up.

  I’d already gone over it more than once with him, as well as the rest of the team. I knew he was worried about me, but there was only so much a man could take.

  I’d turned in my resignation before this job even started, and the chief hadn’t accepted it.

  I was beyond tired of being someone I wasn’t. I was ready to just be me. A police officer and a member of The Dixie Wardens.

  The Dixie Wardens MC was my home away from home.

  When I turned eighteen, I’d joined the Coast Guard and left my hometown of Boca Grande. I lived and breathed the Coast guard for six years before my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer.

  Even though she’d reassured me that she didn’t need me, I’d retired and come home to help her with the store she owned. The one she loved with all her heart and soul.

  My father had died while serving in Desert Storm when I was nine months old. With the pension my mom received, she opened up her shop, You Are My, on the Boardwalk in downtown Boca Grande.

  For six months, mom and I worked at the store and kicked cancers’ ass.

  Once she’d gotten the all clear, I’d gone into the police academy.

  Once out of the academy, I’d moved to Benton, Louisiana where I’d met my best friend, Killian ‘Trance’ Spurlock.

  Trance and I both prospected with the local MC because of our love of bikes. From there, we’d become brothers and best friends.

  Now, the only thing missing was my mom, but she’d never leave her store, and I’d never leave my club.

  A knock at my door startled me, and I realized I’d been watching my neighbor wash her car so long that she was now done and nowhere to be seen.

  Flicking the blinds back down, I walked to the door, and looked out the peephole. Startled, I yanked the door open to find my neighbor on the porch looking anything but comfortable.

  “Hey,” she said softly. “I just wanted to thank you for mowing my lawn.”

  Surprise had me blinking at her. Huh, I hadn’t expected her to realize who’d done it, let alone come over and thank me.

  I’d done it as soon as she’d left for work last night, all the while shooting ‘die-fucker’ glares at the man sitting on his ass playing video games.

  “You’re welcome,” I rumbled. “You looked like shit yesterday; I just wanted to make sure you didn’t up and die. I didn’t want to have the police all over our neighborhood or anything.”

  I’d been teasing of course, but at first she didn’t look like she’d caught on until she found the corner of my mouth tipped up in laughter.

 
“Yeah, nobody wants a cop here,” she said forcefully before she visibly shuddered.

  The certainty in her voice made me tip my head to the side. Why she was so adamant about that was dumbfounding to me. Did she not like cops?

  Uh-oh.

  “Got a thing against cops?” I asked as I leaned against my door jam.

  “No,” she said a little too quickly. “Gotta go, my foundation guy is here.”

  Then she fairly sprinted away, running as fast as her legs would carry her.

  I watched her ass jiggle as she ran, and was surprised to find myself not only erect, but rock-fucking-solid.

  Closing the door to my house, I stripped out of my shirt and walked to my shower, clothes dropping off as I went.

  I bypassed the boxes that were still packed at the side of my room and walked into the bathroom.

  Shucking my jeans, I kicked them off to the corner of the room and cranked the water as high as it would go before stepping under the cold spray.

  It was when my head was lathered fully with shower gel that I heard the rumble of pipes causing me to curse. I was fucking late. My mind had been on other things while I should’ve been getting ready. We had a run planned tonight, and I was going to hold us up if I didn’t hurry.

  Washing off quickly, I stepped out and wrapped the towel around my waist before jogging to the door.

  Yanking the door opened, I walked outside, unsurprised to find six bikes in my driveway.

  Stepping down onto the first step, I yelled, “Give me ten! Let me throw some clothes on.”

  They raised their hands, acknowledging that they’d heard me as they all crowded around my ‘Cuda and checked out the new headers I’d put on that morning.

  As I turned, movement caught my eye causing me to look up.

  My eyes collided with those of my neighbors and held.

  It seemed like long moments passed as we both stared at each other.

  Finally, the worker that was checking out her foundation broke our staring contest, allowing me to dash into the house. I threw the towel on the edge of my bed and shoved my feet into jeans that I found in a box serving as my dresser. The search for a clean t-shirt took longer, but nonetheless, I found one and slipped it over my head before dawning my colors.