Page 5 of Bear (Rebel Saints MC 6)

Those were the words that ran the gauntlet through my brain. The last conversation between Rocky and Deon. Deon loved the game. He and Rocky gambled with fire. I neglected to take it to the police, but my brother gave me the tape before he died. It was as if he had predicted his own death.

“Here, I need you to keep this receipt for a locker at Holbeck train station. The locker’s right next to it. Don’t go alone, Delph. Promise me. Take a person you trust. I would go with you, but since I’ll be dead already, probably not gonna happen.” He had smirked. “Rocky is gunning for me. I don’t trust him. If anything happens… take the tape to the police, okay?”

I kept the receipt locked away with a key in the bottom of my bedroom drawer. I never wanted to deal with it. Out of sight, out of mind. I planned on giving it to the cops… until they botched every part of my brother’s investigation. Rocky got away. I thought there was no way he would get away with what he did, but that was a gross untruth, and now I was brotherless.

Some nights I slept with the light on. Other nights, I slept at a friend’s house, so I wouldn’t be alone. It was hard to explain a sibling’s death over and over again. Everyone supported my grieving at the beginning, but after a while… I felt their growing annoyance at me about not getting on with my life.

The stickiness of Holbeck normally made me miserable, but given I was inside with a freezer box of an air conditioner while wearing a gas station jacket, I felt okay. I looked like one of the Eskimos living in an igloo. It was hard to readjust the thermostat. It was either too high or too low all the time.

Sighing with discontent, I counted the coins in the float and resumed work. There were a few customers at the pumps out front, so I waited for them to enter. Better that Holbeck Gas had customers, so my mind couldn’t run.

A few minutes after I’d handled the customers, a lady with a springy bounce in her step and long golden hair strode to the counter. She had movie star looks and didn’t look like anyone who belonged in Holbeck. I looked out through the smeared window to see where her car was at the pump, but couldn’t see anything. I frowned. She clearly wasn’t here for gas.

As she got closer I saw her eyes were green, and that shocked me even more. She was more striking close up.

“Hi, how are ya?” She came to the counter bold as could be.

“I’m doing fine, thanks. How are you?” I asked nervously. She obviously wanted something, but I had no idea what that could be. Maybe she was from out of town and had gotten lost?

“I’m good. My name is Angie Carmichael.”

With reservation, I stared at her outstretched hand with its manicured bright, red nail polish. I put my hand out reluctantly, as if I might receive an electric shock. “Nice to meet you, Angie. If you’re one of the new suppliers, Thomas isn’t in until tomorrow. You might want to come back then.” I assumed that’s what she wanted… because that’s all she could want.

Angie licked her lips but looked me dead in the eye. “That’s not why I’m here. I wanted to talk to you about a personal matter if you’re willing, because I think I can help.”

She wasn’t making sense to me. I tilted my head at her.

She scoffed ? flipping her blow dried hair that looked like something out of a Pantene commercial ? back from her shoulders. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not explaining myself properly. I’m an investigative reporter and I think I can help you… do you know what I mean?”

That thick, gluggy knot in my throat rose up again. She was here about my brother. Who is this woman? I didn’t know her, or trust her. So why did she think she could come around and ask me about my brother? Why did she want me to rehash the pain that couldn’t be resolved?

Her pretty green eyes were blinking innocently at me as if she had merely asked me to go out to lunch with her.

“I don’t know why you’re here, but I have a job to do, lady. I think you should leave.” I was annoyed at myself because my voice was shaky. I wanted to be strong for myself and my brother.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’m coming on a little strong. I wrote a newspaper article a while back that included the murder of your brother. I want justice for you. I know there’s more to the story and want to bring you some peace of mind.” She paused for a minute as she addressed me.

I still didn’t know whether to believe her or not.

She took a white business card out of her bag, placing it on the counter. She slid it across to me under the plastic screen.

I picked it up and looked down at it. Angie Carmichael. Investigative journalist. There seemed to be a bunch of other numbers on the card, but I didn’t look at those. I saw her name and job title, that was it. “Thanks for the card, but no thanks.” My lips automatically synced into a fake smile that I normally reserved for customers.

“You’ll change your mind. Did you see the article I wrote?” she asked, not one bit turned off by my refusal.

“No, I didn’t see it.” I deadpanned.

“You should look at it. I have the paper here, so you can see that it’s legit. Check it out.” She pulled another magic trick out of her bag and slapped a newspaper with dog ears on the counter.

I snatched it and put it under the desk. “Thanks,” I said, snapping at her.

She didn’t seem to be getting the picture. “Give me a call, okay? I can help. I swear.”

I looked away as she walked out of the gas station. I admired her confidence, and started to think a little about what she said.

I didn’t have too much longer to think about it because the guy with the muscles from the Rebel Saints came to the same pump he used the last time and started to fill up his motorcycle tank. I watched his thick muscles in his black leather jacket as he pumped.

The lady reporter or whatever she was pulled out of the gas station and the thick lump dissolved. Who did she think she was bringing that up right in front of my face? I smoothed a hand through my long honey-colored hair, focusing on putting a new receipt roll into the cash register.

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