by Deja Voss
Driller
Dead Ringers MC Book 1
Deja Voss
Copyright © 2020 by Deja Voss
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
38. THANK YOU FOR READING!
Chapter One
Driller
I silence my phone and slip it back in my pocket. I’m sober enough to know no good can come from picking up a call from Carley after midnight. I’m sure all she wants is an excuse to talk to Ransom or at the very least to make him jealous. I’m not playing that game anymore. He’s clearly moved on by the way he’s leaning over the bar with a shit-eating grin on his face, eyeing up Ashley like he’s fixing to eat her for lunch.
It’s definitely for the better. Our club has seen a lot of bullshit in its day, but even an FBI raid was a cakewalk compared to the chaos that broad tried to pull.
“You having another?” Ashley asks, tucking back a stray curl of her long red hair behind her ear. If I didn’t see the paternity test with my own two eyes, I’d have never believed she was a spawn of Romeo. Sweet, charming, and your typical girl next door, Ashley stood out like a sore thumb behind that bar. She was completely aware of it too, which made me like her even more. I had a feeling one of these days she was going to leverage that shit to her advantage in a big way.
“Eh, one more for the road I guess,” I say. “Don’t want you to have to stay open just for us, though.”
“I have all the time in the world for y’all.” She bats her long red eyelashes and grabs a bottle of beer from the roll-top cooler, her eyes locked on mine as she twists off the top.
I feel Romeo’s grip around the back of my neck, snapping me out of my stare. “I’ll cut your dick off, son,” he growls.
Ashley’s a great broad, but I know better. Romeo’s always been like a second father to me, and even though Ashley just started coming around a few years ago when she started nursing school at the local college, the thought of being with her hit too close to home. She might as well be my sister. Every guy in the club knows better than to fuck with the old guy’s daughter. Except Ransom, apparently, who’s probably going to fall behind the bar on his big thick head if he leans over any further.
I don’t do complicated. I don’t want any part of another man’s claim, be it through club sluts or blood relations. This life’s fucking hard enough as it is. I can feel my phone vibrating in my pocket again. I don’t know what this bitch wants, but she’s got me pegged for the wrong kind of guy.
“Oh Daddy,” Ashley says with that thick southern drawl of hers, “I’m just being polite.”
“Well who the fuck raised you like that? I sure didn’t.” He laughs and strokes his long black beard as she tops off his glass of whiskey.
“Obviously.” I flick him in the ribs and he laughs as he throws back his drink. “And we can all drink to that.”
Our secretary, Romeo, definitely lived up to his namesake back in the day. He had an affinity for smart pretty women way out of his league. Had an uncanny ability to somehow get them knocked up. Ashley was the only one of his five daughters he still had contact with. Nobody really knows what happened to the rest, but at least their mothers knew better than to expect him to be anything more than a check in the mail every month until they turned eighteen.
“Actually, if y’all don’t mind closing up, I wouldn’t mind getting out of here. I’ve been on my feet all day. Just don’t trash the place, please? Gwen’s opening tomorrow and I don’t feel like listening to her bitchin’ for the next ten years.”
“Sure thing, sweetie,” Romeo says as she slides the key across the bar. She’s right, though. As kind and polite as Ashley is, Gwen’s spent enough years around us to fit right in. If she wanted to go home, she’d just start screaming at us until we were forced to leave. If Ransom was giving her the fuck eyes like he was to Ashley, they probably wouldn’t even make it out to the parking lot without one of them losing their pants.
We love her just same, though. Anybody willing to put up with our constant fuckery earns our loyalty for life.
“Text me when you get home safe,” Romeo says as Ashley slides on her winter coat and grabs her purse.
“Oh, who says I’m going home?” she says with a wink and a laugh, and I can’t help but crack up myself knowing how his blood’s probably boiling at this point. She slams the door behind her and he stands there with his hands in his pockets, his lips opening and closing like a fish out of water. The man who never had any interest in being a parent before is suddenly going all domestic daddy and it’s pretty fucking hilarious watching him try to adjust.
“Where the fuck could she possibly be going?” He paces over to the window, peering out at her as we hear the sound of her car starting up.
Cubby, our chaplain, walks up behind him and slaps his arm around the shoulder. “Maybe she’s gotta do some studying. Or maybe she’s a good-looking twenty-year-old chick looking to hit frat row with her girlfriends.”
“Fuckin’ frat boys,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” Ransom says, raising his glass. “Fuck those frat boys. Ashley belongs here with us real men.”
I can’t help but crack up. She sure as hell don’t belong here with us. Her dad knew it, too.
“God Dammit!” My phone vibrates again in my pocket, and now I’m just getting irritated. Did Carley really have nothing better to do than harass me?
“Who is it, boy?” Cubby asks, raising his eyebrows. “You accidentally give your number to some crazy bitch?”
“Something like that,” I mutter under my breath as I step into the hallway. “Carley, you better lose my fucking number.”
“Driller, I’m sorry,” she says. There’s a man screaming in the background and the sound of glass breaking. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that voice was familiar.
“I don’t know what kinda shit you got yourself into, but I can’t be saving your ass anymore. You already did enough around here.”
“Driller, this is an emergency,” she says. “Trust me, you’re the last person I wanted to call.” I hear a door slam and everything gets quiet. “It’s your uncle Stoney.”
“What? Where are you? What’d you do now?” Old Stoney should be in bed by now. Ever since my cousin Kid got locked up five years ago, it seemed like the man had aged a couple decades. Once our ride-or-die, tough-as-shit, party-all-night president, he’s significantly slowed down. Still gets shit done. Still conjures fear in pretty much every ma
n, woman, and child in the tristate area. Seems like he is doing a pretty good number on Carley by the way she’s breathing all heavy like.
“He just walked into my apartment and started screaming about Vinnie. Where’s Vinnie? I’m gonna kill that motherfucker! Crazy shit like that. Now he’s trashing the place. I don’t know what to do. I don’t wanna call the cops. You think he’s wasted or something?” She’s talking so fast I can barely keep up with what she’s saying.
“Probably,” I say, knowing full well that’s a lie. “Stay outside. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Whatever you do, don’t call the cops. If he tries to run, you call me.”
I hang up the phone and take off through the bar, heading for the front door.
“You ain’t even gonna finish your beer, son?” Romeo asks. “We’re still not done planning Kid’s coming home party!”
Kid’s coming home party will be the least of our concerns if old man Stoney’s out on the town losing his damn mind, in Stingers’ territory to boot.
I pause in the doorway for a second, torn between asking for help from the men who have always been a family to me and hiding a dark family secret for a little while longer until my dad and I can figure out our next move.
“You got a date or something?” Ransom asks.
“Something like that,” I say, slamming the door behind me. I light up a cigarette in the parking lot and try and figure out who to call first: my father or Vinnie. Vinnie’s a good buddy of Uncle Stoney. They served in Vietnam together and both moved here when they got back to lay down their roots and start a new life.
Whenever Stoney is having an episode, and they seem to be happening more frequently as of late, it always circles back to that time in his life. I’m not surprised the old guy’s been wandering around with untreated PTSD all these years; nobody with a straight head on his shoulder was capable of doing some of the things he did, but the way he’s been acting lately leads me and my father to believe something more is going on.
It’s only a matter of time before the guys in the club pick up on it, too.
And when they do, shit’s gonna hit the fan.
Not as bad as shit’s gonna hit the fan if the Stingers catch wind that the president of the Dead Ringers MC isn’t all there anymore. I need to get over to Carley’s before shit gets any worse.
I thank the ever-loving fuck out of the fact that it’s been raining all night and I brought my truck instead of my bike. I jam my keys in the ignition and peel out of the gravel parking lot as fast as I can, sucking down my smoke like it’s the only thing giving me breath.
“Dad, I’m gonna need you to meet me at the old Stillman apartments,” I say before he can even really answer his phone. “On the sneak. Stoney’s over there raising hell.”
“Vinnie’s old place?” he asks. I don’t even need to answer that question. That one simple statement answers most of mine, too. “The guys know?”
My heart sinks a little deeper in my chest. I don’t know what sucks worse, seeing Stoney like this or keeping secrets from our crew, but my father’s been the vice president of this club longer than I’ve been alive. I just hope he’s making the right choice. “Nobody knows. Except Carley, but she thinks he’s all fucked up on something.”
“I’m getting dressed,” he says. “Meet you in a minute.”
Chapter Two
Pearl
“Coming!” I shout, throwing on my bathrobe. I was hoping if I let him knock long enough my landlord would tire himself out and just go away. I never seem to be so lucky.
“Miss Haines,” he says as I open the door. His beady eyes are burning a hole through my big fluffy robe, and I pull it closed a little tighter. “Your rent’s a week late already.”
“Oh damn. I thought I put the cash in your mailbox,” I say, trying to feign a look of surprise. I’m not totally lying. I did in fact put some cash in his mailbox. Those beady little eyes roll and he pushes past me until he’s standing in the middle of my living room, running his grubby fat fingers all over my stuff. “Come on, Hank. I gave you most of it. I’ll have the rest by the end of the week. It was a bad month at the shop, but I swear things are looking up.”
“You know, we can always work something out, Pearl.”
I gulp. Even though I know exactly what he’s implying, and even though I’d never stoop to such a level, it’s taking everything in me not to knock what’s left of his teeth out for even suggesting such a thing. If my circumstances weren’t so completely dire right now, I probably would have already thrown him down the steps.
“Give me until tonight,” I say. “If I don’t have the rest of the rent, I’ll be out of your hair forever.”
“You know it doesn’t have to be that way,” he says, blowing a kiss into the air. I can feel the coffee I had for breakfast working its way back up my esophagus.
“Oh it does. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish getting ready for work.”
He nods enthusiastically as he makes his way to the doorway, lingering there just a little bit longer than I’m comfortable with. I know he’s about to say something fucking stupid. I can feel it in my bones.
Let it roll right off your back, sister, I remind myself in advance, taking a deep breath.
“I think it’s cute Barry lets you work in his shop. He’s a smart man. Tits like that probably keep the place pretty packed. What do you do there anyway? You a receptionist or something?”
It takes everything in me not to chuck my tattoo machine at his big dumb head. One look around at the flash adored with my name hanging on my walls and it’s obvious I’m not just sitting behind a counter booking appointments.
He’s just trying to get under your skin… let it go, Pearl. It’s gonna be a good day.
“I’ll put that money in the mailbox tonight,” I say.
“Or you can just stop by my place.”
I can’t take it anymore. “Indulge me in this, Barry. Does that ever really work?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, shrugging his shoulders so high his neck completely disappears.
“This fucking grimy slumlord shit. Does it ever work for you? Or are you so busy watching porn and rubbing your dick raw all day that you truly don’t know how to interact with a woman.”
“I want my money tonight.” He flicks me off and storms down the hallway, throwing me a middle finger over his shoulder.
“Sorry my rent’s late!” I say in my most polite and cheerful voice. I slam the door behind him, clenching my fists. I don’t need this drama today. I let out an irritated scream so loud my neighbor pounds on the wall.
Today’s supposed to be a good day. Today I finally have my first real client at the shop. I’m starting a full back piece I’ve been drawing up for the last three weeks. I’ve been doing stupid walk-in flash pieces and silly two-minute infinity symbols at Barry’s for so long I almost forget how it feels to actually create art of my own.
If I wanted to do what I was doing here, I could’ve easily stayed at my dad’s shop. If I want to get bossed around by a man who thinks he knows everything there is to know about tattooing for shit pay, there’s a place back in Erie with my name all over it. I won’t even have to pay this ridiculous rent to some horny toad.
I took the job at Barry’s so I could make my name outside of my father’s legacy, and today I’m finally going to get the chance to do the work I came here to Pittsburgh to do. I give myself a pep talk as I thumb through my closet, settling on a black Bad Religion t-shirt and a pair of fringed jean shorts and fishnet tights. I envision the awesome design I made for Kevin, my hands quivering with excitement as I imagine drawing that first line on his blank back. The ornate Mayan calendar mandala adorned with a skulls-and-roses trim is going to take me at least six sessions to knock out, but I cannot wait to get the ball rolling.
Cannot wait for that thousand dollar down payment either, even though I only get forty percent. At least I’ll have enough to cover my rent and eat something oth
er than my usual box of mac and cheese for dinner.
I brush the tangles out of my wet hair, damning my wild curls, the only thing my mother left me before she took off when I was a baby, and pick up my phone and call my dad. He might not like my life choices, and I can’t say he’s exactly been supportive of my move to the city, but I still like to check in with him every day and make sure he’s at least still alive.
“Yo, Vinnie,” I shout into the phone with a fake Italian accent. It always makes him laugh when I do that. At least, it used to.
“Pearl,” he murmurs, his voice raspy. He coughs into the phone, and I remind myself I need to quit smoking before I start sounding like him.
“It’s noon, Pop. You sleeping still?”
“Child, I haven’t even gone to bed from last night. Shit’s been busy up here. Got no help. Got no receptionist. All I got are customers out the ass.”
The way he’s slurring his words, I decide against reminding him he has no help because he’s usually so blacked-out drunk he forgets that he fires everyone.
“You trying to lay the guilt trip on me, Dad?” I ask.
“Not guilt trip.” He coughs again, and I’m pretty sure he’s quelling it straight from the bottle of Jack Daniels he always keeps handy. “Just saying. It’s fucking busy.”
“Well, I was just calling to hear your voice and let you know I’m starting that back piece today. The one I told you about? You got the picture I texted you, right?” I hold my mouth open as I swipe on my mascara, waiting for his reply.
