Blood & Bones - Dodge (Blood Fury MC 10)

Like he owned her.

The lead guitarist had told him they weren’t fucking. Was that a complete fucking lie?

His jaw shifted with the same force as he shifted his truck’s three-on-the-tree into a lower gear while turning into the garage’s lot.

He reminded himself for the countless time that it didn’t matter who was fucking her.

None of that mattered.

She wasn’t for him.

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Eddie, the band’s drummer, was following him into the parking lot of Dutch’s Garage. Dodge didn’t bother to call the Original to warn him of their arrival since the bus needed to be moved out of the church lot anyway.

He slipped his truck into one of the empty spots out front and jumped out. He pointed to the other side of the lot, indicating Eddie should park the bus there out of the way.

He didn’t wait for them to get out, but went directly inside and was greeted at the shop door by a yapping three-pound, four-legged asshole who was owned by a two-legged, a buck-ninety-pound asshole.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

“Get fuckin’ lost, you little fuckin’ shit.” He shoved the Chihuahua away from him with his boot. He did it gently, even though the little fucker was snarling and snapping. He knew how to solve that problem but…

Yeah, no.

If the dog loved Rook, he had to have some mental issues he couldn’t help. Dodge couldn’t blame Cujo for being fucked in the head.

“Yo, Cujo!” came from the other end of the garage.

The dog circled Dodge once, then darted past the four car lifts back to his daddy. Barking the whole fucking way, of course. Yapping seemed to propel the little shit forward.

“Will that motherfucker shut the fuck up?” Dutch grumbled, coming around a truck parked in the first bay, a dirty rag in his hand as he wiped the grease from his fingers. “What the fuck d’you want?”

“Hello to you, too,” Dodge grumbled. “You greet all your customers like that?”

“You a customer?”

“No.”

Dutch shrugged, then grinned.

“Next time you sit your ass down on a stool at my bar, gonna make sure to ask you that same damn question.”

“Ain’t your bar.”

“Close enough.”

“Not even. Club owns that bar,” Dutch grumbled.

“Ain’t I part of the damn club?”

Rook appeared out of nowhere, interrupting them. They clasped hands and bumped shoulders. “Asshole,” he greeted.

“Asshole,” Dodge greeted back with a grin.

“You miss watchin’ me take a shit on a stainless steel throne? That why you’re here?” his former cellmate asked with a grin.

“Yeah, gettin’ a little homesick for the rank stank comin’ from your asshole every time you dropped a bomb in our cage.”

“He musta got that stinky shit from his momma. ‘Cause we gotta air out the shitter for an hour after he’s in there. Know he didn’t get that from me ‘cause my shit don’t stink,” Dutch announced. “So, you here to toss this asshole’s salad or you here on business?”

“Business.”

Dutch’s eyes narrowed. “Just inspected that truck of yours. Sled’s parked in the shed for the season. What the fuck d’you need worked on?”

“A bus.”

“A what?”

Dodge cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Bus! You know, the long metal vehicle that transports snot monkeys?”

Dutch’s bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows stitched tightly together. “What the fuck did you buy a school bus for?”

“I didn’t, I—”

The shop door opened and Syn walked in with the cold air following on her heels.

“Shut that damn door before all the heat gets out,” Dutch grumbled.

Syn slammed it shut behind her.

She wore her black sweatshirt with the cat-eared hood pulled up over her hair. That wasn’t even a fucking winter jacket. Didn’t she have anything warmer?

In the distance machine-gun yapping began again.

“Shut up, asshole!” Dutch yelled. He scowled at his oldest son. “That little rat bastard’s gonna have to find somewhere else to stay all day. Can’t be chasing customers away.”

“First of all, you chase the damn customers away. You just yelled at one to shut the door. I wouldn’t blame her for turnin’ around and walkin’ the fuck back out. Second, Cujo’s been here for like a fuckin’ year, in case your old pea brain has forgotten,” Rook reminded his father.

“That means you should have him trained by now.”

Rook shook his head. He turned his attention back to Dodge. “You need me?”

“Just for a goodnight kiss.” Dodge pursed his lips and made kissing noises. “Miss your cuddles, cellie.”

Rook barked out a laugh, then turned around and bent over, patting his coverall-covered ass. “Kiss this, fucker.”

“Knew you secretly missed me.”

Rook shot him the bird and wandered back to the farthest garage bay. The Hell Hound finally shut the fuck up.

“She with you?” Dutch asked.

Dodge turned back to him and tipped his head toward Syn still standing by the door. “Yeah. She’s got a band and they all live in a fuckin’ bus. It’s,” a piece of shit, “got some issues.”