Sinister Red: Wulven Kings MC Book One Read online

  Hamish was a bastard, don’t get me wrong. He was a dickhead most of the time and ridiculously rough around the edges, but I never would have pegged him as a… it makes my skin crawl and my stomach hurt just thinking about it.

  I started out working at the garage right after high school. Most of us new patches worked here from the time we joined the Wulven Kings, and it’s where I got really tight with Marbles, Cy, and Jackal. Spider too, but only if Hamish wasn’t around. Drinking beer and shooting the shit while we worked on cars, late nights chopping while we got as close as brothers. Hamish was around most of the time, teaching us how to do what we didn’t know, helping us hone our skills to the point of perfection, but he’d disappear for hours sometimes too. And seeing what I just did, it makes me regret ever letting Hamish leave at all. Not that we were ever privy to where the fuck he went or what the hell he did, but I never would have thought that bastard was a fucking pedophile, and God knows what went down when he was gone.

  Judging by his reaction, Spider must have had a clue though, and I can barely stomach the reason as to why he’d think that.

  “I’ll take Withers,” Jackal grunts. “Gonna go talk to him, get him inside to Dad and Uncle Tav.”

  I nod as the coroner’s van rolls up behind the cruiser. “I’ve got them.”

  With a barely audible thanks, my friend shoves off the wall and intercepts the SWPD captain, the two immediately heading for the shop doors while my gaze stays locked on the black cargo van.

  Roland Berk pushes open the driver’s side door before all six-foot-one, one-hundred and sixty pounds of him follows. Berk is nothing but arms and legs, lanky and lean, with dark hair and dark eyes. He’s dressed in uniform—the coroner’s staple jacket, slacks, and orthopedic non-skid shoes—and looks like he’s ready to get down to business.

  Roland Berk is a good guy, a nice guy and real smart, but I’ve always thought he wasn’t really cut out for this sort of thing.

  Not that I know him or anything, not outside of coming when Tank or Gunner call, but he strikes me as the type that would rather run the funeral home he inherited during the day and head home to his family to play board games after dinner or some shit at night. Unfortunately for him, Johansson—the lead coroner in Sabine Woods—is tight with Gunner, and once things started to pick up in the dead body business, he asked Berk to work for him, ultimately sealing his fate as another club go-to when shit gets sticky.

  We pay him well, just like Johansson and Withers, and he never complains. Berk is always polite and respectful, never makes any waves, but I don’t think this sort of thing was in his retirement plan.

  Berk frowns over the top of his glasses as he scans the garage and property, and with a defeated sigh, he pushes those specs back up his nose and leans back into the van.

  Must have brought help.

  He’ll need it, that’s for sure. Spider made a real fucking mess in the office and making sure all of Hamish is accounted for won’t be easy, but Berk’s assistant better be someone Prez knows or else this could go even further south than it already has.

  He chats with whoever is in the van for a few minutes before he scowls, slams the door, and turns to face the shop again. When his dark eyes find me leaning against the wall, I can practically hear him swallow down his negative thoughts with the hard bob of his throat.

  “Snipe.” Berk nods as he makes his way over. “Are you the welcoming committee?”

  My brow lifts as I push off the brick and take his outstretched hand. “Could say that.”

  “I guess that phrasing isn’t really appropriate, all things considered.”

  “Doesn’t make any difference to me how you phrase it. Doubt Tank or Gunner will give a shit either.”

  Berk nods. “Right. Gunner said it was bad?”

  “It is. Might be an understatement, though.”

  “How bad is it, Snipe? He wasn’t very clear on the phone.”

  “You ever seen Gallagher go after a watermelon?” I feel myself grin a bit as the coroner’s eyes go wide. “Kinda like that, but without the laughs.”

  “Jesus… “ Berk glances back at the van as its rear doors open. “I’m not sure I have adequate assistance for this.”

  “You’ll do fine with whoever you brought, so long as they have a strong stomach.”

  He nods absently as the rear doors slam shut, and when my gaze follows his… fuck.

  Tall, dark, and beautiful is pushing the gurney with the coroner’s equipment on it, and the blinding smile she’s sending our way has me rethinking my comment.

  Chocolate brown hair pulled up into a tight ponytail, big deep brown eyes—doe eyes—set against rosy cheeks and full lips. She’s almost skipping toward us, her smile never faltering while that curvy as fuck body dressed in tight hospital green scrubs treks over the potholes in the gravel lot.

  This chick looks like a fucking model, even without any makeup on and wearing a bland uniform, and I have no fucking clue why she’s here, or why the hell my heart starts racing the closer she gets.

  Berk clears his throat as he turns to her. “I said to wait in the van until I was sure I needed you.”

  “And I told you that was silly. If you didn’t need me, you wouldn’t have asked me to come in the first place.”

  Jesus, her voice is like fucking honey.

  “I’m not sure this is the best scene… perhaps it’s not right for your first experience in the field.”

  The beauty frowns at Berk. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I just think, after learning a few of the specifics, maybe you should wait in the van and let me see if Johansson is finished. He can come out and I’ll assist him, that way— “

  “Oh my god.” She sighs, totally exasperated, which I find sexy as hell for some reason. “It’s not like I haven’t seen some heinous stuff already. You’ve been letting me assist in the lab for almost three years now and none of that has fazed me, so I doubt this will either.”

  “This is different, Sofie. An active scene, especially one of this nature, is completely different from helping me care for the bodies that are brought in after the fact.”

  I tune out Berk as I watch the girl—Sofie—roll her eyes and plant her hands on her hips.

  She’s stubborn, and I like that. She’s also giving Berk hell for even suggesting she stay back after coming all the way out here, and I like that a hell of a lot too. Sofie isn’t backing down a bit and between that and how goddamn gorgeous she is, I hope she gets to stay just so I can maybe talk to her at some point during all this shit.

  “You’re being ridiculous.” Sofie groans as she throws up her hands. “I’ve been around this stuff my whole life, Dad, so I’ll be fine. And if you really want to retire at some point, you’re going to have to— “

  “Dad?” I blurt a few seconds too late.

  They both turn to face me, seemingly having forgotten I was even here, and Berk nods. “This is my daughter, Sofie. She’s currently attending school and apprenticing under me in order to take over my business one day.”

  I blink. “You brought your daughter to a crime scene, on club property? A goddamn murder on Wulven Kings’ territory?”

  Berk goes completely white as he nods.

  “And I thought my family was fucked up.” I shake my head. “Guess it makes sense, though. If she’s going to take over the family business— “

  “I am.”

  My eyes dart to Sofie as she straightens her spine, holds extremely intense eye contact with me, and nods once firmly.

  Fuck, I like all of that too.

  “Then you’ll need to see how we roll, sweetheart. This isn’t some run of the mill dying in their sleep or a bar fight gone wrong. This shit is intense, it’s under the radar, and there are fucking rules. You can’t hack it tonight, you better tuck tail and wait in the van while you figure out some other career path.”

  Sofie’s eyes narrow on my face, but she arches a brow. “I’ll be fine… “

 
“Snipe.”

  “I’ll be fine, Snipe.” She frowns for a beat as if my name is sour on her tongue. “And by the end of the night, not only will I prove to my father, your club, and you that I’m perfectly capable of doing what it takes to fill this position, but I’ll also know your real name.”

  “Is that so?” I chuckle as I fold my arms against my chest.

  “Yep.”

  “You really think you got what it takes for all that?”

  Sofie nods and hits me with a beautiful smile. “I know I do. As a matter of fact, I’m so good, I’ll have your president putting me on speed dial, and when I walk out of here I’ll be doing it with your first and last name in my pocket.”

  “By all means.” I open my arms wide and motion for her to lead the way into the shop. “If you can manage all of that in one night, I’ll even give you my middle name.”

  Sofie giggles as she pushes the gurney past us, Berk standing there flustered as hell, but when I quit staring at her ass long enough to really look at her father, he scowls.

  “I do everything Tavish and Angus ask of me, I always have, and I never question them or ask for anything outside of a paycheck.” Berk’s eyes grow shrewd behind his specs. “But I’m telling you right now, Snipe, you mess around with my daughter and that will change in a heartbeat. Sofie is my only child, my pride and joy, and I may not be much compared to you, but a papa bear I am, and I won’t think twice to tear you apart for screwing around with my cub.”

  My brows raise in surprise as Berk continues.

  “You leave my daughter alone, you hear me? Leave Sofie alone and we won’t have any problems.”

  “Careful with your words, Doc.”

  He stiffens for a beat, but the fierce look doesn’t leave his face. “I meant no threat, Snipe. I’m just asking you to stay the hell away from my daughter.”

  Berk spins on his heel and jogs to catch up with Sofie, and I’m left watching them walk into the shop with a smile on my face.

  If he felt the need to say any of that, it means Berk knows I think his cub is actually a fox, that she has to be at least a little interested in me in some way that’s obvious to him, and Sofie was possibly flirting with me at a crime scene. And fuck all, if that doesn’t just make me want to stay away from her even less than I already did.

  Death really is a funny thing, and it sure as hell is full of surprises.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  SOFIE

  “I’m just saying.” Harlow pops her gum as she reaches for a palette of neutral shade eyeshadows. “You should have tried harder.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s not like we had a ton of time for conversation. It was a crime scene after all.”

  “Excuses, excuses.”

  “Harlow.”

  She glances up at me for a second before returning to her work. “Well, ok, yeah. Blood and brains everywhere, a dead body... I can see where that might make things tricky.”

  Another eye roll. “Not to mention that poor little boy and his family, the dozens of motorcycle gang members walking around packing heat, and my father breathing down my neck the entire time I was working.”

  “Packing heat?” Harlow looks up at me, blinks, then giggles. “Who even are you right now? One call to Wulven Kings’ territory and you know all the 1950’s gangster lingo?”

  “That’s what you’re choosing to focus on?”

  “Right. Tell me more about Snipe.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “And you have the hots for a bad boy. A really bad, bad boy, since you met him at a crime scene.”

  I get up from the desk as I close out the file I was updating on my dad’s computer. “There isn’t much to tell that I haven’t already told you. He was waiting for us outside, we talked a little, then he watched me like a hawk while I worked.”

  “Tell me again how you made him blush while you were trying to guess his real name.”

  “He didn’t blush…” Well, not really anyway. Kind of? Snipe’s ears went a little pink when I said his name couldn’t be something ugly since he was far from it, but that can’t really be considered blushing, can it?

  And to be honest, I doubt a man like Snipe can truly blush anyway. Not that I’d know firsthand, the other night was the first time I had any experience with men like him.

  I had a feeling that my dad was in with a rather seedy crowd. Hearing him talk to Mr. Johansson about Tank or Gunner or Breaker always had my interest piqued, and after a while I was able to put two and two together. Men with nicknames like those are either in mobs or gangs, and my dorky mortician father has gotten himself mixed up with them.

  Then you throw in Captain Withers, who only comes out to certain scenes, and Judge Abernathy, who is known for his rehabilitation programs that aid a specific kind of criminal, and dear old dad is definitely rolling with some heavy hitters.

  God, and that scene the other night… I told everyone I could handle it, and I did, but I wasn’t really prepared for it.

  Harlow huffs as she changes out the eyeshadow for blush. “If his ears went pink, that’s basically blushing. And if you were able to make that happen, just think about what other parts you could turn red enough to match his hair.”

  “What?” I giggle in confusion. “I’m not sure that came out right.”

  “His face, Sof.” My best friend ignores my need for clarification. “Make his cheeks red with sweet, flirty words. Make him all flushed when he’s got you pinned up against a wall, kissing your pants off. Then there’s my red lipstick that looks killer on you. You could absolutely leave him red all over with that, starting with a ring around his big, hard— “

  “Harlow!” Now I’m blushing. “Jesus, you really are ridiculous.”

  “All done.” She ignores me again with a snap of her gum. “Mrs. Liddell here will be the bell of the ball.” Harlow frowns as she looks up at me. “Well, of her funeral, anyway.”

  I walk over to the table and look down at the sweet old lady my bestie has been working on for almost two hours, and smile.

  Harlow is the mortuary cosmetologist here at Berk Funeral Home and she is hands down the best in El Paso County. I might be a little biased since she’s been my best friend since we were in diapers, but looking at the photo Mr. Liddell gave us sitting next to Ester, it’s a damn good likeness and Harlow knocked it out of the park again.

  “She looks great, Har.”

  “Thanks.” A genuine smile touches her lips as she pulls off her gloves and pushes her more-strawberry-than-blonde hair behind her ears. “I wanted to make sure Mr. Liddell would be happy with his bride.”

  “He will. She looks just like the photo.”

  “I’m glad because if I have to watch that adorable little man bawl his eyes out again, I’m going to lose my shit and join him.”

  I sigh. “You and me both. That was heartbreaking.”

  “Right? And hearing him go on about senior prom and his proposal… God, I almost fell apart.”

  “Me too. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be hard for him. I’m glad I—” The phone on the wall starts to ring and I groan.

  Harlow giggles. “Daddy-O is calling. Better not keep him waiting.”

  “Yeah, sure.” I grunt my way over and move to answer. “He’s been extra crazy since we— “

  “Met you a rebel ginger with freckles, pretty eyes, and a dick that will make you a very happy woman?”

  I scowl at her and attempt to cover the receiver just as my dad barks, “What did Harlow just say?”

  “Nothing, Dad. What’s up?”

  “It’s just the two of you down there, right?”

  Ugh. “The two of us and Mrs. Liddell. Who is finished by the way, and she looks amazing.”

  Dad sighs into the phone. “I have no doubt, but that girl needs to wash her mouth out with soap.”

  “That girl is twenty-one years old, Dad. If that worked, you would have gotten all the bullshit from between Harlow’s lips a long time ago.”


  He chuckles a little and it makes me smile. “Sounds like you both could use the Irish Spring treatment.”

  “Maybe. So, what’s up? Did we get another call?”

  “Yes, but not that kind. They’re coming to pick up H. MacAllister’s ashes. I need you to bring them up here quickly, then you and Harlow can go home for the night.”

  My belly flips as I hang up the phone, the possibility of seeing Snipe again causing butterflies to flutter through every inch of my stomach, but I push the thought to the back of my mind.

  Roland Berk had a huge issue with me even looking at him for too long the other night, and that’s probably why he’s trying to rush me out now. Dad would be thrilled if I never saw that man again, I’m sure, and that probably means I won’t get to go out on many calls unless they’re deemed natural deaths, either.

  But I don’t want that because I like what we do.

  Is that weird for an almost twenty-one-year-old woman? Probably, but I like working at the funeral home, and I enjoy working with my dad and best friend. I like helping people cope with loss, make peace with it, and honoring the departed by caring for them after they’re gone. It gets hard sometimes, really hard, but I enjoy my job. And even though it’s super illegal and dangerous working for the club, I like that my dad is acting as a medical examiner again, and that I get to illegally help with that too.

  I’m only three years into becoming a mortician myself, but being able to apprentice under my father for basically my whole life helped speed things along and I’ll be graduating early. When I was a kid though, before my mom left, my dad was a county coroner with Mr. Johansson’s office. He loved what he did, liked figuring out mysterious causes of death or helping solve crimes and get the bad guys, but when it wound up being just me and him, he stuck to running the family business so he could be around for me.

  I appreciate that he did that, so much more than I can say, but I know this isn’t his real passion, and when he told me he was going to start working with Mr. Johansson again, I was thrilled. I had no idea it meant being on call by the Wulven Kings covering up murder and forging death certificates, but if he was happy it was fine.