Page 50 of Property of Kevlar

The former nursing home, run by nuns, had a main building that looked as though it’d housed a few squatters recently. It stank of mold and urine. What had once been a reception desk had small burn marks on the counter. The walls were covered in graffiti. Doors to offices were busted in half or ripped off the hinges.

Moving through the space, they noted all the holes in the walls. To the left and the right were hallways that hosted a series of rooms. In the rear of the main room was probably a nursing station. Old binders were strewn about the trash, with papers documenting their former patients’ conditions. Beyond that was a large room with busted chairs, an old, stained mattress, and a folding table on its side with a missing leg.

Once things were cleared out, it wouldn’t take much in the way of work to get this place functional. The nursing station could be transformed into a bar. Combining the offices into a large conference room could be their church.

The patient rooms could be converted into lodging for the officers of his club. They could use a couple for storage. Hell, there was even a gym set up already. They could update the equipment, and his men would have a place to work out.

As unconventional as it was, this space was ideal for a clubhouse. Standing in the activity room, as the small sign still glued to the wall identified, he hung out at the foot of a small stage. The vision of the Royal Bastards logo on dark curtains flashed in his mind.

“Good bones,” Kevlar said more to himself than to his brother beside him.

“I can’t believe we didn’t think of it,” Kid commented as he kicked an empty beer can.

Kevlar smirked. “Well, I have a feeling the new owners may look to sell soon.”

Kid grinned. “Can we wait until they clean the place up?”

Kevlar nodded. “If they want to spend their money, who am I to deny them?”

This would be their new home. When the time was right, the Royal Bastards would claim it. Kid had a valid point. Extensive repairs were needed. If they could avoid being the ones footing that bill, that would be ideal.

While Kevlar didn’t have to worry about money, and neither did his club, that didn’t mean he had to spend it foolishly.

That had been another of his dad’s sins. When Snoopy should’ve been investing in the club, he purchased a new bike instead. Kevlar wouldn’t be a president like his father.

Together, the brothers sauntered out of the building with their heads held high. They were on the same page. Both of them wanted this building.

“There’s plenty of space for a detached garage,” Kid commented.

“Yeah, it would be nice to have a place to work on the bikes,” he agreed.

As they got back into the borrowed pickup, Kid sighed. “I want to start a shop.”

Kevlar furrowed his brows. “What kind?”

Remi had the auto-body shop. Opening something to be her competition wouldn’t make sense. Sure, they didn’t have a monetary stake in it, but sometimes that wasn’t the point. She was their blood.

“Like Monet’s back in Washington,” Kid said, referencing their club brother who had taught Kid how to tattoo.

“Oh,” Kevlar said as the realization hit him.

His highly inked little brother wanted to run his own legitimate business. That wasn’t a bad idea. They could always use another way to launder the money they earned through other means. A tattoo shop could earn a pretty penny. Plus, from what Kevlar had seen, Kid was talented.

Kevlar started the pickup. “Good idea,” he said as rested his arm on the rear of the seat and backed the truck out of the spot. “Where are you thinking?

Kid shrugged. “Maybe downtown.”

The strip mall where they’d last seen Kelsey popped into his head. “Near that coffee place?” he asked.

If he were an honest man, he would admit that he suggested that location because it was near her and he wanted any opportunity to run into her again. Except Kevlar wasn’t known for telling the truth. Not to others, and apparently not to himself either.

“I thought I saw a vacancy sign in a window there,” he lied.

Kid glanced out the window. “Not a terrible idea.”

“We’ll scout spots.” Kevlar didn’t care if he had to call in another favor with the Dixie guys; they were getting a storefront in that plaza whether there was an opening or not.

In the cupholder, his phone vibrated as they turned out onto the highway.