ChapterOne
Death never sleeps, and that means I don’t get to either. I silently curse my father who refuses to let go of the past and allow me to live the life I want. I fumble with the keys to the front of the sandstone building, scowling as the motion sensor light blinds me. Blinking furiously, I slot the key into the lock, turn the tumbler, and shuffle inside like a zombie. I lock the door to Banks Funeral home behind me, disarm the beeping alarm, and head straight for the break room to make a cup of coffee. The phone jangles, and I answer it.
“Queenie.”
“Hi, Dad. I’m safe and sound inside, ready to boot up the oven. Yes. I know I shouldn’t call it that in front of customers.” I scowl. What does he think I am, an amateur?
“I just worry.”
“Honestly, Ang should be doing this. She’s twenty-seven and knows the ins and out of the funeral home the same as I do.”
“You know why I asked you to be there.” My father sighs heavily, and I roll my eyes. If he wanted to keep her out of shady dealings, he never should’ve cut a deal with the Sin City MC.
“Eventually, you’re going to have to let her. You know this isn’t my world anymore.”
“So your new degree means turning your back on your family?”
“No,” I snap. “It means reprioritizing.”
“This business was for the family. It’s why your mother and I worked so hard on it when you were younger, to have a legacy to give you. And all you want to do is throw it away.”
“I’m taking a back seat. It’s not the same thing,” I say gently.
My black flip-flops are silent over the thick carpet, and chill bumps rise on my arms. I tug the pale pink cardigan over my matching cami, used to the arctic temperatures. Inside of the break room, I toss in a pod of dark roast. I need caffeine before I deal with one of the bikers and their special requests.
“I understand why you’ve chosen to team up with Sinners.” I pause. Vegas is a dangerous town, and having a small funeral home made us a target. This way, we choose who we’ll be doing dirty business for and earn protection. I’d grown up with the tattooed men with crude mouths, cold eyes, and bodies that should be illegal.
“But you can’t have your cake and eat it, too. It’s not a buffet. You can’t select from column A and ignore C. Ang is all in. She loves this business, and we both know she’ll do you proud in the funeral director position.”
“Ang is too soft—”
I think of the grown men I’d seen my sister reduce to tears with her sharp tongue and seven-mile stare.
I snort. “No, Ang is the baby, which affects how you see her.”
“Those Sinners will eat her alive.”
I shake my head. I have a healthy dose of respect for them but no fear.
“Dad, they return the same respect given and have a code of ethics which is more than I can say for about fifty percent of the people here in Sin City.” This desert town breaks dreams and people. Full of swindlers, liars, and plastics, it’s a field of landmines one must navigate with care. I learned that lesson the hard way, a dozen different times in small ways growing up.
“And you know them so well?” He scoffs.
As the cup finishes brewing, the scent of coffee wafts up, and I hurry to the small fridge to pull out my creamer crack. After pouring in a healthy dollop of the cereal-themed concoction, I give it a few swirls and bring the life-giving nectar to my lips.
“Don’t you?” I turn the question around as I leave the break room’s sanctuary for the building’s bowels. Flipping on the lights, I travel down the stairs to the silver ovens that will heat up to 1620F to break down the body. Unlike in the movies, there are no big fires or quick disintegration. I hit the power buttons, and it begins to slowly wake.
“When it comes to my girls, I don’t trust anyone.”
“And you wonder why we’re both still single,” I tease.
He sighs. “Queenie … Rian. I just want to see you both have the lives you deserve. I know you like to design things, but it has no solid future.”
“According to you. It takes time to build up clientele, whatever business you run. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Dad. But you don’t get to decide what the life of my dreams looks like. You’ve got to let us go at some point. I’m thirty-three, and she’s twenty-seven. The raising is done.”
He grumbles. “It’s never done. You’ll see when you have one of your own.”
“You say this a lot.”