Banger's Ride: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 5) (11 page)

“I hope you guys are hungry,” Cherri said as she set the pot of chili down on the table. “I’ll go grab some bowls in the kitchen.”

Paisley went over to Jax and handed him the crackers, then she placed her hands on his thigh. Jax swept her up in his arms, sitting her on his lap. She grinned at the rough bikers who sat around the table. Banger, seated next to Jax, ran his hand over her downy hair, saying, “You’re a real cutie.” Paisley’s white-blonde hair, big blue eyes, and red, chubby cheeks reminded him of Kylie when she was the toddler’s age. It tickled him every time he saw Paisley, and it also made him sad because those times with Kylie and Grace were over forever.

Cherri ladled out the chili into the bowls and set them in front of each of the brothers. She placed a basket full of crackers in the middle of the table along with several smaller bowls of onions, shredded cheese, and sour cream. “Enjoy.” She smiled and bent over to pick up Paisley from Jax’s lap. He put his hand behind Cherri’s neck and kissed her deeply before she took Paisley and walked up the stairs.

An hour later, Banger took out his phone, noticing he didn’t have any reception in the basement. “Count me out on this hand. I gotta go use the phone.” When he came upstairs, he spotted Cherri lying on the couch with Paisley tucked in to her side, watching
My Little Pony
cartoons. For a moment, his mind flashed back to a rainy afternoon when he had just come back from a long ride. He’d walked into the family room and saw Grace lying on the couch with Kylie curled in her arms, watching a cartoon. When he saw them, he knew his life was complete. Little did he know that Kylie would lose her mother before she started high school, and he would lose his beloved wife before he hit forty. If he had known that, he would’ve cherished the moments even more than he did.

Paisley’s shrill laughter brought him back to the present, and he softly walked to the laundry room and closed the door. He dialed Belle’s number.

“Hey, there,” he said when her cheerful voice caressed over him.

“Hi. What are you up to?” she asked.

“I’m at Jax’s house with some of the brothers playing poker.” He cleared his throat. “I was thinking ‘bout you.”

“That’s nice.” Her breathless laugh hit him in the dick. “I’m coated in flour from rolling out a bunch of pie crusts.”

“Sounds like we could figure out something nasty to do with that.” A pause then he heard her swallow. That got to her and he liked it. A lot. “Let me come by after you get off work.”

“I’d like that, but remember I’m spending tonight with my kids. I’m going to leave as soon as I finish the pies.”

“I’m sure your kids would understand if you got home a little late. You need some time for yourself.”

“I took time for myself last night. Ethan has already picked out the movie. Anyway, I need to make sure Emily doesn’t pull anything. I’m sorry.”

“What about after they’re asleep? I can come over and keep you company.”

Her sigh whispered over the phone. “That won’t be possible. I have to think of my kids.”

“What about me? I need to be with you. Fuck, I got a hard-on just talking to you. I need you to take care of it.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am. I need you, Belle.”

She didn’t answer, and at first Banger thought he’d lost the connection, but then he heard her cluck her tongue. “I told you, it won’t work. Either you understand or you don’t. I have to get back to work.”

Banger poked his tongue lightly into his cheeks and inhaled a long breath as the heat rose in his body. He wasn’t used to women telling him no, and he didn’t fucking like it one bit. He’d be damned if he was going to beg her like some lovesick asshole.
Fuck that.
“Don’t sweat it. Call me when you want to hang. Gotta go.”

“Are you mad at me because I’m spending time with my kids?”

“Nope.” But he was, even though his gut told him he was being unreasonable. He needed Belle, and it pissed him off that she didn’t seem to need him as much.
I should just move on and stick with the club whores and hoodrats. I don’t need a woman with baggage. Fuck.

“You sound mad. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you, it’s just that my kids have to come first. You must understand that since you have a daughter.”

“Said I wasn’t mad. You better get back to your pies. Call me.” He hung up, his face tight. He wanted nothing better than to put his hand through the laundry room wall. This was bullshit. Belle was a fucking good time in bed, and he should leave it like that. He didn’t want the bullshit drama of her life. Hell, he didn’t even know
what
he wanted. He still loved Grace, but Belle stirred something in him that both excited and scared him at the same time. He left the laundry room and headed downstairs to play a few more rounds of poker.

After they’d played their umpteenth hand, Banger stood up and called it a night. The others agreed, and they walked out into the frigid night air. As the icy cold slapped his face, Banger cursed. He hated the snowy weather because he couldn’t ride his bike and had to take the cage. Of course, there were the crazy bikers who took chances on the ice and snow with their Harleys, but they were mostly the young ones. He remembered being stupid like that when he was young, but when Kylie had been born, he’d changed his reckless, impulsive lifestyle. Having her in his life made him think differently; he had to be smart and stay safe for her.

When he arrived at his house, he lit a fire then grabbed a beer from the fridge. Throwing his leather jacket on the couch, he switched on his CD player and flopped in the overstuffed chair in front of the fireplace. The haunting strains of Buffalo Springfield’s “For What It’s Worth” filled the room. The blaze of the fire softly lit the pictures of Grace which adorned the walls, the fireplace mantel, and the bookcases. A few framed photos of Banger, Grace, and Kylie at Sturgis and on family trips caught Banger’s eyes, bringing back a flood of memories.

A piercing memory of the last six months of his wife’s life squeezed his heart as he remembered the slow death that had robbed him of her a little each day. He recalled when she’d held his strong hand in her weak and pale one and had told him that, when she died, she didn’t want him to sit around and mope.

“You’re young, sexy, and virile, and you deserve to love again, even if you can be a pain in the ass sometimes.” Her voice echoed in his mind, bringing a smile to his lips. “Find a woman to love again. I don’t want you chasing the club or party girls every weekend. I’ll haunt your ass if you do.” She laughed then broke into a coughing fit.

“Don’t talk about this shit, sweetheart. You’re not going anywhere.”

Her blue eyes misted as she brought his hand to her colorless lips, kissing it. “Promise me that you’ll find another woman and marry again. I don’t want you alone.”

“I got Kylie. No more of this shit, woman.”

“Promise. Please.” Her eyes pleaded with him, and he hung his head. Grudgingly, he agreed, but he’d never wanted to admit that his wife was going to die.

When she died, the last thing on his mind was meeting another woman and loving her. Banger’s loss was great, his desire to plug the hole in his heart intense, and it felt good to have someone by his side again, even if it were only for a few hours each night. So he lost himself in mindless pussy, and the younger the woman, the more likely nothing would come out of it. He did the opposite of what he’d promised Grace.

And now, he’d met Belle, who was beautiful, sexy, and complicated, but being in his home surrounded by memories, he realized he still loved Grace. Belle stirred something in him, but it was lust, not love. He didn’t think he could care for Belle in that way; it would be as though he were betraying Grace, minimizing what they’d had. But damn, he wanted to see the pretty, curvy cook again. She was a great bed warmer, and it beat the club women.

As the lilting guitar riffs from Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” played, Banger lifted his glass to one of his favorite pictures of Grace—leaning against his Harley with rosy cheeks, a warm smile, and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. A deep feeling of sadness washed over him. “Love you, Gracie,” he said, then took a long pull on his beer, his eyes never leaving her picture.

J
essica Dermot Hoskins
sighed loudly as she punched in the prompts from the Lakeview Police Department. She was a few years younger than her stepmother, Belle Dermot, and she resented her from the moment her dad had brought her into the home. How her father could’ve married someone that young was something she would never understand. Belle had tried to be a friend to her, but Jessica couldn’t stand the woman, so she spent as little time in the house as possible. Jessica had been married for ten years, with two young boys who had rarely seen their grandfather. The last thing Jessica wanted to do was bring her kids around Belle. She’d told her father many times if he wanted to see his grandkids he had to make the effort to come to her house or meet them somewhere.

He did it the first few years, but then the visits became more infrequent, until she rarely saw her father. He called her for her birthday, and of course there was always a standing invitation for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but she never went. Sometimes her father would give her money when she told him that she and her husband, Bert, were in a bad way. He never expected her to pay it back, and she was grateful for that. She had expected to inherit quite a nice sum of money when her father had passed away, and was outraged when there was no money left. She blamed Belle one hundred percent for squandering her father’s money.

“Lakeview Police Department, how may I help you?” a gruff voice asked.

“I need to talk to someone in homicide,” Jessica replied.

“Homicide? Are you in any danger?”

“No. I want to talk to somebody about a possible homicide. My dad died under mysterious circumstances. I need to talk to a detective.”

“I’ll patch you through to Detective Sanders.”

Jessica filed her nails as she waited for the detective to pick up the phone.

“Detective Sanders, how can I help you?” a deep, raspy voice asked.

“Hi. My name is Jessica Dermot Hoskins, and my father was Harold Dermot. He died over a year ago, but I found something very unusual in the storage unit that he and my stepmother had.”

“You say your dad died over a year ago? Was his death ruled natural?”

“Yes, but what I found in the storage unit made me wonder about his death. I always had a nagging suspicion that things weren’t the way they seemed. My dad was sixty-one years old, and even though he suffered from diabetes, he was still a strong, healthy man. He was fine one day, and the next he died. It never sat well with me or my brother.”

“Did you tell the police your suspicions at the time of his death?”

“No. I wanted to, but my brother told me not to. He didn’t want to rock the boat, and when he saw how upset our stepmother was, he told me to leave it alone.”

“Okay. What was this thing you found in the storage unit?”

“A syringe, but not the type my dad used for his insulin shots. It’s a different one. I’ve never seen anything like it before, and it was wrapped in plastic and hidden in one of the boxes inside a small purse that I’m sure belongs to my stepmother. I want it to be tested. I was gonna send it to the lab myself, but I thought I should call the police and see if they wanted to look at it.”

“How do you know your stepmom put it there?”

“She had to. The only one who has access to the storage unit besides me and my brother is my stepmother. She moved all my dad’s stuff and she didn’t want us to help at all. It was found among the boxes she moved from his house, ones full of books and papers. It’s like she was trying to hide it, you know?”

“Well, what you’re telling me is anybody could have planted it there, even you. Do you have anything else to go on besides this syringe you found and your own opinion?”

“No, but I know she was somehow involved in my dad’s death. I don’t believe for one minute that he died of natural causes. And she squandered all his money. She probably killed him thinking he had a large insurance policy. He had one, but he cashed it out without her knowledge.”

“How much was the policy for?”

“Two million.”

“Did your dad have any other insurance policies?”

“He had one where my brother and I were the beneficiaries. The policy was for one million.”

“You got that much money when your dad died?

“No,” she whispered. “He cashed that one out too.”

Jessica held her breath as she heard the detective’s fingers clacking on the keyboard. She hoped he would look into her father’s death because she knew something wasn’t right. She’d always known.

“Well, I need to get the syringe from you so we can take a look at it, see what comes up. Of course, I have to run it by my superior. If he says to go for it, I’ll go see your stepmother and ask some questions. But as it stands now, your dad’s death was ruled as natural causes. It will take a hell of a lot more than a syringe to open up a murder investigation on his death. Now, I need to get some particulars from you and more information….”

Half an hour later, Jessica opened a can of Diet Coke and took a large gulp, the cold stream of liquid soothing her throat. She stared out the kitchen window and saw her two boys playing with the dog in the backyard. She narrowed her eyes, and ice ran through her veins. The bitch would get what she deserved. Jessica had been screwed out of her inheritance, and she wasn’t too happy about it. She had a strong suspicion Belle knew exactly where the money was that everyone said her father had embezzled from the company, and Jessica would pry it out of the bitch. She’d make sure she and her family received the money they were entitled to. Belle Dermot wouldn’t get away with a damn thing, she’d make sure of that.

*     *     *