Driller: Dead Ringers MC Book 1

by Deja Voss

  “Well thank you, Ransom,” I say, extending my hand for an awkward handshake. “I appreciate that.”

  “I’ll let you two be,” he says, and he takes my hand to his lips and kisses it. Driller shoots him a dirty look and I can’t help but laugh. “See you in a little, bro?”

  Driller nods and waves him off.

  “You’re leaving me?” I ask. He pulls me tighter to him, kissing me on the lips, running his fingers through my hair, holding me so firmly but so delicately, like I am made of eggshell and he doesn’t want to drop me to the ground.

  “Just for a little bit, love,” he says, pecking at my lips. “We got some new information about who might be targeting you and the club. We just need to get out and poke around while everybody’s distracted. I promise, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  He runs his fingers over my gooosebumped skin and I sigh. I can’t tell him not to go. This is probably all my fault, anyway.

  “Come on,” he says, as he helps me redress. He grabs his leather cut off the back of the chair and drapes it over my shoulders and I can’t help but feel like something powerful just shifted in the room. Now that the deed is done, the deal is sealed. “Perfect fit.”

  The thing is huge on me. It comes down further than the hem of my dress, but the way he’s looking at me with complete admiration and love in his eyes, I know exactly what he means.

  “What happens now?” I ask.

  He scoops me up in his arms and carries me outside into the night. I don’t even protest; I just drape my arms around his shoulder and stare at him lovingly. My body is useless at this point. My mind is surprisingly mellow. I’ve been searching my whole life for a feeling of Zen. Apparently all it took was some nasty rough sex with the man I love more than anyone in the world and his best friend to put my brain in that place.

  He swings open the door of the clubhouse and everybody cheers. As we walk through the crowd, everyone tries to stop us, but he keeps a straight and narrow path right to our bedroom.

  When he opens the door, I gasp in delight. There are candles lit all over the place, and a giant bouquet of flowers on the kitchen table. There’s a whole spread of food laid out: pizza, doughnuts, sparkling cider, and all sorts of gummy candy. I pop a chocolate-covered cherry in my mouth and bite down, moaning in delight.

  “Did you do all this for me?” I ask. It’s not like he’s exactly the example of the romantic type. He’s more romantic in the way he is than in the things he does, but his grin tells me maybe there’s a lot I don’t know about him.

  “Maybe for me a little,” he says, picking up a piece of pizza and taking a giant bite. “Girl, you know how to make me work up an appetite.”

  It’s completely silent for a moment as we both stuff our faces.

  “That was fun,” I blurt out. “Not like, something that I feel the need to do all the time fun, but different fun.”

  I feel my face grow red. I probably should’ve just kept my damn mouth shut, but I’d never experienced anything like that in my life before, and I feel the need to fill the silence with at least a little something.

  He grins at me. “I’m glad. You deserve a little happiness in your life, Pearl. Shit’s been rough lately.”

  We lay down on the bed and I curl up in his arms, resting my head on his chest. The way his hands draw circles on my skin, the way he hugs me tight, the way our bodies fit together like a perfect puzzle piece, I know being claimed by him is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  “What are you thinking about,” he asks, just as I start to drift off.

  “Just how I managed to get so lucky.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Driller

  Hate leaving her, but this is for her own good. For the club’s good. For the greater good.

  She’s passed out cold, looking like some kind of angel with her mop of hair spread out across the pillow. I probably should’ve gotten her out of that dress. Probably should’ve helped her wipe the smears of mascara out from under her eyes. This shouldn’t be too long, though.

  God willing, I’m back in bed long before the sun comes up so tomorrow I can stand by her side as her old man all day for her dad’s funeral, hopefully with a whole lot more answers than I have right about now.

  “Love you so much,” I whisper, tracing the line of her chin with my fingers. I’m gonna do whatever it takes to make sure she can sleep peacefully like this every night for the rest of her life. I’m putting a stop to this bullshit right now.

  It’s a new era for the club.

  My best friend, Ransom, and I are going to be the change we want to see in this fucked-up world.

  I throw on my cut and creep down the hallway and out the back door. He’s already standing by his bike, ready to ride.

  “I’m sorry I let you down the other day,” I say. “So much shit happening, I don’t know right from wrong anymore. Only true thing I got going is the brotherhood. And Pearl, of course. But shit’s getting blurred.”

  “I get it,” he says. “Can’t imagine when we’re Stoney’s age we’re gonna be going down without a fight, either. Old man deserves all the respect for what he built. I don’t care what the guy does, I’ll never think anything lesser of him. I just can’t live with all the lies. The excuses. All the bullshit.”

  I light up a smoke and nod. “He’s not right in the head. He was in the hospital just the other day and they said he had a bunch of strokes. Probably Alzheimer’s. He’s having episodes. He fucking trashed Carley’s house the other night.”

  “My Carley?” he asks, tilting his head and making a fist with his hand. “Why didn’t nobody tell me this shit?”

  “That is not your Carley,” I tease.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Nobody’s saying shit because we’re all afraid. The old-timers are too afraid to admit they ain’t as strong as they used to be. Stoney’s afraid if he gives up his seat, Kid’s next in line to take over. I’m afraid of starting a fucking mutiny. This fear… it creeps up on you and grabs you by the balls. That ain’t us. That ain’t Dead Ringer way. Kid proved that today when he shanked that guard. We don’t fucking cower in fear and let fate decide for us.”

  “We fucking make things happen,” he says, throwing up the devil horns.

  “You’re my best friend,” I say. “Just so you know. Hated what I did to you the other night. I just needed some time to think. I’ll do anything for you.”

  “And you know I’ll do anything for you and that old lady of yours.”

  “Well you can start by staying the fuck away from her,” I say with a nod. “But you already know that.”

  “Come on, let’s ride. We’ll hit Cully’s and go from there. Hopefully Barret’s in a bargaining frame of mind.”

  “We don’t need to wheel and deal tonight, brother,” I remind him. “Not til we take it to church. Let’s just see what we can find out for ourselves. Do a little recon.”

  I gotta draw the line somewhere. I know we’re going rogue, and that’s against the club’s policies, but if it means I’m one step closer to keeping my old lady safe I need to stay ahead of things. If I can bring some solid information to the table, I can make things happen. No sense in putting my brothers in jeopardy or my club in a vulnerable place if I don’t have to.

  Ransom is a different story, though. He fucked my old lady. And I know that bastard would do anything for me. I rev my engine and spin gravel across the parking lot as we ride off into the night.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Pearl:

  I feel like I got ran over by a truck. My body aches in places I didn’t know existed, and everything on me is sticky. I can’t help but laugh. Last night was definitely not one I’d ever forget. Now that I belong to Driller, I’m sure I’ll get used to those occasional aches and pains. While being shared with his friend was fun, I kind of wish I would’ve had a chance to have just some alone time with the two of us before I passed out.

  A ray of light shines through
the crack in the window blinds and I stretch out, reaching for him beside me, but he isn’t there.

  I look over at my phone on the nightstand and it’s already eight in the morning. My dad’s funeral is today. I wonder if he is already awake and helping the guys get ready for the service. I wonder why he didn’t wake me, too.

  I stretch and walk to the bathroom and get this sinking feeling in my gut that maybe something isn’t right here. I knew he left last night, but I could’ve sworn he came back at some point. I could’ve sworn he cuddled me back to sleep when I awoke in a fit of confusion. Maybe I was just dreaming.

  I splash some water on my face as I peel myself out of my dress from the night before. I brush my teeth quickly and get dressed, hoping that he’ll come walking through the door any second now and my fears can be put to rest. His cut is missing, but that’s nothing new. He wears that thing everywhere and never lets it touch the floor, holding it with as much respect as most people do a flag. The coffee pot is cold, and I know he wouldn’t leave without at least having a cup.

  I assume the absolute worst as I tiptoe down the hallway.

  The barroom is already loud and rowdy, even though the sun just came up. There are men from the club and women who are always hanging around, couples with tattoos from head to toe that I’m certain I’d met at some point in my life, b-list celebrities, and bikers from all over the country according to the patches on their vests. I know my dad was a popular guy, and the door swings open every two seconds, the place filling up more and more with every breath I take. It’s overwhelming. I’m looking for no one but Driller, but he’s nowhere in the crowd.

  I rush behind the bar where Betty is standing, swirling her Bloody Mary around with a straw, right next to what I’m assuming is my father’s urn. The art all over it catches my eye.

  “Oh good, y’all are awake,” she says. She slides the urn towards me. It’s hard to imagine my dad inside that metal tin. The outside is covered in his art, and it’s really beautiful. Knowing my dad, he probably would’ve complained it was too fancy, or too big, or too something… but I guess his ashes don’t really get a say.

  “Oh my God,” I say as I run my fingers over it. The crowdedness of the room is squeezing all the air out of me and I slide down to the floor, hiding behind the ice bin. I know I’m being ridiculous, but with everything going on I’ve been too distracted to really focus on the matter at hand. My dad has been murdered. Whoever killed him is still out there. Whoever took his life before his time still has theirs. I’d never get to call him up again and talk to him. I’d never get the chance to pull the blanket up over him when he got so blacked-out drunk he passed out on the couch. He’d never get to see me with Driller, walk me down the aisle, do the father-daughter dance with me. We’d never get to tattoo together again.

  “You stay down there as long as you need, love,” Betty says, crouching down next to me. “It’s a lot to take in. Just know everybody in this room loves you. They’re here for you. They cared about Vinnie in their own special ways and they’re all here to celebrate him.”

  “I can’t find Driller,” I say with the little bit of breath I have left in me.

  “I’m sure he’ll turn up,” she says, furrowing her thin eyebrows. “He probably just stepped out for a smoke.”

  “He didn’t come home last night. I’m worried.”

  “Okay,” she says, and I don’t like the expression on her face whatsoever. “Okay. It’s probably just a mix-up. You want anything?”

  I want the man who claimed me to be here for my father’s funeral. I want him to want to be here. I want him to understand how important it is to me for him to be by my side on this day. After what I was willing to do for him. After I let my guard down and gave him all my trust.

  Now I’m just getting myself pissed off. If he really cared about me, I wouldn’t be all alone in this world, crouched down on this greasy floor, trying to pull myself together so I can face my dead father’s friends.

  “Fuck it,” I mutter. “I want some vodka.”

  “Okay,” she says. “I can do that.”

  Her toned legs pass before my face and her red high heels click across the floor, and soon she returns with what looks like a glass of orange juice.

  “You haven’t had breakfast yet,” she says, crouching down next to me. “Why don’t you get up and come back in the kitchen. You don’t have to talk to anybody. I’ll keep you company.”

  She helps me up off the floor and dusts me off before whisking me behind a set of swinging doors. I take a huge slurp from the straw and quickly realize it’s not just orange juice I’m drinking. It burns. The way my face starts to turn warm feels kind of good.

  “Do you really think he’d just leave me high and dry today?” I ask.

  “Oh, child, holy shit no.” The sounds coming from the bar are more like a party than any funeral I’d ever attended. “You gotta understand one thing; when one of my boys claims a woman, he ain’t never leaving her side on his own accord. Y’all are bound together for life.”

  “Then where the fuck is he? Do you think he’s alright?”

  She nervously chews at her lip and looks out over the swinging doors. “I’m gonna go ask around. Will you be alright?”

  The doors swing open and Riley is standing there in her most dramatic mourning attire. Her long black dress drags on the ground and she has this hat with a veil. She looks stunning as usual. She rushes over to me and hugs me tight.

  “Riley, does Henry know you’re here?” Betty asks, clicking her tongue.

  “Pearl is my best friend in the whole wide world. How could I not be here?”

  “I’ll give you two a minute,” Betty says dramatically, looking over her shoulder the whole while she walks out of the kitchen.

  “You seem really well-liked around here,” I tease as I suck down another giant sip of my drink.

  “Oh my God,” she whispers. “Did you hear anything about Brad?”

  I don’t know if I’m coming to my senses or if the vodka is just hitting me all at once, but a lightbulb goes off over my head. “You’re not here for me, are you? What the fuck is going on there, Riley? Are you still messing around with Brad?”

  “How could you say such a thing!! Of course I’m here for you. Your dad was basically a second dad to me growing up. I wanted to be here for you.” She hugs me even tighter, smoothing my hair with her hand.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I remind her as she nearly squeezes all the air out of me.

  “I will. I promise. One day I will. Today isn’t about me, though. How are you holding up? You alright? I haven’t even heard a peep out of you since you got to town.”

  I smile and shrug. I’m beginning to realize the distance between the two of us possibly wasn’t just a locational thing. That maybe we’d grown apart beyond repair. That maybe our friendship had always been a little more one-sided than I’d been willing to believe.

  The way she’s looking all around the kitchen, peeking over the swinging doors, makes me think she’s looking for something more than an opportunity to comfort her grieving friend.

  She doesn’t need to know about anything. Not Driller. Not the shop. Not the choices I made for the future.

  I take the last sip of my drink and rattle the ice around in my glass. “Come on, we should probably go out there and see what’s going on. I probably need another drink, too.”

  I hope with all my heart as soon as I get out there Driller walks through the door with a great explanation of where he’s been. That it’s all been a big misunderstanding. Even though I have my “best friend” by my side, it doesn’t feel good enough, especially as I watch her reapply her bright red lipstick and straighten her skirt.

  I walk out to the bar, pick up my dad off the countertop, and start doing the rounds while Riley gets me another drink. I’m beginning to realize that, in some circumstances, it’s a lot easier to cope if you don’t give a fuck about anything. I’m beginning to realize that maybe m
y dad did a lot of drinking because he was trying to numb out things going on in his world.

  That’s all I want to be right now, numb as your cheek when the dentist jams you with Novocaine. Numb and floppy, not a care in the world.

  Not worrying about where Driller is. Not thinking about the fact that I put all my faith in him, and if he’s gone doing something shitty, I’m fucked. Alone. Just that jaded tattoo artist I’ve been all my life, only now an orphan.

  The air smells like a mixture of body odor and motor oil and it’s getting hotter by the minute as the place packs tight with my dad’s friends. I’m getting more hugs today than I’ve gotten in my entire life. I’m trying to smile while I hold on to his pile of ashes, but the vodka is rendering me exactly like I wanted. Not quite there. I see everything happening in front of me, almost in slow motion, but everything sounds like a muffled blur. Taste the orange juice concoction as Riley holds the straw to my lips.

  Scan the crowd for the millionth time trying not to get angry.

  I finally make my way through the crowd and find Driller’s dad, standing by the doorway greeting people as they walk in. He looks handsome, refined, even in his jeans and cut.

  “How you holding up, kid?” he asks, patting the urn gently.

  “Have you seen your son today?” I blurt out.

  The way he frowns accentuates every wrinkle in his face, and I don’t like the gleam in his eye. “When’s the last time you saw him? You sure he didn’t just step out to go grab more kegs with the prospects?”

  “Last night. Before I went to sleep,” I say.

  “Okay,” he mumbles. “Okay. You alright to watch the door for a minute?”

  I nod enthusiastically, and he already has his phone in his hand as he runs outside. I get the impression that something way wrong is going on here, but I don’t want to draw attention to the situation so I just stand in the doorway and do my best to greet these people as they come through the door.