Chapter 1
Nova
It’s been almost three months since my grandfather died. After mom ran off when I was born and my father died in a shootout with a rival club when I was just a toddler, he became my whole world. It’s been so hard, moving on without him.
Between keeping his businesses running, taking care of his house, and my online classes, the only time I have to visit his gravesite is early in the mornings before work. So here I am, approaching his grave with ivy instead of flowers. Vulture always said ivy was green, restless, and climbing everything in sight, just like me. I tear up, hearing his rough voice saying those words in my head.
I kneel down, set the small pot of ivy on the ground, and dust the leaves off his headstone. My grandfather’s grave isn’t what I would have picked for him. It’s simple and doesn’t do justice to the man who raised me. Vulture was larger than life, rough in a lot of ways, stubborn as the day is long, and a badass biker from way back. He told me there ain’t no kind of love, like biker love.
Despite the tears, I smile to myself. He sure was one of a kind.
I dig into my jean pocket and pull out the spoon I brought to plant the ivy. I make a little space right near his headstone, pull it out of the pot, and drop it into the shallow hole. As I bringthe dirt back up around it, I start bringing him up to speed on what’s going on in our world since he left us.
“I increased my hours at Vulture’s Trucking. I’m working about fifty hours a week, just trying to do the job both of us once did all by myself. I miss you, Gramps. Mac is helping more than he should but he’s getting older and doesn’t move as fast as he used to.”
I cram the spoon back in my pocket and wipe my hands on my jeans.
“I just want you to know that I’m not quitting. I’m gonna keep what you built running if it’s the last thing I do. You worked too hard to build Vulture’s Trucking and the garage, to let it all fall apart. God knows this town needs us ‘cause no one does what we do.”
I get to my feet and stare down at his headstone. “About your territory, I can’t think of how to save that. All the other clubs have been doing ride-throughs. Who would have thought the crows and ravens would circle around waiting to feed off the vulture? It breaks my heart.”
I reluctantly hit the road, glancing one last time over my shoulder to see the ivy I planted blowing gently in the breeze. I keep turning my situation over in my mind, trying to figure out a way to protect this town from the influx of riffraff eager to take my grandfather’s place, but no ideas come easily to mind.
Before I know it, I’m coming upon the sign that says, Vulture’s Trucking Company. The tagline I helped him come up with is, We Fly Right. It doesn’t sound as clever to my adult mind as it did when I came up with it at the age of eleven. But of course, my gramps ran with it because I was the apple of his eye.
Mac, Hawk, and Buck are waiting in the vehicles for me to unlock the office door. They follow me in, grab the keys, and go back out to warm up their trucks. After a few minutes they come back to get their daily assignments. They mostly know their routes but sometimes things change at the last minute.
Mac always makes the deliveries for Hatchet’s Meats. Flake’s Commercial Bakery is normally Hawk’s run. That means Buck will end up doing the Titan Pantry Restaurant Supplies run by himself. I hand them each a list of deliveries and Buck immediately kicks up a fuss.
“The Hatchet’s Meats pick up is on the wrong day. Mac’s supposed to help me with the Titan Pantry run today. It’s a two-person job.”
“Hatchet’s Meats is also on Wednesday now,” I tell him. “We picked up another delivery route. I sent you all a revised schedule two days ago.”
“I didn’t get it,” he complains.
“I have the read receipt, Buck.”
After a beat he goes back to reading the route sheet. “Fine. I’ll do it my fuckin’ self.”
He glares at me. “Vulture lets us sort our own routes. We know them better than you do.”
“You can all trade around routes if you want,” I say. “I’ve got no problem with that.”
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off before he can continue arguing.
“You’re getting a shift differential of three dollars an hour because you’re making the run alone,” I remind him. “You’d know that if you read the e-mail I sent. Beginning next week, we’ll have a new part-time person hired, so this is a one-off situation.”
His expression brightens. “I’d best get movin’. I appreciate the extra jingle.”
I give him a firm nod. “You deserve it, Buck. Take your time and be careful loading and unloading the merch. I don’t want anything to happen to one of our best drivers.”
He leaves, cheerful and joking with Hawk as they walk out the door. I let out a relieved breath because stepping into my grandfather’s shoes full time is a lot different than working here twenty hours a week.
Mac speaks for the first time. He was my grandfather’s best friend for almost fifty years, and it shows.
“You did good managing Buck just now. Not a lot of twenty-year-olds could have handled that the way you did. You had that grumpy bastard eating out of your hand in the end.”
I can’t help but smile at Mac as I reply, “Gramps always said that money talks and bullshit walks.”
