Driller: Dead Ringers MC Book 1

by Deja Voss

  “From now on, if anybody knocks on this door, you better make sure you ask who’s on the other side.”

  “Nice,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I thought y’all brought me here because I would be safe. I’ve been out on my own for long enough to know how to take care of myself.”

  That spark in her eye twinkles again, and it’s an epic struggle to remind myself this isn’t foreplay. I’m just here to feed her. I set the plate down on the nightstand. She flops down on the bed casually. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now, so I just stand here with my hands in my pockets.

  “This looks amazing. Smells amazing.”

  “That’s all Betty. She’s a fucking blessing,” I say. “Closest thing to a mom I ever had.”

  “Guess that’s one thing we have in common.” I find it odd she’d say that. I guess Betty spent a little time at the tattoo shop, but nothing like the amount of time she put in here. Maybe I was judging Pearl a little too harshly.

  She grabs the drumstick and takes a huge bite off it, groaning like it’s the best damn thing she’s ever had in her mouth. It makes me laugh. Maybe it’s because I always assumed she was some kind of uptight snotty lady. Maybe it’s because I’m wondering if she makes the same face when she’s sucking dick.

  She blushes a little, the prettiest blush I’ve ever seen. “Sorry. I’m just so hungry. Guess I forgot you were here.”

  “I can leave if you and that chicken need some privacy,” I tease. She flips me the middle finger as she starts on the cornbread.

  “I am gonna need a smoke after this,” she says with a giggle. “Betty really is a national treasure. Y'all are blessed.”

  “Bet you’re wondering what she’s doing running around with a bunch of losers like us.”

  “Stop,” she says. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore, Driller.” The way she says Driller is so dramatic, kind of open-ended, like really you don’t want to fight with me anymore?

  I crack open a beer and sit down on the chair next to the bed. I offer her one but she just waves me off. “If you want me to leave, just say.”

  “I don’t know what I want right now.” She sets the plate down and reaches out for my arm, just barely grazing the bandage. “Are you okay?”

  “Just a little tore up. I swear it all happened so fast I didn’t really think about what was happening. I hit the floor, and when the shooting stopped I crawled over to Vinnie, your dad,” I gulp. I’ve spent the entire day telling the same story over and over again, but telling it to her is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. She cocks her head as she soaks up the information, a pained scowl on her face. “I swear it was less than a minute and it was over. So fast. He didn’t feel nothin’.”

  “Sounds really scary,” she says as she reaches for my hand and squeezes it.

  “Usually when shit goes down, we’re not on the receiving end. I know you think we’re a bunch of criminals, but my uncle runs a tight club. We’re not out in the street shooting people up. We’re not murdering innocents in broad daylight.”

  “What are you trying to say?” she asks.

  “I think this is a lot deeper than what it looks like. I don’t know how much use the cops are gonna be. I know they want this swept under the rug as quick as possible. This don’t look good on the city. Club’s probably gonna try to do the same. We don’t need any of our alliances to think we’re under attack and don’t have it under control.”

  “So basically we’re never going to find out who killed my father?”

  “We are,” I say, my voice growing softer. I know nobody’s probably trying to listen in on us, but I can’t help but feel like I’m going behind my club’s back. “We are. Like you and me are.”

  Her eyes widen and she lets go of my hand, her face growing pale as a sheet.

  “I wasn’t at your dad’s place trying to get a tattoo today. I was trying to get answers.”

  She bites her lip and opens her mouth like she’s gonna say something, but nothing’s coming out.

  “You can’t say anything. Not to nobody. Not to the club, not to Betty, not to fucking Riley big mouth and her cop husband. This is you and me only, babe.”

  “I don’t know…” she mumbles. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “What do you got to lose?” I ask, raising my eyebrow.

  “Me personally? I got nothing. Now that Dad’s dead and the shop is all busted up I literally have nothing tangible but the contents of my purse and a car that barely got me back to the city. But one thing I do have is a conscious, and knowing I could be putting other people in danger trying to figure out what happened to some dead dude? I can’t do that.”

  “It’s not some dead dude. It’s your dad.”

  She sits upright on the bed, kneeling close to me, putting her hands on my face. Her fingers are icy cold but her touch sends a chill down my spine.

  “Driller, I am obviously very sad my father passed away, but one thing you must not know about me is I’m used to people leaving me. I’m used to walking it off and just moving on. Can’t control what anybody else does. I don’t want you getting hurt because my old man might have been up to something.”

  “So you like me?” I tease, shooting her a wink.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She softly taps her hands off my face and smiles.

  I reach for the hem of my t-shirt and start to pull it up over my head.

  “Okay, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but that is not the signal I was trying to send,” she says, turning away.

  As much as I wouldn’t mind getting naked with Pearl, that isn’t my intention at all. “Just look,” I say.

  “That’s my dad.” She starts tearing up as she traces her fingers over the marker lines on my chest. “Signature Vinnie. Couple of black marks and he’s good to go. What was it going to be?” She cocks her head and examines it, and the way she’s biting her lip while the wheels in her head turn is incredibly cute. Charming. Endearing.

  “I don’t know,” I say with a laugh.

  “You don’t know? Dear God, you must’ve really wanted those answers if you were giving my dad full rein on such a huge piece of property. I’d probably kill for somebody to ask me for an ‘I don’t know’ on their chest.”

  I don’t have the heart to tell her the state her dad was in when I walked in that shop and how I was certain I was making a huge mistake. How drunk he was, how bad he was shaking, how paranoid he was acting. Not tonight. Tonight we could just find some state of somber happiness in the good parts of Vinnie that we remembered.

  “Maybe you can finish it,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “That’s really kind of you but you really don’t have to.”

  “I want to,” I say.

  “Maybe someday.” She grabs her pack of cigarettes off the nightstand and taps one out before lighting it up. “Your uncle Stoney, at the scene, he said he was going to do whatever it takes to find out what happened. You don’t think he meant it?”

  “You have to swear on your life,” I say. I don’t know why I’m telling her this. Maybe it’s because she’s so easy to talk to. Maybe it’s because I’m still high as fuck on adrenaline from the accident. Maybe it’s because I feel really fucking guilty about how I treated her earlier today. Maybe it’s because the more I talk to her, the more irresistible she’s becoming to me. Like I would throw myself into a fire for her. Telling her this is basically doing just that.

  “You and your secrets.” She lets out a huge cloud of smoke and takes another deep drag. “Well, go on.”

  “My Uncle Stoney’s not all there. Only a handful of people know. He’s been having strokes… and… uh… episodes?”

  “Trust me, I know all about it. That’s why him and my dad got along so good. Two stubborn as fuck Vietnam vets not walking around with untreated PTSD.”

  “Last night, he was over at your old man’s old apartment wrecking the place, looking for him. He was gonna kill him himself if he foun
d him I think. He wasn’t even drunk, just… not there…”

  “Dad hasn’t lived in that old apartment in at least thirty-five years.”

  I nod.

  “Something old is coming back, and I know Stoney’s gonna do whatever he can to bury it.”

  “Fuck,” she mutters. She stubs out her cigarette in the ashtray. “I’ll help you. Whatever you need.”

  Her eyes lock with mine, and for one brief moment I want nothing more than to press my lips to hers. She gasps a little bit and turns away.

  “I guess you should probably put your clothes back on and get out of here,” she says, handing me my t-shirt. “We got a big day tomorrow.”

  All the air in my lungs comes out in one big whoosh. Something about this girl has me all sorts of off my game. It’s been a long time since a woman has been able to tell me what to do. They’ve tried, but then again they’d do the same with any of my brothers. Something makes me feel like her and I have a much deeper connection. She doesn’t know it, but she’s already mine.

  I smile a little smirk on my way out the door. First time I’ve smiled like that all day. Maybe all week. Maybe all life. I don’t even turn and look over my shoulder at her. Don’t even dare tempt myself. Now’s not the time. Women like Pearl gotta come around on their own accord.

  Chapter Twelve

  Pearl

  I toss and turn underneath the flannel sheets, trying to find a comfortable position. It’s dark enough, cool enough, quiet enough. Under any other circumstance I would’ve been out like a light in two seconds flat. I bunch the pillows with my fist, kick my legs around, flop over on my front, no, my side; now I’ve got the comforter on the floor.

  I’m so fucking restless.

  My mind is racing faster than before, thinking about what I just agreed to.

  With who I just made this crazy pact.

  I don’t know why it soothes me, but I feel like, in some strange way, my dad didn’t die for nothing. I try to think about what he’d say if he were still here. Probably I have no business putting a tattoo on Donovan… Driller’s chest because I can’t even punch in a solid outline. Probably run to the corner store and grab me another bottle of Jack. I knew I could never make him proud in life, but maybe by helping out Driller and the club I can at least let him rest in peace. Honor his name. Do the right thing.

  Then again, I’m struggling with the idea that Driller was a little more convincing than I’d like.

  I pride myself in being able to look past the bullshit when some dude is trying to get in my pants or use me. Pride myself in being able to shut that shit down real quick. Something about him seems more genuine than any of those punks.

  More genuine. More deserving. More confident. Not like some needy whiny boy who thinks they’re entitled. Commanding but not in a demanding kind of way. It’s hot.

  Now I’m hot. I fan myself with the sheet, my skin burning up with this tingling sensation when I think about his chiseled jaw, his strong tatted hands, that chest that made my thighs clamp together the second I ran my fingers over it.

  “You’re so much better than this, Pearl,” I mumble into the dark.

  But am I really?

  The way things are looking right now, I have no home, no dad, no career. All I have is a man who, for some reason, thinks I have it in me to help save his club, a hulking sexy man who, twenty years ago, I swore off for life.

  In a perfect world, I’d go back to the shop where I belong. I can’t do that on my own, though. Maybe if I help him with what he needs, he can help me with what I need. I just don’t want it to be at the cost of my freedom.

  Right now, though, those needs are getting a little darker than I’d like.

  I run my fingers over my thighs, imagining what his hands would feel like on my flesh, his beard dragging up my tender skin, his lips kissing me until my toes curl.

  I’m so wet, so close to the edge, I slap my hand over my mouth, knowing there’s probably someone on the other side of these paper-thin walls. What I wouldn’t give to be screaming his name without any concern while I ride his perfect body to the hardest climax I’ve ever had.

  That’ll never happen, the voice in my head reminds me, jarring me out of my fantasy. That can never happen.

  It’s just hormones. It’s just stress. It’s just fight or flight or fuck or whatever they say happens to you after a traumatic incident.

  You are not the kind of woman a man like Driller goes for, and he’s certainly not the kind of man you need in your life right now.

  I grab the comforter up off the floor and tuck it up over my chin, rolling over with a sigh, and pout. Even in my fantasies I’m always in a hurry to ruin things for myself.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The knock on the door jars me from my sleep. For whatever reason, I went out like a lightbulb, not even waking up once. I snap my eyes open, and the light shining through the window blinds reminds me I have a whole day of disaster ahead of me to face. I’d rather just go back to sleep, maybe forever. At least until this all blows over. I owe it to my dad to at least put an effort forth, though.

  “Coming,” I call out. My face in the mirror frightens even me. My hair is wild and tangled and my cheeks red and puffy, eyes droopy from all the crying I did yesterday. I can’t let him see me like this.

  I get up and run to the sink, splashing water over my face in a hope that I’ll at least start looking like a human. I pull my hair back into a ponytail and just as I’m about to pull my makeup bag out of my purse, the knocking gets louder.

  “Pearl, it’s me! Riley!” she shouts. “Let me in, woman. I don’t care what you look like! I just wanna see you.”

  I don’t like the way my heart sinks when I realize it’s not Driller on the other side of the door. I hate admitting I went to sleep thinking about him. Hate to admit he was the first thing on my mind when I woke up. I should know better than to even give myself the temporary joy of thinking he felt the same.

  I open up the door begrudgingly as she pushes her way in and throws her arms around me in a big hug. “How you doing? Are you okay?”

  “Sorry, I just woke up. What are you doing here?”

  “I tried calling you a hundred times.”

  “I haven’t even looked at my phone since yesterday,” I say. Haven’t even taken it out of my purse. “Is everything alright? Are the police trying to get ahold of me?”

  Riley is one of those women who look beautiful no matter what they do, but today she looks tired. Defeated. Not like herself at all. Her eyes that normally shine and skin that normally glows just look dull. She sits down on the bed and sighs.

  “I have no idea what’s going on. Henry will fucking kill me if he finds out I’m here.”

  “What?” I stammer.

  “Don’t worry about it. That sounded worse than I meant it to. Wanna go grab breakfast?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say. “Let me get dressed quick. How’d you get in here?”

  “Betty let me in. Don’t worry, there’s nobody else around. I drove past the shop and it looks like the guys are over there boarding the windows up.”

  Now I’m confused. Last night Driller promised me he would take me wherever I needed to go.

  “What the fuck?” I shout, jumping up from the bed. “How can they do that? I thought it was a crime scene.”

  She shrugs. “Not anymore I guess?”

  I feel betrayed. If anybody should be in the shop right now, it’s me. I don’t trust the club and their motives. I should’ve known better than to trust Driller. I pull a pair of jeans on that look like they’ll fit me from the pile Betty brought me. “We need to go over there now.”

  “Pearl,” she says sternly.

  “That’s my dad’s shop.” I have my shoes on before she can even get another word in. “They don’t know what that equipment is. What if they’re getting rid of his stuff? Nobody should be in there but me.”

  I honestly don’t care about the stuff. I just don’t like that things are
happening without my say. I thought I had an advocate in Driller. I thought we had an agreement. I grab my purse and swing open the door and she just sits on the bed staring at me.

  “Please,” she says, her voice weak. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

  “I know exactly what I’m getting into,” I say. “Now come on.”

  I storm down the hallway and into the main room of the clubhouse. Betty’s sitting on a couch watching some old sitcom reruns as she files her nails.

  “You’re up! You want some breakfast?”

  “Where is everybody?” I ask.

  She shrugs and looks around, avoiding direct eye contact with me. “You never know with these guys.”

  The deceptive nature of her statement makes the hair on my arms stand up. I’m such a dummy for even thinking these people are my friends.

  “What’s going on with my dad’s body? I probably need to start making funeral arrangements,” I say.

  “Oh honey, it’s all taken care of,” she says. “Stoney didn’t want you to have to worry about a thing. I promise we’re going to have a real nice service for him. Come as you are. Just the way Vinnie would’ve wanted. It’s all in his will.”

  I feel a catch in my throat, and she must notice because she jumps up from the couch to hug me.

  “I didn’t even know he had a will. Nobody talked to me about any of this stuff. I feel like a piece of shit.”

  “Don’t feel like a piece of shit. He never wanted you to have to worry about this stuff. No father wants to put their kids through losing their ass to make funeral arrangements. He had Stoney as his sole executor so you didn’t have to do anything at all. I bet if your old man had his way, you wouldn’t even be here right now. He loved you so much he never wanted you to have to hurt. He didn’t want you to have to deal with his choices. Now, if you really want to know where everybody is, they are down at your father’s shop. I was supposed to stall you, but I think we should probably take a ride over there.”