Page 111 of Beast

It smells good. And I feel ready to eat my weight in waffles.

Which is good.

Because I think I’m going to need all my strength for when Beast comes home and fucks me into tomorrow.

CHAPTER 44

BEAST

It’s earlywhen I pull into the parking lot of the county morgue.

Inside, I find Sheriff Coulter and Dr. Beaver waiting for me. They’re standing in the county morgue in front of a set of remains, a sheet covering them. The stench is foul. Decomp and salt water.

“Do you know who it is?” I ask the sheriff.

“No. But I thought you might notice a distinguishing mark or an item of clothing.”

He thinks this might be Dodger.

If the remains do belong to him, then it will pick at the slowly healing scab that has allowed the club to move forward since Dodger disappeared. It will bring a lot questions. Especially if there is enough left of the body to show his death was no accident.

Beaver pulls back the sheet and an odorous waft of decay and death hits me.

The remains are black and bloated from decomposition and some of the skin has sloughed away from being in the water.

“Do you recognize him?” Beaver asks.

“Yeah, I do,” I say, my eyes roaming the remains and noting the familiar tattoos on his hands. “It’s Gunner McIverson. The President of the Unhinged Psychos.”

“Jesus,” Coulter mutters, looking at the remains. “Someone shot half his face off.”

“Yes, that’s probably what killed him,” Beaver says.

“I would’ve thought that was obvious,” Coulter says, turning gray as he looks away. “Don’t you people use Vaporub or something when looking at these things?”

Beaver hands him a small tub, and Coulter scoops out a dollop to put under his nose.

“I say it’s probably the cause of death only because I haven’t done the autopsy yet. The facial wound could have been done after death to discourage identification.”

“And who would want to do that to the club president?” I say, thinking out loud.

Sheriff Coulter turns to me. “Is there some new turf war going on that I should know about?”

“It wasn’t us,” I tell him. “He could’ve gone in the water anywhere between here and Bracken’s Lot which is the start of Psychos territory. It’s a long coastline.”

Sheriff Coulter runs a hand through his hair, still struggling with the smell. “I don’t like it.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t either,” Beaver replies. “I just found another bullet wound and its right in the heart.”

“Do you know how long he’s been in the water?” I ask.

“I’ll have a better idea after the autopsy. But my guess is, he’s been in there at least a week.”

Sheriff Coulter gives me a pointed look. “You know, this is the second president of a motorcycle club to go missing in four months. If someone is making a point, you might want to keep your eyes and ears open.”

“That’s not what is at play here,” I say.

“What does that mean?”

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