Page 191 of Property of Bob

Women knew the deal when they came around the Grave Prowlers. At least, they should’ve known it. I wasn’t promising anyone breakfast in the morning or a date the next weekend. I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, an ol’ lady, or whatever the fuck else came along with a woman leaving lipstick notes on my pillow.

I liked women.

I liked sex.

I just didn’t need all the shit that came after it.

My life was already full.

There wasn’t some empty spot beside me that I was waiting for the right woman to fill.

I turned my head and looked at the pillow again. Well, technically there was an empty spot, but I liked it that way.

I chuckled and looked back at the ceiling.

Seven-thirty.

I’d slept later than I normally did, but it was Sunday, and nothing was on fire.

At least, nothing had been on fire when I’d gone to bed.

I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed my phone.

No missed calls.

No emergency texts.

Nothing from Myth telling me I needed to get my ass downstairs.

That was always a good sign.

I dropped the phone onto my chest and started running through what I needed to get done.

First thing was the wood delivery. It was supposed to be here by eight, and I wanted to put eyes on it before it was unloaded. We’d paid a small fucking fortune for this shipment. Black walnut.

Not the shit you bought at a lumberyard to slap together a bookshelf. This was the good stuff. Kiln-dried slabs we’d been waiting months to get our hands on—the kind of wood that would eventually become custom caskets worth more than some people’s cars.

A lot more.

The Grave Prowlers had been building caskets almost as long as we’d been putting people in the ground. It was part of who we were.

The club had started in Virginia back in 1987 with a mortuary and a handful of men who figured out pretty fucking quickly that there was good money to be made in death.

Even better money if you weren’t too concerned about staying on the right side of the law.

Cremations for people who paid enough to guarantee nobody asked questions. Custom coffins. Transportation. Eventually guns.

A coffin was a hell of a good place to move something nobody was supposed to find.

By 1997, the club had grown enough that the original members started spreading out across the country, creating territories that covered two states at a time.

Wisconsin and Minnesota were ours.

Separate chapters. Same club, code, and loyalty.

I was President of Wisconsin.

Shadow had Minnesota.