Page 9 of Bone’s Choice

I shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Pink’s expression changed slightly. “Well, you’ve got me next door.”

That was surprisingly reassuring. “Good to know.”

“And if you need anything, you come over. Don’t worry about bothering me.”

“Careful. I might actually take you up on that.”

“Good.”

“Even if it’s two in the morning?”

Pink didn’t hesitate. “Especially if it’s two in the morning. Anything happening at two in the morning is either really good or really fucking bad, and I want to know about both.”

A laugh burst out of me. “Okay. You’re definitely my kind of person.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that.”

“You’ve been here five minutes.”

“And look how much progress we’ve made.”

I stepped back and pulled the storm door wider. “Come in.”

Pink lifted the wine. “Thought you’d never ask.”

I laughed and waved her inside.

Chapter Three

Bone

The ride from the clubhouse to Ma’s house wasn’t long enough, but I appreciated any excuse to get on two wheels.

I eased down the long road, not in any hurry.

The sun was bright overhead, warm enough that I’d left my jacket behind and only had my cut over a black T-shirt. My shades kept the glare out of my eyes, and the wind pushed through my hair as I rode. Trees lined both sides of the road, thick enough in spots that the branches nearly reached across the pavement. There wasn’t much traffic out here. There was nowhere for anyone to go unless they were headed to the clubhouse or one of the two houses between us and the main road.

That was exactly why I liked it.

Quiet.

Private.

Nobody up our ass.

I’d spent enough time around people to appreciate when there weren’t any.

The new load of walnut had shown up in good shape. Every slab had been accounted for, and whoever had loaded the truck actually knew what the fuck they were doing. Nothing damaged. Nothing warped. The moisture readings were where they needed to be.

Dealer and Bull were helping get the last of it situated when I left, and Myth had promised to make sure Taco didn’t decide he suddenly knew more about woodworking than the guys who actually built the coffins.

I had my doubts.

There were already a couple of custom orders waiting on the walnut.

One was for some rich bastard whose family wanted to bury him in something nicer than most people’s dining room tables.