After what seemed like hours, she looked up again. “Yes?”
Nitro pulled an envelope from his pocket and sat next to her. “I'm pretty sure nothing I say will make this any better, but I am sorry for your loss.” He handed her the envelope. “The guys back in England had a collection for you an' the kids.”
“We don't need your money.” Beth's voice was cold and emotionless, and her eyes, when they met his, were dead.
“No, I guess you don't.” Tiny's kid—the deaf one—wandered over, and without thinking, he picked her up and sat her on his lap. “I'm sure Tiny left you well provided for. Maybe you could spend it on the kids when all this is over.”
“And that will make everything alright, will it? A few fancy toys will compensate them for losing their dad?” She blinked and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I'm sorry, this isn't your fault. I'm just...”
“You're angry.” Nitro tentatively touched her hand. “It's okay, Beth. You have every right to be angry. Pretty sure I'd feel the same if I was in your position.”
The little girl in his lap leaned against his chest and put her thumb in her mouth. Nitro gently stroked her curls. “Does she understand what's happened?”
“Not really. She and Imi are too young. They know something's up, and it's tougher on Alice, because no one knows how to talk to her.” Beth smiled. “Usually she's wary around strangers.”
“Kids like me for some reason.”
Beth nodded. “I remember when you were here last. You spent all your time playing with Abi and Luke.”
“They're nice kids. You an' Tiny have done a good job.” He looked over to the other kids, who were playing in the sandbox. “They're gonna miss him.”
“We all will.” Beth sniffed but remained dry-eyed. “I know Joe seemed like a cold man, but he really loved his kids.”
“And you.”
She shrugged and looked at the envelope in her hands. “The kids have always wanted a dog or a cat, but Joe wasn't one for pets. Maybe when things have settled down, I'll buy a puppy.”
Nitro didn't really know Beth; he'd only met her a handful of times before, and this was the longest conversation they'd ever had. But he didn't have to know her to understand how much pain she was in, or to see how hard she was trying to hold herself together. “Beth, I know you've got a house full of ol' ladies taking care of shit, an' the club will do whatever it can to support you, but do you have anyone to really lean on?” He shook his head. “I dunno if that's the right word, an' maybe I'm speaking out of turn, but it seems to me that you're trying to do this on your own.”
“I am on my own. It doesn't matter how many people are in my house, or how much money the club collects. My husband is dead, and my kids have been left fatherless. Nothing is going to change that.” She looked over at her kids. “I don't know if you have a girl back in England, but if you do, and if you care about her at all, you'll quit the club. Because, whether you want to believe it or not, it will come between you, and she will be the one who gets hurt.”
He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that he wasn't like Tiny and would never put the club ahead of the woman he loved, but now wasn't the time. Nitro wasn't stupid, he knew that the club made demands that were sometimes at odds with family life, and he was well aware of the sacrifices his brothers made to justify wearing the viper on their backs. But there were others who managed to get the balance right, and who never let the viper tip the scales in its favour. He passed Alice to her mom, and stood up as a sound of a Harley broke the silence.
Beth sighed. “That will be Spike.”
“He's here?” Nitro had assumed Spike would be one of those who escorted Tiny's body back to Bay View.
Beth nodded. “He left Seattle as soon as he heard.”
Nitro didn't know the Seattle SAA well. Their paths had crossed a few times, and he'd heard stories, of course. Spike had lived in Bay View for a long time, and some of his exploits had reached legendary status. He was surprised, though. While he knew he and Tiny went back a long way, Spike didn't strike him as the sort of guy that would take much interest in his ol' lady and kids.
Spike wasn't surprised to see him, though. As he crossed the yard, he grinned. “Glad to see you dragged yourself away from all that English pussy. Will you be at the clubhouse later?”
“Yeah, if I'm still awake. My body ain't sure what time it is.”
“How about I rephrase that, brother. You will be at the clubhouse later. There are things we need to discuss.”
“In that case I'd better go an' get my head down for a couple of hours.” His feeling of unease increased. “I was awake before the birds this morning.”
~oOo~
Despite Bay View being the oldest chapter, the clubhouse always seemed to Nitro to have a temporary feel to it. It was as if the place had been bought with the intent of converting it from a farmhouse to a fully functioning clubhouse, and then, midway through, they'd just lost interest. Maybe it was due to a lack of cash, although he doubted it, or that most of the activities took place outside, but for whatever reason, unlike the clubhouse in Bristol, which was well cared for and a source of pride for the chapter, the old farmhouse, with its bare walls and exposed wiring, had a distinctly unloved feel about it. Nitro couldn't help but wonder, as he crossed the main room to the makeshift bar, whether his Bay View brothers cared more about the money in their pockets than the club.
Vince was leaning on the bar in deep conversation with Long John and Mac. He raised an eyebrow as Nitro joined them. “Was beginning to think you were avoiding us.”
“Nope, just had to catch up on my sleep, an' shit.” Nitro nodded to the girl behind the bar. “Gimme a beer, darlin'”
“An' then fuck off, and close the door behind you.” Vince scowled at the girl, who quickly averted her eyes. “No one comes in for the next hour.”
As soon as all but the patches had left the room, Vince nodded to Mac who opened his laptop. “Take a look, brothers.”
There, on the Dirty Rats' website, was a picture of a crime scene with the title: “This is what happens to Freaks on our turf.”
Vince straightened up and looked around the room. “I'd say that was an admission of guilt, wouldn't you?” Nitro thought it was equally possible that this was just another case of the Rats taking credit for something they hadn't done, but he said nothing as his former President continued. “We cannot let Tiny's death go unpunished. We need to send out a message to every other club out there that if one of ours gets hurt, we will take the perpetrators down. No one fucks with the Freaks.” There was a murmur of approval around the room. Vince nodded. “I want their blood spilled, their clubhouses destroyed, and I want them out of business. We go in quick and we go in hard. If we hit every clubhouse simultaneously, they won’t have the time or resources to retaliate.”
Shit.
“As soon as the funeral is over, I want Nitro, Tank and Long John to head out to Tacoma, Phoenix and Salt Lake City. If you need anyone one with you, you'll have plenty of brothers who'll be happy to help, I'm sure. But you guys are the best in your field, an' I don't expect to see a clubhouse standing when you're done.”
Fuck.
“Okay, that's all for now.” Vince slapped his hand on the bar. “Mac, I want you and Long John in church now. The rest of you, the drinks are on the house.”
“You don't look happy, brother.” Spike watched as Vince led the two men upstairs.
“I'm not.” Nitro stared morosely into his beer. “But what choice do I have?”
Ever since he was a kid, Nitro had had a fascination with blowing shit up. Chemistry was the only subject he'd excelled in, and after he'd gotten his hands on an old copy of The Anarchist Cookbook in his teens, he hadn't looked back. His skills had been utilised by the Freaks in the past—gangbangers who set up cookhouses without the club's permission, or businesses who'd thought that they didn't need protection, needed to be shown the errors of their ways—and so far, he'd managed to do what was required o
f him without loss of life. Nitro wasn't a killer, and was proud of his record, but clubhouses were rarely empty, and as much as he despised the Rats, he didn't want to kill anyone.
He downed his beer and turned for the door. “I'm gonna head out. Tell Mac we'll want as much as he can give us about the clubhouses.”
He could have stayed in the flophouse in the attic of the clubhouse, or camped in the field nearby. Nitro could even have stayed in one of his brother's houses, but he'd chosen instead to book a room in a little B&B a few miles out of town. He wasn't self-conscious of his prosthetic; he'd put that shit behind him a long time ago, and didn't consider himself disabled—inconvenienced maybe, but not disabled—but he liked the privacy of his own space where he could take his foot off and relax. He didn't want to worry about the damned thing going missing, or wear it for longer than he had to, especially in this weather; latex and heat was never a good combination.
He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He wasn't a coward, and he'd always been prepared to put his life on the line for the club, and maybe being chosen to avenge Tiny's death could be considered an honour. But to take innocent lives—and innocent lives would be lost—because of a stupid post on a website? Nitro closed his eyes. He was just going to have to hope that, somehow, he could ensure that the clubhouse was empty before he blew the fucker up.
~oOo~
There must've been a hundred bikes in the lot. Every available patch, and more than a few friends of the club, would join his brothers who had escorted Tiny from Tacoma on the final leg of the journey. Nitro was proud to be a part of this, how could he not be? This was what it meant to be a Freak, this was why he wore his patch, and why he loved his brothers. But as they pulled out onto the highway to join the procession, the urge to ride in the opposite direction, and catch the first available flight home, threatened to overwhelm him.
To his surprise, Samson was bringing up the rear. As Tiny's closest and oldest friend, as well as his former President, Nitro had expected him to lead the group, as was his right. The big nomad didn't even seem to register as Nitro pulled alongside him, and although his eyes were hidden behind his Aviators, and the lower half of his face was covered with a bandanna, his grief was apparent.
Even after they'd pulled up outside the clubhouse and the coffin was carried inside, Samson remained on his bike. Nitro would've liked to speak to him; he liked and admired the big guy, and if anyone could make sense of all this, it was him. But now wasn't the time, and as he watched him take off his helmet and uncover his face, Nitro's heart broke for the man. He looked old, tired and in pain, but as Beth pushed her way through the crowd, he dismounted and seemed to push it aside as he wrapped his arms around her. Nitro looked away, not wanting to intrude on them. They may have been surrounded by hundreds of people, but both seemed oblivious as they grieved for the man they loved.
A bar had been set up in the field adjacent to the clubhouse. Unable to face the crowds inside, Nitro made his way to it and ordered a beer. The little blonde behind the bar smiled as she handed him the bottle. “It's been a while, Nitro. How about I get someone to take over here, and we go someplace quiet. You look as though you've got the world on your shoulders. I'm pretty sure can make you forget your troubles for a while.”
He was pretty sure she was right. She was just what she needed: Young, pretty, good rack, and if he remembered correctly, a pretty decent fuck. He took a long swallow of his beer. “Tempting, but I'm gonna have to pass on that, sweetheart.” He downed the rest of the bottle and pushed himself away from the bar. “See you around.”
She leaned forward, giving him a perfect view of her ample cleavage. “Maybe we can hook up later.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He turned before his self-control crumbled, and he headed back to his bike.
“Nitro! Wait up.”
Jesus, all he wanted was a few moments to himself. Nitro turned as Tank, the huge nomad, lumbered towards him. “What'ya need, brother?”
“Mac just gave me the plans for the Rats' clubhouses. Thought you'd wanna go over them with me. See which one you wanna take.”
Nitro didn't want to take any of them. “Sure.” He nodded to the crowd. “Kinda busy here. How about we go somewhere more private.”
Tank grinned. “Way ahead of you, brother.” He threw a set of keys at Nitro. “Head for Long John's place. We'll meet you there.”
22
The whole thing had been an unmitigated disaster from the outset. Mouse huddled under the tarpaulin in a futile attempt to keep dry as the pigs moved closer, forcing the protesters back. There was no way they were gong to hold the line for a week; in fact, it looked as though they'd all be under arrest before the weekend was out.
Nitro's prediction about the van had been correct, and the fucking thing had broken down thirty miles into their journey. Her travelling companions had decided to abort the mission, leaving her to hitchhike to the smoke on her own. And of course, she'd ended up walking for bloody miles in the pouring rain before some kind soul had given her a ride. Then, on arriving at Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park, she hadn't been able to find her friends among the tens of thousands of people who'd turned up to march in protest of the government's latest round of budget cuts, so she'd had no idea what the plans for the small Anarchist cell were. All she'd known was that they were going to use the march as cover, to gain access to Parliament Square. The theory being that the cops would be too busy policing the march to notice the small group of people until it was too late, and that by the time they did, she and her friends would already be entrenched on the green at Westminster.
Mouse didn't know any of the people who were organising the occupation well. Some were friends of Steve, but most were complete strangers to her, and this was the first time she'd done anything like this without Digger at her side. After deciding that there was no chance of finding anyone she knew in the crowd, she'd abandoned the main protest and, instead of heading for the huge rally at Trafalgar Square, had made her way straight to the Houses of Parliament in the hope that the occupation was still going ahead.
The cops had been on to them pretty quick, helped, no doubt, by the idiots milling around wearing Guy Fawkes masks. But around fifty protesters had set up camp by the time she'd arrived, and by ditching her rucksack and keeping a low profile, Mouse had managed to slip by the riot vans and lines of police before they'd fully mobilised. Of course this did mean she had no shelter from the driving rain, but she'd reasoned that, with the new laws regarding tents and sleeping bags, without them, she was less likely to get arrested. They still hadn't managed to outlaw sitting on the grass, after all.
What none of them had predicted was how fast the cops had organised, or how hard they came down on them. Already, the small group had been completely outnumbered and surrounded, and the harassment had begun. Fencing was being erected around them, preventing anyone from entering or leaving, which meant that the authorities were planning to starve them out.
“Mouse! How's it going?”
Mouse turned at the sound of her name and grinned at the middle-aged punk standing behind her. “Hey, Zoon.” She grinned. “It's good to see a familiar face. Where is everyone?”
“Fucking pigs.” Zoon scowled. “Since when has it been illegal to walk down the fucking street? Bastards are arresting anyone on the area.” He looked around. “Where's Digger?”
“He's not well. Mags is taking care of him.” Mouse coughed and tried to move further under the makeshift shelter.
“You don't sound too clever yourself.” He pulled a hip flask from his pocket. “Here, have a swig of this. It'll keep the cold out.”
She shook her head. “I'm okay, I think I'm getting a bit of a cold is all.” She'd actually been feeling rough for a couple of days, and her throat was hurting like a bitch. “I'd kill for a cup of tea, though.”
Zoon pointed to another shelter that had been constructed. “They've got a tea urn over there. I'd get in quick if I was you, I reckon the pigs will've
torn it down before long.”
“This is going to go tits up, isn't it.” She looked over to the lines of police. “So much for the democratic right to protest.”
“As long as we're not breaking any laws, there ain't much they can do.” Zoon snorted. “Although, yeah, I can't see them giving a shit about wrongful arrest, somehow.” He frowned. “You really don't look well, Mouse. I really think you should try and get out while you still can.”
“I'm fine.” Apart from the pounding headache and bone-aching coldness. “I'm gonna get a cuppa, and see if I can find somewhere dry to sit.”
“Good luck with that.” He pulled the zipper of her parka up a little more. “My tent hasn't been confiscated yet. It's the blue one with the black flag. Go and get your head down for a bit. I'll get you a cuppa and see if anyone has got any paracetamol.”
“Thanks, Zoon.”
“Meh. You'd do the same for me, and Digger will never forgive me if you get sick on my watch.” He gave her a shove. “Go and get in the dry.”
~oOo~
Mouse had been in some shitty situations in her life. Sometimes it felt like her life was, in fact, one big shitty situation. She’d slept in underpasses and subways, fended off unwanted attention from creeps running kids' homes, lived in squats, and slept in police cells. But she rarely got ill. So she wasn't sure, as she wrapped herself in the musty smelling sleeping bag, whether she was just being a bit of a wimp, and she should be dealing with a cold better than this.
But she hurt so much, and she was so fucking cold. Every time she coughed, it felt as though someone was kicking her in the ribs, and her throat felt as though she'd swallowed razor blades. All night, as the protesters had sung songs and banged drums, she'd lain on the thin bedroll and shivered so hard, she was surprised it hadn't loosened her teeth. If she tried to sit up, she was hit by waves of nausea, and she wasn't sure she could stand, even if she wanted to.
Zoon unzipped the tent and poked his head inside. “Fucking hell, Mouse. You really need to get somewhere warm and dry.”
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