Free Death Lords Motorcycle Club: Chelsea and Wrecker (The Motorcycle Clubs Series) by Ella Goode Page B

think that the takeout food is better than a home cooked meal.”
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I shake my head and brush off Dad’s cryptic message. “I’m going to take care of some business with Sean Ellerby.”
    He nods slowly and then says, “Take Michigan with you. Chels is club business.”
    “Got it.”

    A t this time of night , Michigan is probably at Rowdy’s, a bar owned by the club. The gravel parking lot is lined with club rides and other bikes. My truck looks out of place but I'm not having Ellerby riding bitch on my bike. I park the truck by the back entrance and circle around to the front of the bar on foot.
    I'm taking Ellerby down by the gravel quarry which is across the town line. We don't own the quarry but several of the club members work there. The benefit of taking care of business like this down at the quarry is that it's outside of the reach of Chief Schmidt and there's plenty of rocks and dust to cover up any stains.
    There are a few other cars in the lot but those probably belong to the women or prospects who haven't gotten the funds yet to pay for their own bike. One benefit to being a fully patched member is you're given a bike. Course if you ever get kicked out, you give the bike back along with your cut and anything else the club provided. Dad once called it the best unwritten prenup in existence because property rules are enforced with blood and flesh rather than the court of law.
    Inside I find Michigan, our club enforcer, leaning up against the scarred wooden bar extending the width of the room. A beer bottle rests at his elbow but I bet if I touched it, the glass would be warm and the beer would taste like warm piss. Michigan doesn't drink outside the club; instead he watches everything and everyone. Not much escapes his notice.
    At his side is Easy. They've been friends for a long time. They served together in the Marines as battle buddies. Easy's from Fortune; Michigan isn't but they came home together. To call them a couple would be a mistake. They aren't. They're a…unit. They fight together and they fuck together. They both wear a tired but searching expression—as if they've been looking for something for a long time but haven't found it.
    And this time, it clicks. They’re looking for a woman they can settle down with. Just one, because that’s their thing. Like the Bedlam Butchers Club who do everything in pairs. Finding a woman who would be into that and face public scrutiny might be damned hard in Fortune.
    “Michigan. Easy.”
    Michigan returns my chin nod with one of his own while Easy, our sergeant at arms, draws me in for a man hug.
    “Good to see you, Wrecker.” Easy pounds me on the back and yells for Bear to get me a beer.
    Bear walks the beer down instead of sliding it along the lacquered oak surface. “You here for Ellerby?” he asks.
    I shouldn't be surprised. Bear is Helen's husband. No doubt she went straight home to Bear who told her to take the business to Dad. “He here?”
    “Playing pool and losing money.” He tips his head toward the side room where two pool tables sit.
    I follow his gaze and see the skinny shit leaning his chin against a pool cue. Money's lying on the rail—Chels's money. My hands curl into fists.
    Michigan rises to his feet. He's an intimidating guy—not because of his height of six feet…I stand an inch taller—but because of the subtle air of menace he exudes. He hardly ever smiles and when he does it generally means bad things for the recipient.
    “You gonna need help taking out the trash.”
    “I think you're supposed to make sure I don't go to prison again,” I half joke.
    “I'll hold up the bar while you two have your fun,” Easy grouses.
    Since I've been gone for a while, I don't know Ellerby's opponent but he's no threat because as soon as he sees Michigan and me approaching, he lays down his pool cue and leaves. The other game ends just as abruptly and within seconds, it's just the three