Big Timber (Royal Bastards MC: Flagstaff Chapter #7)

Chapter 1

Timber

A growl unintentionally escapes me, and the two girls who have been bent over my design book for the past twenty minutes exchange a glance, both bursting into another round of annoying giggles before their eyes cut back to me.

At the sound of sirens, I slide off my stool and cross to look out of the glass front of my studio. I’ve had enough trouble with the law that adrenaline starts shooting through my veins—at least until the first fire truck shoots past the window I’m peering out of.

It’s followed by three more trucks. Well, damn, something’s going down . Down in flames.

Just then, my cell beeps and I stride to the counter to pick it up.

Declan: Get to the clubhouse. We’re heading back.

Oh fuck , I think as the adrenaline surges through my body again.

“Time to go, ladies,” I say to the two women in their early twenties and get pouts from both.

“But I just decided on mine,” the brunette practically purrs out, pulling up the edge of her shirt as though to show me where she wants it.

“Come back some other time. I’m closing early.” My tone doesn’t leave any room for argument, but I open the door in a bid to soften the blow. Business is business, after all.

They file out and I lock it behind them, turning off the lights as I head to secure my office before exiting out the back door. Once I’m on my bike, I pause long enough to pair my phone with the speaker in my helmet. I grimace as I tug it on since the only time I ever wear it is when I need to make a call while enroute to some place.

“What’s happening?” I ask Declan the moment he picks up my call. I’d like some idea of what I’m riding toward, even though he’s—well, all of them are out at the Holy Redeemer Orphanage today. One of the quarterly ‘days of service’ that the Royal Bastards do to help around the place where a handful of them grew up.

I stayed out there for a couple of weeks, recovering after being shot since I refused to go to a hospital. Even with a vest on, I ended up with broken ribs. All I know is that Declan, Axel, and the others had it pretty fucking good growing up there. No matter what their feelings were at the time.

“Clubhouse is on fire. Diesel got an alarm notification, then all the cameras went off-line at the same time,” he informs me. His voice is clipped and from his tone, I imagine that Jenna and his family are with him.

“If someone were watching us, they would have known the clubhouse was empty today,” I say, trying to figure out what the endgame is. “I’m almost there.”

“I think someone is watching us—just from the inside.” He confides in me.

Whether or not his family is with him, he doesn’t bother to hide his anger this time.

Turning onto the road that leads to the clubhouse, there are thick dark plumes of smoke above the orange-red tendrils of the fire. The gate has been pulled off, not driven through, as I would imagine the Fire Department would have done. Looking beyond the trucks parked at various angles around the front of the building, it takes my brain a moment or two to register what I’m seeing.

“Prez. Fuck. Do not bring your family here,” I gasp out the words as I throw my visor up, my eyes locked on the unthinkable image that I can’t rip my gaze away from. Then the smell hits me and I almost gag.

“What is it?” Declan growls as my mind tries to form my next sentence. “Timber, talk to me? Are you there?”

“Sir!” A young man in fire gear runs toward me. “You cannot be here. This is an active crime scene. You have to leave.”

I shake my head at him, still unable to speak until I hear Declan’s voice through the speaker in my helmet again.

“Who wasn’t with you, Prez? Who was it that stayed behind?” I ask him, wondering who the charred remains about twenty feet in front of me belong to.

“Everyone,” he tells me. “Brick is still in Mexico with Marcella and Teague, but you were the only one who didn’t come with us today.”

“Sir, you have to leave! Back up beyond the fence immediately,” the fireman, who’s now right beside me, repeats his instructions.

“This is my home, you motherfucker,” I bellow, grabbing the front of his coat as rage bubbles up. “Who is that? Who is that?”

Even as I yell at him and see his fear clear as day across his face, I know none of this is his fault. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to release him, and I hold my palm up, the only way I am capable of apologizing right now.

“Timber, man, speak to me.” Declan’s voice is calmer in my ear, so he is obviously aware that I’ve lost it. One day, a buddy of mine was shot and the back-alley doctor who worked on him cauterized the wound. The smell stayed with me for days afterwards. This smell is a thousand times worse than that.

“Tires and motorcycles are in a pile out front. One of the bikes is—was—propped up. Whoever it was burned up with the rest. Front of the building is still on fire. Who the fuck did this?” My words are choppy; my breathing becomes more ragged. The smell of the smoke in the air seeps through my lungs, and I start to feel dizzy.

“Sir,” a gentler voice comes from my right side, and it takes nearly all my energy to turn my head away from the fireman I was ready to tear apart. “Are you alright?”

I see a pair of clear green eyes, then the world goes dark.

*

“Timber, if you can hear me, I’m going to fucking kill you.” I wake up on my back. The weight of my bike is being lifted off of my right leg as Declan’s voice sounds as pissed as I’ve ever heard him.

“I’m on the ground,” I say, trying to figure out what happened as I watch the black smoke mingle with the clear blue sky above me.

“Sir? Sir, lay still. I’m going to check you out,” the female firefighter says as she helps her colleague right my bike and get the kickstand down. “The smoke can be hard to take if you aren’t prepared for it.”

“Good thing he had a helmet on,” the guy says, letting out a chuckle.

“Considering he looked like he was going to headbutt you a couple minutes ago, I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” she smartly responds, coming to kneel beside me. Her partner sends me a dark look as her comment effectively shut him down.

“Timber, are you alright?” Declan sounds calmer now.

“I think so,” I respond, until I shift my leg and pain shoots through my ankle. “I might have fucked up my ankle.”

“What did you say?” the woman asks, removing her helmet and gloves as she kneels beside me.

“I’m on the phone,” I tell her, feeling a jolt run through my chest as her warm hand makes contact with my wrist.

She lifts it and I can see her lips moving as she holds her finger over my pulse. “Okay, that’s not so bad. I’m going to need you to get off the phone and focus on me.”

“It’s the president,” I tell her, not understanding the surprised look across her face before she gives me a lopsided grin. “I have to give him an update.”

“Really? You’re updating the President?” she confirms, looking over her shoulder before shouting to her partner. “The helmet didn’t help. I think he has a concussion.”

Reaching into my cut, I hold my phone up so she can see the screen. I don’t think the word ‘Prez’ convinces her though, so I click the speaker option, disconnecting the Bluetooth.

“Prez? You’re on speaker. There’s a hot firewoman who thinks I’m brain damaged.”

“You might very well be,” Declan smoothly replies. “However, that’s my property, and I’d like to know what’s happening.”

Her eyebrows draw together as she looks down at my cut, then to the burned-out remains behind her again, and I can see the moment she puts everything together. “Oh, president of the club. Gotcha. Um, I think someone might be angry at you, but this is definitely a crime scene now, so I am not allowed to speculate.”

The words are barely out of her mouth when four vehicles pull in past the busted-up gate. The coroner’s van leading the way tells the story of why neither the cop cars nor the ambulance are running their sirens.

She waves at the ambulance so it pulls up about ten feet back from us. “They’ll get you checked out. Can someone pick you up from the hospital?”

“I’m not going to the hospital,” I insist. My ankle screams again as I sit up and I disguise the moment I need to let the pain settle by taking my helmet off. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Talia,” she says, putting a hand on my shoulder to stop me from moving any more. “Stay put.”

“Just help me to my bike and I’ll get out of your way,” I say, bracing myself before I try to stand.

“Well, that isn’t happening,” she replies, shaking her head at me. “Especially now that the detectives are here. You’re parked at a crime scene, bike stays until it’s cleared.”

“You’re shitting me?”

“We’re getting close,” Declan cuts back in, reminding me that he’s still on speaker. “Timber, you can ride back to my house with Jenna and the kids.”

“I’m not a kid anymore.” I hear Justin chime in, sounding disgruntled.

“The cops will want to interview you, so that probably won’t work,” Talia informs me with a shrug, and I’m at the point I just want to place my hand over her lips.

She’s a fucking smoke show to look at, but nearly everything that’s coming out of her mouth has been the exact opposite of what I want to hear.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

We both look up at the paramedic who has come to stand over us.

“An acute case of stubborn-itis,” Talia tells the guy, getting a chuckle in response.

“That’s been going around all week. Can you walk, sir?” he responds without missing a beat.

“Yes,” I answer.

“No,” Talia simultaneously gives her opinion before shifting her eyes in my direction, then up to the paramedic. “But for shits and giggles, we can wager on how many steps he can take before he crumbles to the ground.”

“That’s hardly fair,” the paramedic deadpans. “Since I’m guessing you actually know what’s wrong with him.”

“Let me give you both a hint,” I growl out, getting pissy over their comedy routine. “It ain’t my fucking hearing.”

“He went down hard, so if not for those boots of his, I’d think a broken ankle,” Talia continues, as if I hadn’t spoken. “A bad sprain would be my guess.”

“He looks pretty fit.” The guy continues in the same vein as the woman I want to turn over my knee for a spanking. “I’d give him five steps.”

“Will you shut the fuck up if I agree to let you help me?” I concede, just wanting silence at this point.

Without another word, the paramedic grips my hand and pulls me up to a standing position. He braces my right side as Talia leads the way to the ambulance.

“She was one of us until a couple of months ago,” he tells me. “Biding her time after she passed the fire academy to be called up. Makes it nice at the scenes. Once the fires are under control, she usually manages the triage order for us. Guess that means you’re the only one with a pulse today.”

“I’m not going to the hospital,” I grunt out, trying to ignore how much I’m leaning on this guy.

“Don’t blame ya,” he says. “The closest one kinda sucks. The one near your studio is better, but let’s see what we’re looking at first.”

I side-eye him at that comment.

“You tattooed my partner and me a few weeks back. Solid work,” he says, answering my silent question. “Everyone calls me Nesbo, by the way.

“Big Timber,” I grunt out as we finally make it to the wagon and I sit down heavy on the back end. Nesbo kneels in front of me and just as he’s about to unzip my boot, I stop him.

“I need to check if it’s broken,” he tells me.

“Nah, I just twisted it when I hit the ground. If you take my boot off, I probably won’t be able to get it back on, so how about you pass me a couple of ice packs and an ACE bandage? I’ll deal with it later.”

“I’m going to take your boot off and if it isn’t broken, you’re going to elevate your leg until the cops clear you to go home.” This time his voice is firm, no signs of the easy-going man he’s been up to now.

“Jenna’s dropping the kids off.” Declan suddenly appears from around the open door, having heard everything. “She’ll come back to pick you up when you’re allowed to leave and you can stay with us for a while.”

“Are you the president?” Talia asks him, turning from a drawer inside the ambulance with a handful of supplies. “My captain’s going to want to talk to you.”

“Sure, bring me to him,” he replies, looking between us as she hands me the supplies I asked for.

“Son of a bitch!” I yell out as Nesbo pulls my boot off.

“Thought it would easier be to do it when you were distracted,” he says with a shrug. Pulling a knife from his belt, he slices through my sock before prodding at the obviously swollen joint.

“I’ll be fine, Prez,” I reassure Declan. “Just give me a day or two.”

We both ignore the humph that Talia lets out, but I don’t miss the expression on his face as he looks between her and me again.

“My lawyer won’t be here for a while,” he tells her. “But I’ll—"

“Excuse me,” a cop in uniform says, approaching us with two plainclothesmen and a firefighter behind him. “Are you Declan Church?”

“You know damn well I am, Robby,” Declan says, pulling a laugh from Nesbo and Talia. Even I recognize the guy from the money he throws the girls at The Office. He continues, turning his gaze from the uniform to the detectives who are enjoying a laugh at Robby’s expense. “I understand someone died. Have you been able to identify who it is?”

“We were hoping you could help us with that,” the older of the two men responds. “The coroner will have to look for ID, but the bike had Utah plates.”

“Fuck,” Declan growls the word out. “Can I see the body?”

The detective looks over to the fire captain, who holds up an iPad before scrolling through pictures that I assume he started taking after they put the fire out.

“We can’t let you that close to the scene, but maybe this will help,” the captain says, turning the screen so we can see it. As he slowly flips through a few, I suck in my breath when he shows a picture of the teeth; there’s an odd gap that I know I’m seen before.

“Goddamnit.” Declan releases the word in a hushed breath before turning to look at the men being held at the gate. Making eye contact with the largest one, he points and waves him forward. “Your dead guy is Parker King; his roadname is Me’ansome. That big guy over there is his son-in-law, if you could let him through the gate. Parker’s daughter’s birthday is tomorrow, and they were expecting him tonight.”

When the cop would ask another question, Declan holds up his left hand, using his right to make a phone call.

“Tin? Are you on the road?” Declan barks out, speaking to Me’ansome’s best friend—and the man I’m assuming he called in as our lawyer. “Yeah, it’s bad. I’m going to need you to pull over and call me back.”

“Mr. Church,” the detective tries to refocus Declan’s attention back to him. “I’d like to walk the property with you. We’re not cleared to go into the structure yet, but I want to see if you notice anything out of the ordinary.”

“Like the fact that someone tore our gate off and burned a friend of mine in our front yard? Yeah, I’ve noticed a few things. Now give me a moment.” This last part is said as Axel approaches and Declan moves to intercept him.