Page 2 of Bone’s Choice

A lot more.

The Grave Prowlers had been building caskets almost as long as we’d been putting people in the ground. It was part of who we were.

The club had started in Virginia back in 1987 with a mortuary and a handful of men who figured out pretty fucking quickly that there was good money to be made in death.

Even better money if you weren’t too concerned about staying on the right side of the law.

Cremations for people who paid enough to guarantee nobody asked questions. Custom coffins. Transportation. Eventually guns.

A coffin was a hell of a good place to move something nobody was supposed to find.

By 1997, the club had grown enough that the original members started spreading out across the country, creating territories that covered two states at a time.

Wisconsin and Minnesota were ours.

Separate chapters. Same club, code, and loyalty.

I was President of Wisconsin.

Shadow had Minnesota.

Neither of us answered to the other, but if one chapter needed the other, we were there.

That was how the Grave Prowlers worked.

Club above everything. The shit wasn’t complicated. People were the ones who liked making things complicated.

I tossed the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed. The crumpled note was on the floor between my feet. Case in point. That note was pure complications.

I kicked it under the bed and stood.

Problem solved.

I grabbed my jeans off the chair in the corner and pulled them on, then headed into the bathroom. A shower would’ve been nice, but the wood was more important. I’d get one after I made sure the delivery wasn’t fucked up.

I turned on the sink and splashed cold water over my face. The man looking back at me in the mirror looked about how I felt. Hair fucked up. Beard needing a trim. Eyes slightly bloodshot.

I grabbed my toothbrush and started brushing. Had the woman from last night been worth losing a little sleep over? Probably not, but whatever.

I stopped brushing and looked down at the running water. What the hell had her name been?

Had it been Ashley? Amanda? Something with an A.

I shook my head and kept brushing. Didn’t matter.

I finished brushing my teeth, ran wet hands through my hair, and went back into the bedroom.

The room wasn’t anything fancy, but it was mine. I’d lived at the clubhouse for years and never saw a reason to change that.

Why the fuck would I? Everything I needed was here.

My brothers, my bike, the casket biz, food, beer, and my bed.

And there was almost always a woman around when I wanted one.

Moving into some house just so I could drive back here every damn day didn’t make any sense.

The clubhouse sat at the end of a long, dead-end road on the outskirts of Marshfield—far enough outside town that nobody gave much of a shit about what we were doing.