Page 5 of Frosty the Biker

“Hey, I’m not above that.” He shrugged and grinned. “Besides, I really do need the help loading and unloading the crap I gotta get.”

“Well, now that I’m wide awake thanks to you, I might as fucking well.” I threw off the covers and got up.

“Whoa! Dude! I didn’t need to see that!” Dallas dramatically covered his eyes.

“Then you shouldn’t have come in here and woke me up!” I called out as I sauntered out of the bedroom door and into the bathroom. I chuckled to myself as I turned on the water for the shower.

Within ten minutes, I was showered, had my teeth brushed, and had walked back into my room with the towel around my waist. I quickly dressed in a beat-up, but comfy, pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie. I was lacing up my boots when Dallas came back in my room.

“Don’t you ever knock?” I asked with one brow arched.

“The door was open, numbnuts,” he dryly replied.

I shook my head but couldn’t stop the way the corner of my mouth pulled upward. I’d missed the easy banter with my brother. I would forever be grateful to my foster parents for making sure I was able to keep in contact with my brother. It had allowed us to get really close as we got older.

“You ready?” he asked as he glanced at his watch.

“Yep,” I replied.

We walked outside and my brother unlocked the lifted, black Chevy truck. Once we were inside, he headed down the road. As he drove, I opened my phone to find a text message from Killswitch, Dallas’s VP in his club and my new boss.

Killswitch: Hey Frosty, I booked a couple of clients for you for tomorrow. First one is at noon.

“Killswitch said he already has a couple of clients booked for me tomorrow. And why does he keep calling me Frosty?” I asked my brother as I replied to the message.

“Because you came from Montana.” He laughed and I shook my head. “And that’s good, bro. I’m happy for you,” he said with a quick glance my way before returning his eyes to the road.

For a few minutes, I was quiet.

“I dreamed of that kid again. Do you remember falling off a picnic table and breaking your arm when you were real little?” I asked as I stared absently out the window. It seemed crazy that Christmas was approaching. This time last year, I was trudging through snow. Though it was overcast, Louisiana certainly wasn’t even close to being inundated with the fluffy white stuff.

“No. Why? You still think it’s me you’re having visions of?” He shot me a curious look. “They might not be a hundred percent accurate. You know that, right? Or it might not be me at all. Maybe focus and tell yourself you know it isn’t me and then you’ll see more around the kid that can give you clues?”

“Maybe,” I quietly replied. Something told me I knew this kid. Sometimes he was in my dreams, other times, I had actual visions of him. What sucked was that I couldn’t control the visions I had, so it’s not like I could try to see things better. They were random and popped up sporadically.

Distracted, I watched as evidence of the upcoming holidays started appearing. The city crews were busy beginning to place the wreaths and lit Christmas decorations on the lamp posts. As we started getting closer to the French Quarter, I sat up straight. “Where the fuck are we going?”

Dallas frowned at me. “What are you talking about? I told you, I needed to pick up supplies.”

“I figured we’d be going somewhere out by your clubhouse. We probably passed a ton of places. Where exactly are we picking up supplies?” I demanded, though I was afraid I already knew.

“Miller’s,” he replied, and my stomach sank.

I immediately cursed and covered my face with my hands.

“What the fuck is your deal?”

“Can’t we go somewhere else?” I asked, my voice strained. “Surely there’s a place closer to your clubhouse.”

I couldn’t stop saying “your clubhouse.” I wanted to scream, “Let’s go somewhere closer to your clubhouse!” Clubhouse, clubhouse, clubhouse—not down by the French quarter of freaking New Orleans.

“The club has had an account with Miller’s for years. Probably longer than I’ve been a member. We get contractor rates there because he knows the owner, I guess. Then I think we get an additional discount because we installed and man their security system. Besides, Slang likes to shop local and with small businesses,” he explained with a shrug like he hadn’t just dredged up a past I thought I’d buried.

Boomslang was his president. I’d never met the guy and I had no clue what his real name was. The members all used nicknames or some shit. They called my brother Crypt Keeper. He had some special title, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember it.

“Fuck, man, that’s Ryian’s family’s place,” I explained with a groan. I wasn’t ready for those memories. It was bad enough that I’d let my brother convince me to move back here from Montana.

“Who’s Ryan? Do you have beef with him? I thought it was just Ms. Buchanan who ran the place.” He turned another corner, and the streets grew more familiar. It was almost like walking back in time. I’d grown up in this area.

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