Roadhouse (Sons of Sanctuary MC, Austin, Texas Book 5)

by Victoria Danann

  “Oh. There is. There definitely is. Let’s finish up breakfast. Then we’ll head out.”

  “So you found my keys?”

  “Nope.” Brash shook his head. “We’re walkin’.”

  Cook set a cup of coffee down in front of Raze.

  He looked up. “Thanks.”

  “Want anything in it?” she said.

  “No. It’s good,” Raze answered.

  She nodded her approval. “Black. That’s the way real men drink their coffee.” She looked at Eric pointedly in reference to the teasing she regularly gave him about excessive sugar and cream.

  “Hey,” Eric said. “It’s your job to serve the coffee. Any way we want it. Not to comment on how we like it.”

  “Nobody’s talkin’ to you, Eric,” she returned.

  Eric rolled his eyes in exasperation, looking more like a perplexed middle schooler than a seasoned biker.

  Raze could see he wasn’t getting any more out of Brash. So he decided to take a section of the paper, drink his coffee, eat his breakfast, and wait.

  When he shoveled the last forkful of eggs in his mouth, Brash said, “You ready?”

  Raze took a swallow of coffee and nodded.

  He followed Brash out the front door, but instead of heading toward the hangar where they did maintenance and kept the bikes parked, or the parking lot where they kept the enclosed vehicles, they turned left. It had been years since he’d been to the compound and, clearly, things had changed. For one, there were more buildings. Like the metal warehouse they were walking towards.

  When they got closer, Raze thought he heard barking.

  Brash opened the door and held it for Raze to enter the front room that seemed to be set up as an office. There was a large desk with a computer and two brown leather Chesterfields. The walls were covered with photos of German Shepherds and families loving on them.

  After Brash pushed the button on the wall that looked like a doorbell, it only took a minute for a face to appear at the porthole in the door. The guy nodded and disappeared.

  “What is this?” Raze asked.

  “One of our businesses. We raise the best family security dogs in the world.”

  Raze opened his mouth to say something about that, but before he got it out the inner door opened and the guy from the porthole stepped in with a dog on a leash.

  “This is Rescue,” Brash said by way of introduction.

  “You mean a rescue dog?” Raze asked carefully.

  “No,” Brash chuckled. “This…” he pointed, “is Rescue. This…” he pointed at the dog, “is Bless.”

  Bless looked up at Raze and tilted her head like she was waiting for him to say or do something.

  “Hello,” he said to the dog.

  Rescue let go of the leash and Bless padded toward Raze. She sat down in front of him and lifted a paw. He took her paw and, without giving it any thought, got down on his knees. Bless reached out and gave his chin a tentative lick. He reached out and ran his hand down the fur of her neck and shoulder.

  Then a most shocking and inexplicable thing occurred. Raze, who hadn’t cried since he’d gotten a broken wrist at age seven, began to blink back a stinging sensation in his eyes. At the same time his throat felt thick enough to prevent a swallow.

  When Brash sensed the heaviness of intense emotion spiking in the room, he signaled to Rescue to follow him outside. On some level Raze was aware that he’d been left alone with the dog. As if she understood the crucial role she had to play in the stranger’s journey, Bless sat quietly and absorbed Raze’s pain as silent tears overflowed.

  After wiping his face with his shirt sleeves, he looked at the dog like she was a miracle. “You got some special stuff?” he asked her. She licked his chin again. “Yeah. You got some special stuff. A couple of hours ago I would have said I’m not a man who talks to dogs.”

  When he began to feel the press of the hard floor on his knees, he got up and sat down on one of the Chesterfields. Bless followed, sat, and rested her head on his knee, ears forward as if asking for more attention.

  When Brash and Rescue returned, Raze looked up and said simply, “I want this dog.”

  Brash smiled. “Looks like she might be amenable to that.”

  “I don’t care how much she costs.”

  “She’s not for sale. She’s yours, but we retain part ownership. She’s a breeder. You bring her back when she’s in heat. Then put up with puppies for a few weeks. She’s not your kind of ordinary dog. Her real name is…”

  He looked to Rescue, who said, “Bleggherstein’s Kronprinzessin.”

  Brash nodded. “We call her Bless for obvious reasons.”

  Raze looked at Brash with a light in his eye that hadn’t been there before. “Puppies.” He looked at the dog. “I can do that.”

  “There’s two more conditions. And we insist on this for all the dogs. So it’s not just you being singled out. You spend three days here learning everything there is to know about this dog, her care, her training, and how to handle her. Canine psychology. That sort of thing. It’s basically training for you.”

  “You have people stay in the clubhouse?”

  “No. That cottage? Maybe you didn’t notice it. There’s a two bedroom cottage on the path where new families stay. You can be there or in the clubhouse. Up to you.”

  “What’s the other condition?”

  “You have to use our vet. She gets heartworm and flea-tick meds once a month. Shots every six months. Anything happens, you call her.”

  “Okay. I need to go home and get some clothes.”

  “Sure. This will also give us three days to talk about what you’re gonna do with your life. Besides being the proud owner of one of our dogs.”

  When he started to get up, Bless automatically jumped down.

  “I’ll be back,” he told the dog.

  She responded with ears pricked and a small wag of the tail.

  Brash reached into his pocket and withdrew the keys to Raze’s bike. “Well, lookie here. What d’ya know? I guess they were right there all along.”

  Raze gave him a look as he took his keys. “You busy?”

  Brash looked momentarily stunned by the question. He hadn’t been expecting Raze to reach out. According to Brigid’s friends who knew about such things, he’d thought that, if there was an indication of an interest in rejoining the living, it wouldn’t happen for a while. He’d committed to the long haul and accepted that things might not end well for his friend.

  “I’m never too busy for you,” was Brash’s solemn reply.

  Raze took in a deep breath. “Ride home with me? Somethin’ I want to ask about.”

  Brash nodded. “Give me five minutes.” He kept an actual office with an actual secretary and went there as little as possible. Beatrice, his right hand woman, made that possible and he adored her for it. She kept track of every detail of a network of businesses that was complicated to say the very least and she made it look easy.

  “Fornight,” she answered simply.

  “It’s me.”

  “Morning, sir.”

  “You do not have to call me sir, Bea.”

  “I do. Yes. I do. Your mother says it’s dignified and promotes a professional atmosphere.”

  “You work for a biker, Bea. How professional do you think the ‘atmosphere’ needs to be? Especially since you’re the only person in the office ninety-eight percent of the time?”

  “I take your point, sir. But I have no intention of going up against your mama. ‘Bout anything. ”

  He sighed, fully grasping the wisdom of that and conceded the point for the time being. “Yeah. You and me both.” But he made a mental note to instruct his mother to leave his secretary the hell alone. “Callin’ because I’m gonna be out of pocket for a few hours. You can reach me in case of emergency, but you need to rearrange my schedule. I think I was supposed to stop by four or five shops today?”

  “Five. So you’ll be out all day?”

  “Ca
n’t say, but I think it’s best if we plan on it. I can work this weekend, so shift my stops to the folks who are open Saturday or Sunday.”

  “Your wife will be back Sunday.”

  “Saturday then.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  “You tryin’ to get my goat, Bea?”

  He heard a womanly giggle. “Take it up with your mother. Sir. She’s also instructed me to ‘dress for success’. So I’ll be needin’ a raise to cover wardrobe.”

  He hung up while muttering, “For Christ’s sake.”

  Raze was leaning over the open hood of a 1967 Camaro in deep dialogue with a transfer named Press who Brant thought was as capable with machinery as anybody he’d ever seen.

  “I’m good to go,” yelled Brash.

  In two minutes they were speeding toward Dripping Springs.

  Raze told Brash to make himself at home while he threw some stuff into a bag that would fit in his side saddle. “Won’t take long. You’re welcome to what you can find.”

  True to his word, Raze was ready to go in six minutes.

  “What’d you wanna show me?” Brash asked.

  “Walk around here with me,” Raze said.

  They walked around to the front of the building that had been Farrell’s Auto Repair.

  Once they were standing in front, Raze said, “There’s this place on the other side of Kerrville. It’s an ice house called The Lupe.”

  Brash’s eyes slid to Raze. “Yeah?” he said slowly.

  “You think a place like this could be a place like that?”

  Brash didn’t want to spook his friend by being overly excited. So he kept every bit of the joy and optimism he was feeling internally contained. “A place like that? Maybe.” Brash walked over to what had been the office door. “Let me in?”

  Raze unlocked the door. Brash stepped in and took a look around. It was almost the same identical size and shape of The Lupe. Same number of bay doors. Located on the main drag, which was good. But on the outer edge of the main drag, which was also good.

  “Could be fortuitous that Hole in the Wall closed up six months ago. Hap’s wife wanted to live in Colorado. So they went. Kinda left a hole.”

  “Funny.”

  “I try. You’re thinkin’ to use The Lupe as a kind of model?”

  “I was.”

  “So you’re thinking food, music, drink, dancin’...”

  “Was.”

  “That’s a lot of movin’ parts. But it has possibilities. I might be inclined to want to invest.”

  “I may not need an investor.” That was, perhaps, the last thing Brash was expecting to hear. “Uncle Farrell left some cash. I guess he did okay, but liked the simple life.”

  “Well, what do you know?”

  “Think my biggest problem maybe isn’t money. It’s not knowin’ how to get from here to there.”

  Brash nodded and slapped Raze on the back. “I’ll be chewin’ on it while we’re ridin’. You spend some time with Rescue and Bless. Then I’ll take you to lunch and we’ll talk some more.”

  “That…” Raze seemed unsure what to say, but finally decided on, “Thanks.”

  When Brash came to fetch Raze to go to lunch, he said, “How’s it going?”

  Raze shook his head. “The dog is a marvel. But that is one seriously messed up dude.”

  Brash chuckled. “He’s part of the test. If people want our dogs bad enough to put up with Rescue, we figure they’re going to be good owners.”

  “Where’re you takin’ me?”

  “Where you want to go?”

  “Someplace where we can eat outside.”

  “Yep. Sounds right.”

  Brash led the way to a taco stand by the river with picnic tables under the low-hanging trees.

  “This one of yours?” Raze asked as he dismounted.

  “You won’t be disappointed. In fact, I’m bettin’ you’ll be back after today.”

  With baskets full of tacos they took a seat by the river.

  “Been thinkin’ about your proposition,” Brash said.

  “Yeah?”

  “And I’ve got some ideas to throw out, but there’s somethin’ I gotta ask.”

  Raze looked wary. “Alright.”

  “You sure you want to get into this?” Raze relaxed visibly when he heard the question wasn’t personal. “’Cause it’s the kind of life where there’s no day off. There’s no vacation. There’s no time out. Your life is the business and the business is your life. Long ass days full of headaches and problems you never saw comin’.”

  Raze thought about that for a couple of minutes while he ate. “It’s not like there are a lot of demands on my time. Matter of fact, all I got is time.”

  “Maybe now. But someday there may be a woman…”

  “Ain’t gonna be no woman.”

  Brash didn’t entirely believe that, but Raze was so adamant about it, he let it go.

  “Assuming that’s true, let me move on to the next question. Do you have any experience in the restaurant, bar, or music club business?”

  “Not a lick.”

  “That doesn’t worry me as much as the uncertainty of whether or not you’ll like it once you’re into it.”

  “Not a child, Brash.”

  “Not sayin’ you are.”

  “It’s what I wanna do.”

  “You gotta admit this came on kinda fast.”

  Raze shrugged. “That don’t make it untrue.”

  “And you might not be interested in a woman, but that dog is a kind of family. You can’t just leave her alone like a stuffed toy. It’s a commitment.”

  “Brash. Do you understand the meaning of patronizing?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is startin’ to cross into insult territory.”

  Brash nodded. “Don’t take offense. We vet all the people we sell our dogs to. Anyhow, if you’re sure about this ice house thing. Really sure. Understandin’ that it’s a whole other world away from auto repair, then I can get you a team to make it happen.”

  “A team?”

  “Yeah. Small business people like helpin’ each other. First off, it just so happens that I’m married to a bar owner.”

  Raze gaped. “No shit?”

  Brash nodded. “They serve food, too. So she can help get you set up. Figure out how to outfit the kitchen and the bar. What you’re gonna need to buy and where to buy it. What kind of help you need, what to look for, how to hire. My secretary can help with permits and such. She does that kind of thing all the time.”

  “You got a secretary,” Raze stated as if asking for confirmation.

  “Yes. Her name is Beatrice. You’ll get to know her before this is over.” Brash ran a napkin over his mouth. “The music thing. I don’t have a connection there, but you just happen to be sittin’ in the best place this side of Nashville if you’re lookin’ for lots of good hungry talent just dyin’ to work even if it’s on the cheap.”

  Raze was nodding. “My thoughts exactly.”

  “You have any experience bookkeeping?”

  “Yeah. I kept books at the shop.”

  “Good. One less thing to worry about. I was thinkin’ we should take a ride over to The Lupe on Saturday night on a scout mission. Everybody who wants to go. Get the lay of the land.”

  Raze came close to smiling. “Sounds good.”

  “When I talk to Brigid tonight I’ll get her to ballpark how much you’re gonna need for kitchen and bar equipment, tables, chairs, plates, and whatnot. You’re gonna need a designer, a contractor, and a budget. You’re also gonna need a first class sound system. Bands’ll play for cheap, but only if they sound good.”

  “You got people for all that stuff?”

  “Matter of fact I do. Got a contractor who’ll treat you right. No cut corners. No overcharging. No puttin’ you off for other jobs.” Brash waved at somebody over at the taco stand and gave them a chin lift. “Unrelated to the subject at hand, you’re also gonna need to fence off some
of your property for your dog and get a dog door installed so she can come and go. Better put in eight feet because German Shepherds can be climbers. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that she cannot ride on your bike.”

  Raze looked a little stricken. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Well, of course not. It just had to be said. Got a name for the place?”

  “Hadn’t thought about it.”

  Brash grinned. “I got the perfect name. Raze & Ruin Roadhouse. We’ll get a designer to do a Triple R brand and use it on everything.”

  Raze sat back. “Raze & Ruin. You sure?”

  “It’s a natural.”

  Brash found people who could put in a fence and a dog door before Raze brought Bless home.

  As the project began to take shape Raze and Brash hammered out a partnership. Raze would keep the cash he inherited as working capital to get underway and establish a solid footing. Brash would fund the build out and provide mentorship in exchange for twenty-five percent ownership, but made it clear that it was not a club investment. He was buying in with his own personal money.

  Six months later, the SSMC showed up en masse with significant others to support the opening of Raze & Ruin, partying to the sounds of a rockabilly revival band. Thanks to the SSMC putting out word to every recreation ride club in town, the roadhouse was packed.

  CHAPTER Four THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE PARKING LOT

  Present Day

  Clover left her phone in the apartment she thought she’d never see again and left her car in the exorbitantly expensive parking garage in Brooklyn, reasoning that criminals might have access to police resources and be able to arrange to have a bulletin issued. Even if she obscured the license plate with mud or forged a paper plate, which any person with third grade computer skills could do, easily, they might look for her make and model.

  That had her thinking the choice to buy a ‘classic’ Jeep Renegade, vintage early seventies, painted school bus yellow, was questionable. Yes. It was cute as could be. It was also, arguably, the most uniquely trackable vehicle in the entire United States.

  She couldn’t rent a car or use credit cards or the ATM. She knew this because, like any red-blooded American girl, she’d watched TV. And been to the movies. A lot.