Bones

BonesTwisted Devils MC Book 17Zahra Girard Copyright © 2023 Zahra GirardAll rights reservedThe characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Contents Title PageCopyrightForewordChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-OneChapter Twenty-TwoChapter Twenty-ThreeChapter Twenty-FourChapter Twenty-FiveChapter Twenty-SixChapter Twenty-SevenChapter Twenty-EightChapter Twenty-NineChapter ThirtyChapter Thirty-OneChapter Thirty-TwoChapter Thirty-ThreeChapter Thirty-FourChapter Thirty-FiveChapter Thirty-SixChapter Thirty-SevenEpilogue ForewordThank you so much for checking out my book. If you want the opportunity to score free advance copies of my books, or stay up on my latest releases and promotions, sign up for my Dirty List: http://www.subscribepage.com/d9p6y8You can check out my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/zahragirardromance/Or you can find me on BookBub! https://www.bookbub.com/authors/zahra-girardIf you enjoy any of my books, I sincerely invite you to leave a review. Reviews are so important to self-published authors (like me). They let us hear from our fans, and they help others discover our work. Please, if you enjoyed this story, I invite you to leave a review.Thank you,Zahra Chapter OneJulia “What's supposed to be in these packages, anyway?”“Cash says that the number one rule is never to look in the packages. Ever. But he isn't here.” Chrystal gives me a knowing look through her messy, windblown blond hair, and winks. “So, when they get arrive, I'll show you. Usually it's herbs, fungi and funny mushrooms. Oh, and once there was a rhino horn. It was so heavy.”A rat crawls across my foot in the dark, the sensation of wet fur and prickly claws on my bare skin causes me to lash out, kicking, sending the creature scuttling down the alley. Why did I decide to wear sandals?“A rhino horn? Really? Why?”“Because men and their dicks.”“What? Really?”On its surface, it makes sense, because men and their dicks are responsible for a lot of bullshit in this world, but I question it because I want to believe I’m standing in this alley, in this cold, smelly, dirty, disgusting part of Vancouver, waiting for something more important than herbs to make someone’s penis hard.“I've looked in all the packages, Jules. Googled all the stuff, too. Ninety-nine percent of the time, just like everything else weird, or sad, or pathetic in this world, it all comes down to men and their penises. Or is it penii? Is that even a word? It's got to be. Latin, right?”I sigh into the dark. My breath forms a sticky fog and then, smartly, floats away from here on a breeze. Exactly like I should be doing. “I don't know. Chrystal, are we really smuggling illegal Chinese dick medicine?”There’s a clatter deeper in the dark alley, a garbage can being knocked over, maybe. By a stray dog, I hope, but just as likely by an unfriendly person I definitely don’t want to meet.This is where terrible decisions become a lifetime’s worth of regrets. Like Vegas, but without the buffets.And here I am: Julia May — unemployed chef, flat broke, on the verge of homelessness — the woman absolutely ready to make those terrible decisions.“Yes. Though one time I found a dead baby tiger. It was so cute. I wanted to pet it and take it home with me. It had this little button nose and the cutest little claws. I named him Bandit. He would've looked darling in my bed, snuggled up in my pillows. Rawr.”“A dead baby tiger? Why would anyone want that?”“Dick stuff, like always. I found that out by posting little Bandit on my Instagram and asking my followers what people would use him for, other than as the cutest little cuddlebug ever. Turns out, Men think if you grind it up and drink it, it'll make your erection stronger.”“God damn,” I say, feeling bad for little Bandit. Who would grind up and drink a tiger? What the hell? Just imagining the taste, the texture, the smell, has me wanting to vomit. “Has anything not been about men and their dicks?”“Yes. There is the one percent where it isn’t,” Chrystal says solemnly. “That isn’t so fun.”“What was it then?”The wind shifts, first bringing the salty smell of the nearby Vancouver docks, then shifting again, ferrying to my nose the stomach-ruining aroma of vomit, urine, and burned cooking oil from the takeaway joint on the opposite street corner.“Once it was a big brick of heroin.” Chrystal says it like she’s telling me she got her nails done yesterday. Like it’s nothing.A giant brick of heroin? I start pacing, worried beyond words.Chrystal pats me on the back. “You look like you’re having second thoughts. I thought you said you wanted in on one of Cash’s little errands. Don’t you need the money?”Oh, how I need the money.I have for a long time.For months, even.Ever since the ‘The Blue Bell’ — the restaurant I was chef at — closed up shop months ago, bills have piled up so high I can’t even see over them.I nod. “I left second thoughts behind when we crossed the border into Canada. Now, I think I’m somewhere at the intersection of resignation and regret.”Chrystal cranes her neck to check the street signs.“What? No, that can’t be where we’re at. Oh shit, are we in the wrong place? It’s so dark, I can’t tell. Cash said we’re meeting Rat at the alley near Powell and Third.” Then she takes out her phone. “If we’re in the wrong spot, that could screw everything up. He will be so mad at us.”“We’re in the right spot,” I say, feeling exactly the opposite. "Wait, we're meeting someone called 'Rat?’”“Yes. Like the animal,” she says casually, as if it’s not a giant red flag.“The rodent? The disease-carrying pest? The animal that digs through garbage and lives in sewers…? That’s