In the blink of an eye, I went from being a wild musician living on the road out of an old suitcase, partying hard without a care in the world, to having to be the responsible one.
Life is funny like that.
I enter through the back door of the shop, where my brothers Tanner, Taran, and Tristan are busy working in their areas. Tanner and Taran mostly do engine rebuilds, and Tristan does all our custom airbrushing and pin striping. We have another mechanic, Sled, who works part-time. I mostly work on the older, vintage bike restorations. Dad's strict rule was we only sell and work on cruisers - no racing bikes. To this day, I've made sure we held up that rule. No race bikes. No rice rockets. No scooters. Ever.
And yeah, my mom had a thing about the letter T and giving us unique names when she named all of us.
Every day starts the same for me at the shop, and it's the part I hate the most because I have to hole up in my office and go through the mail, sort out the bills and purchase orders, and set the schedule for upcoming work. I fucking despise paperwork, but my Dad did this all himself so I figure I should, too.
After I finish the paperwork bullshit, I switch gears and focus on my role as the head of Devils’ Wolves MC and pet rescue - run by myself, my brothers and a few other bikers. Devils’ Wolves was my brainchild about five years ago, fueled by my deep respect for two things that my parents instilled in us: the love of pets and motorcycles. That and a bout of insomnia is how I came up with the perfect plan to actually do something with my life that made me feel like I had some purpose again.
My mother runs Wolfy's Place, a pet shelter and sanctuary here in town that operates twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. And while taking in strays, getting them medical attention and adopting them out is great, I wanted to find the ones that were too lost to be seen, save the ones that were being abused, and basically fuck up the people that were hurting them. Like the assholes that run underground dog fighting rings. Or the old ladies that go out of their minds and horde two hundred cats in their dilapidated houses. Okay, so I don't fuck up old ladies, but I do go in there and use my charm to get those cats out before they start eating each other.
We use the club to run charity events and rides to raise money to support our rescue equipment, and we donate a portion of the funds to Wolfy's Place. So, it's a win-win.
It also coaxes Tyler to come out of his house hidden in the woods. Just like the lost, scared, and abused dogs, he'll only come out in the dark when no one can see him. Or hear him. My brother Ty is a legit psychopath. He has a special gift for being able to creep around the woods unheard and unseen. Stalking, hunting, and capturing are his specialty, second to his ability to get in and out of houses without making a sound or getting caught. And that's how my brother has saved over fifty dogs - and also how he's put several animal offenders in the hospital nearly beaten to death. To say he likes to inflict pain and suffering would be an understatement.
I haven't seen Ty in the daylight in years, and he's said less than ten words in that time. We communicate solely through text messages and meet in the parking lot of the shelter late at night when he has a captured dog or cat to drop off.
Every month I deposit money into his bank account. Partly because he deserves profits from the family business, and partly from my own guilt over what happened to him.
I shove that thought down into my chest with the rest of my mistakes and regrets.
Last night’s recorded video feeds from my night vision cameras on the trails didn't catch anything and neither did my feeding traps. A few weeks ago a limping dog was seen several times roaming that area by the river. I've caught him on the feeds a few times, sniffing at the cage, wanting to go in and grab that food, but he's leery and won't go in. Sometimes they'd rather starve than give in and get caught, and that's a position I can respect. Freedom to do what we want, even for a short time, can be worth the pain and suffering we have to endure to have it.
Just as I'm about to go out to the shop to start doing some real work, my cell phone rings.
Lisa.
I swipe the screen and hold the phone to my ear. "Yeah?"
"I figured if I didn't call you, you'd never call me." She's right about that. I don't chase. If you choose to walk out that door, you can keep fuckin' going.
"As you pointed out, I don't have much to say. Remember?"
"Tor, I'm trying. I heard you were with Sydni last night. Are you back together?"
"I wasn't with Sydni. We were at Asher's house with about twenty other people. I didn't go with her or leave with her. We talked for a few minutes and that was it. Tell your gossip hounds not to quit their day job. They suck."
She sighs a mixture of relief and annoyance. "Maybe we could try again? What are you doing tonight?"
"After work I'm going to refill my feeding traps. You can come with me, if you want. It's right by the river. We could sit there and talk." If she wants to talk, I'll try to talk. The truth is, I like Lisa. She's attractive with long dark hair, almond-shaped bambi eyes, and a nice body. She works at the bank, has no kids, and doesn't party. In theory, she's the perfect kind of woman to settle down with. She's the kind of woman I could bring home to my mother and not be embarrassed of, or have to worry about her flirting it up with my brothers.
"Trekking out into the woods with a pile of meat really isn't my idea of a date. Can't you skip it tonight? Let's go out to dinner to a real restaurant. I want to see you out of jeans for once. If things go well, we can come back to my place..." She trails off, her intention clear.
My eyes close for a long moment. I was hoping she would agree, and that for once a woman would walk through the door I was holding open and step into my world to get to know me. I want her to care enough about me to get involved just a little in what's important to me. I thought maybe Lisa would be that woman, especially after her speech a few nights ago about me being cold, uncaring, disconnected, and all that other shit. Here I am asking her to help me do something that's a huge part of my life, something I built out of nothing and is evidence of the care and giving she claims I don't have in me, and now she doesn't want it.
"I can't do that, Lisa. Not tonight. Ty watches the live video feeds at night, or sits out in the woods, especially on the weekends, so if he sees one of the dogs he can get an idea of the shape they're in, or go pick them up if they go in the cage. I have to set out the food to lure them."
"Can't he do that?"
"No. He doesn't like to handle the food, and he only goes out at night. The food has to be set out before it’s dark."
"That's stupid," she says flippantly. "I'm sure he can do it if you told him you have plans."
The urge to end the call wafts up in me, but she doesn't know Ty or his story and why he is the way he is. Her use of the word stupid has pissed me right the fuck off, though.
"He can't. I gotta go. I have work to do."
"As usual." Disappointment is heavy in her voice and I'm sure it matches mine. "Maybe when you're done playing in the woods you can stop by. I'd still like to see you. Just take a shower first so you don't smell like grease and chicken, okay?"
"Yeah. I'll do that."
I hit end on my phone and shove it in my back pocket with zero intention of showing up at her house tonight for a late night sexfest. No thanks. I have this thing called self-respect. I'm disappointed in Lisa, though. I thought she may have been the one to see that underneath the muscles, ink, and grease, beyond the loud bike, past the long hair and dirty fingers, is a man who wants the whole fucking package. Not just the fucking. Been there, done that.
She's waiting for me at the end of the driveway, her earbuds in, shaking her head back and forth to the music. I pull my truck up to the curb and lean across the front seat to open the door for her.
"You're twelve minutes late." She slams the door shut and pulls the seatbelt across her, fastening it before giving me an accusing look.
I give her a sideways glance as I shift the truck. "Twelve? Really?"
"Yup. You know how I feel about punctuality. Lateness is a trait of disrespect and it gives the person waiting for you time to think about your other shortcomings."
"Is that right?" Kenzi has a thing for quotes lately.
"Yes."
"I'm fairly confident I don't have any shortcomings, Kenz."
"Except lateness."
"I can live with that. There's a lot worse things a person can be."
She nods. "Yeah, like a bad kisser."
I let out a laugh. "Now that would suck."
She takes out her earbuds and shoves them into her pocket. "You have no idea."
Poor Jason. That kid doesn't have a chance with her. Kenzi's going to be a hard girl for a guy to snag, and I kinda like that. She deserves to have someone work to get her love and respect.
Kenzi has been helping me set up the cameras and the feeding traps for as long as I can remember. When she was younger she used to beg to go. After about a hundred tantrums, Ember agreed to let her come with me. I never minded having her come along because she's always fun to have around and she soaks up everything like a sponge. I've never met a kid as smart as her, or one who was so content hanging around with her parents and their third wheel. A.k.a me.
She sighs and looks out the window as we drive. "This dog is getting on my last nerve. What's it been...a month we've been offering food to him? What's his deal? There are people starving out in the world and he's turning away fresh chicken and raw beef."
"He's not ready yet. That's all."
"Maybe we should start feeding homeless people. At least they'll be grateful. Don't get me wrong, I love dogs, and I want to help him but damn. Right?"
"We're not doing this just to feed him, Kenz. We're trying to save him, get him out of the woods and hopefully into a good home before he becomes completely feral or dies out there."