Page 10 of Spooked
“Different from running the club, but even so, I’m going to be stepping down soon. My heart sort of went out of it when Viper died. And Carmen is going to be giving up her hairdressing business. There’s a whole new freedom I’d like to explore. I have confidence Shooter and Zane can run the business. There’s no need for me to be here getting in their way.” He leans back in his chair. “Know it’s hard to believe that power isn’t everything. As you get older, things come into perspective. Like wanting more downtime to be with your ol’ lady and enjoying life with fewer commitments.” His eyes sharpen. “If you’re worried about your position in the club, don’t be. Hey, I happen to know Darcy’s close to retiring, which is all Peg ever wanted her to do. He’s always been on edge with her being a firefighter. Once she hangs up her helmet for good, Peg won’t want extra responsibility. He’ll want to spend every moment with her.”
Feeling more at ease, I adjust the position of my left leg. “Them photos ready yet?”
Bullet snorts, then turns his screen around, so I can watch as he clicks on the file and opens it.
The first shot is one of my leg. The second one of the ground. The third some blurred scenery. He groans. I put my head into my hands. “Fuckin’ tell me it gets better than this, Brother.”
Shaking my head, I can only hope that it does.
“There was a gate blocking the driveway. Had a little difficulty opening it,” I admit, as finally he clicks on an image that makes sense.
“I can see.” His eyes widen. “You had to cut through that?”
“Sure did.”
“Should have called for help,” he remarks, as he steps through to the picture of the gate once it’s been opened. His eyes move to my leg encased in metal and plaster, and he shakes his head. “Surprised you even got through.”
Whether he’s giving me criticism or not, he continues clicking through the photos. He lets out air as he sees the columns and the grand entrance. “The other photos don’t do this place justice,” he says, and then continues to examine each of the many pictures I’ve taken. “Fuck, Bro, this house must have been amazing in its day. You’ve captured everything.” He grimaces. “Including the decay. The way the floorboards have fallen in, I’d bet good money dry rot riddles everything.”
“It was pretty impressive,” I start, but am interrupted by the buzzing of a device on his desk.
He presses a button and snaps impatiently, “What?”
“Think you need to come out here, Bullet.” I recognise the voice of his receptionist.
With an apologetic glance toward me, he gets up and leaves. “Give me a minute,” he says as he opens the door and disappears.
Alone, I stay still. I’m tempted to go around to the keyboard and click through the rest of the images I captured, but I resist. That fucking mansion unnerved me enough as it is. I don’t want to subject myself to remembering the distress, the panic, thatan MC sergeant-at-arms, a seasoned Marine to boot, shouldn’t have experienced. There was an unseasonal monsoon while I was in the mansion. I heard the rain, saw the lightning, and was almost deafened by the thunder. Yet no sign of it when I came out, and as for the house seeming to come alive around me… the sooner I forget about that the better. I stare down at my hands, watching them shake in my lap, remembering how the doctor warned about my prognosis when he talked about my TBI. Hallucinations could well be part of that.
But what would that mean? If I were seeing and hearing things that weren’t there, how could I regain my role as sergeant-at-arms in the club?
The door opens, the sound making me jump.Fuck, now my nerves are shot.Looking up, I expect to see Bullet, but he’s not alone. I don’t recognise the woman who’s following him into the room, wondering why he’s allowing her to interrupt our meeting. Surprised, I take a moment to examine her. There’s something timeless and ageless about her. She could be anything between late twenties to mid-thirties, at my guess. She’s dressed in capri pants that show off her shapely legs, some kind of floral shirt covered by a light jacket, a nod to the autumn air. Her face is stunning, with only a hint of makeup enhancing her features, and glossy red hair tumbles down around her shoulders in a mass of curls. Her green eyes and generous freckles suggest the colour is natural. The jacket is open, allowing me to notice a waist so tiny I wouldn’t be surprised if I could span it with both of my hands, ample breasts, and, as she turns slightly to take the seat Bullet directs her to, I can’t miss the ass that’s to die for, pert, round and firm.
Cocking a brow toward Bullet, I wait to be introduced.
“Ms Sullivan,” he starts, with a chin lift toward her, “This is Hound, my colleague, who just visited the property you were enquiring about.”
“Maeve,” she says, in a voice with a tint of an Irish lilt. She sits, but clasps her hands and leans forward. “You went there? To Sullivan House?” Her eyes flare with interest.
For some reason, I have to clear my throat before answering. “Yes,” I confirm, managing to repress the shudder that just the name causes.
Her eyes widen as she leans forward. “It’s still standing? You went inside?” Her questions tumble out fast.
“Yes,” I again answer in the affirmative, concentrating on keeping my voice steady. My hands tremble, so I clasp them over my knees.
Luckily, she shifts her attention to Bullet, who by now has seated himself behind his desk. “I want to see it for myself. Please take me there.”
What? Hell no. That place should be bulldozed rather than visited.I interrupt, “Not much to see, darlin’.” For some reason, the endearment falls off my tongue. “It’s a ruin and far too dangerous to go inside.”
Bullet glances at me sharply, his eyes narrowing. A raised eyebrow speaks volumes that I hadn’t led with that comment when I’d first entered the room. “Dangerous?”
Shrugging, I try to explain myself. “Holes in the floors. A couple of ceiling beams fell when I was there.”
For a second, he looks chagrined. “Fuck, Bro, didn’t mean to put you in the way of being hurt.”
“All’s good,” I quickly reassure him. But to her, I say, “It’s really not worth going inside.”
She looks upset, gutted, and Bullet’s not immune. He studies her for a moment, then says, “You’re not listed as an owner. Why are you so interested in seeing the house? You looking to buy it?”
