Houston Callaghan: The Devil's Bastards MC

by Kendra Plunkett-Witt

  “Men?” Amelia asked. More big burly bikers like at the bar last night?

  “Don’t let the likes of Dart scare you off the kind. He’s trash, and he don’t wear my patch. Not all Bastards are as rude as he is.”

  “But are they all as…” I trailed off not knowing how to place the words gently. Houston grinned. Jerk.

  “As scary as him?”

  “I was going to say as scary as you.”

  Houston eyes laughed, he was amused that I found him scary. “That’s mostly the point Amelia. But were not as bad as you think. Especially once you get to know us,” Houston stepped forward and pushed a piece of stray hair out of my eyes and I could feel the electricity building up.

  “I have no plans of getting to know you or any Bastard the way you’re thinking Callaghan,” I said trying to sound as sure as I had planned. That and ignore the weakness that had suddenly consumed me. Houston was a God amongst men. I could take my time getting to know him. But I wasn’t going to.

  Houston’s grin was in place, but he had no comeback for it. He tossed out no sharp witty banter that I had come to know in our brief encounters both last night and now.

  “We better get moving. I need to know what we are up against. Get a lay of the land. See who I need to call in.”

  “And anyone they call in, they will all be Bastards, you will be, you know, in charge of them?”

  “Possibly all Bastards, and as president I would be in control yes.”

  “Anyone who isn’t a Bastard?” Houston was one thing, but I didn’t know how to handle many more of his, and Tate’s kind, running around. I also didn’t know how Mom and my grandparents would react, and oh dear Lord Brad.

  “Occasionally I bring in Hellions. Believe what you want but most of us are normal people with jobs and lives. The Nomads of course a little less than others, hints the name. We aren’t criminals but a few of us hold special talents for doing things like shutting down rustlers.”

  “But these Hellions, you can control them too?”

  “I’m a president of the Nomad charter of the Bastards sweetheart.”

  “And the way that sounds is that the Nomads are the least organized and the least powerful of the Bastards.”

  “You sound like my sister now,” Houston huffed. “I am a Callaghan Amelia. If you never learn nothing more about me or MC’s or the Devil’s Bastards themselves, know that in the Southwest, in Texas among my kind, being a Callaghan means a hell of a whole lot. I’m goddamn royalty and they will all respect me and my orders.

  “Anyone that I bring here you can trust Amelia. Anyone who would dare to dishonor that promise to you would pay dearly.”

  Just like that, the heat I was fighting took over full force. The power in Houston’s statement, he spoke like what he said he was, royalty. Like he was king. He talked to me like I was a possession of his. That I was something that he could, and would, protect. It should piss me off, really. I was no one’s possession and I could fend for myself. So that left the question, why did his offer sound so damn good?

  The haze of the thought surrounded me for a moment or two longer than it should have. Finally, I pulled myself out of it. Houston was just a player, he knew the game. The ways to seduce women, I was sure of it. To Houston Callaghan, a mere stranger, I was nothing.

  “The cattle Amelia,” Houston said breaking my thoughts. “I think it’s time to check the cattle. The sooner we get started, the sooner we put this all to rest.”

  “Yes, the cattle. The play pretty of yours won’t likely make it to the cattle. We have the newfangled side by side UTVs to take to the fields but it’s not the greatest. Horses are still preferable, they can go anywhere a cow can. Something tells me though that seeing you on a horse, it will make a pretty good Christmas card and that’s about it.”

  “Don’t underestimate me Ms. Lorbosh,” Houston said as we headed to the back storage shed that was just off the garage.

  “Tomorrow will take the UTV. If you have to bring more of your gang…”

  “Club. Club Amelia. Just motorcycle enthusiast.”

  “Sure. Clubmates,” I shook my head. “If they come we will have to figure something out. I would assume you are mechanically inclined, so if you can get it running, you can forgo the horse if you choose and take this.”

  I pushed the door on the old shed open with a huff and revealed a mess of crap piled up and an old Enduro dirt bike. “It was Tate’s once upon a time. Hasn’t been ridden since he left. Probably needs the carburetor cleaned out. I’m sure the brakes and hoses might need changed. But they should have the parts in town on hand. Won’t take long to fix up if you plan on being around a while. Won’t tear up the Harley that way.”

  “But for today it’s horse back.”

  “Best way to get a feel of the place,” I grinned, wondering what the nomads would think of seeing their president on horseback. “We are in Texas after all.”

  Houston asked the normal questions as I made quick work of saddling my mare Summertime and a gelding we called Half-Jack. I gave him a quick rundown of the size of Homeland, the pasture, barn yard and waterways as well as our few attempts at hay fields so we grew what we needed.

  I told him about the cow and calf pairs we raised, our bulls. Sixty years ago, my great-grandfather had made a play for purebreds, but that attempt died with him. Grandpa ran Angus of both black and red, Herefords, Shorthorns and a few Charolais sprinkled in for good measure.

  “So, these figures here in the book, that’s what should be out there?” Houston asked as he hook the reins to Half-Jack and skimmed my sloppy notes from my booklet I carried with me.

  “That’s what we started with. Last we knew, we were down at least a hundred cow calf pairs. Few cows missing calves, few calves missing cows. It’s hell to try and keep track of them as it, let alone dealing with rustlers. Be lucky to count anywhere close to that number, plus calves of course. We can’t afford to lose much more.” I knew what those numbers in that book said without ever having to look. As spring calving season had wrapped up, I was so ecstatic. Proud, hopeful. We were looking at an excellent year, now… not so much.

  “To save the ranch, what’s the bare minimum head you can work with?”

  “Just about half of that. If we sell every calf, cull a little harder than we normally would, and we might make it till next year. Drought came pretty hard for a while a few years back. Most the ranch is still owned outright but Gramps was forced to take a mortgage on part of the land. Worst comes to worst, we sell half the land and remortgage the rest if we want to restart another herd.”

  “Even at that, this place is a big spread.”

  “Yes, but it’s a big spread that every acer has been in this family since Texas became Texas. Selling would kill George Charlon! If you don’t understand that, or give a shit about that, then hop on that play pretty of yours and head back to Amarillo,” I growled, sick at even the thought. I swung up on my mare and glared back at Houston. “You know how to mount up?”

  Houston swung up on Half-Jack with ease. I was right; he looked ridiculous. Although he wasn’t too big for the quarter horse he filled out the saddle enough. His black, pull on boots were made for riding bikes not horses and he still had on his cut.

  “Half-Pint, there ain’t nothing I can’t ride.”

  “His name is Half-Jack not Half-Pint,” I corrected.

  Houston rode up next to me. “I was talking to you not the horse.”

  Chapter Six

  Houston

  I tossed my saddlebags on the bunk house bed when we got back in from the range long after dark. Amelia had told me her cousin Brad lived in the foreman house down the way and that the other hands all opted to live in town and make the drive out. With her and Brad on site she didn’t push anyone to use the old bunk house anymore.

  Someone had appeared to tidy it up recently, and by the smell of cleaner it had happened while Amelia and I were out. I pulled a cigarette out of my cut and walked out to the sma
ll back porch and lit up before calling back to Sweetwater.

  “Yo, where the hell are you at Houston?” Stephan “Fabio” Ames said when he picked up on the second ring. Fabio was a year older than me and was the closest thing I had left to a real brother, and that was up against Tate too. In two weeks-time, Fabio would official be family.

  Fabio was marrying Double D, otherwise known as Destiny Dallas. A big church ceremony, no cuts allowed inside, per orders from the two woman who had raised the three of us: Fabio’s mom Stella alongside of Kristy Vandergriffen who had been a legal guardian of me, Austin and Destiny as children.

  “I’m in Texas.”

  “I wish that narrowed it down.”

  “Laredo.”

  “What the hell you doing in Laredo?”

  I really wished I had a good answer to that, but I didn’t. For years now, I had been the loose screw in the family and I knew it. I floated around partying and bedding women, holding church when I had to and working when I felt like it. Fabio hadn’t been able to handle life on the road like that; despite the bond the two of us had, he ended up leaving me to Tate’s barely capable hands, turned in his VP patch and went back to Sweetwater.

  “Houston? You still there?”

  “Yeah, yeah I’m here. Tate’s on the oil rig so he won’t make the wedding,” I started, hoping to distract from the Laredo question.

  “Yeah, but you will be right? Houston you can’t bail on this like everything else. Destiny will kill you. I will kill you. You’re supposed to be best man and help give away the bride.”

  “You mean drag her down the church aisle and hold her in place until you get the ring on her?”

  “Do not screw this up Houston. I’m thirty years old. I’ve been waiting for Destiny for ten years. She’s been home for over a year. Things are quiet here finally. Life is normal and I’m going to finally, finally, make her my mine.”

  “She is yours.”

  “She’s my Queen, she’s my patch sister, she’s my best friend, she’s my President, but she’s not mine. She’s not my wife Houston. And this wedding will happen whether you show up or not. But I want it to be perfect for her. Destiny deserves perfect, my mother and Kristy deserve perfect. You better not screw this up by disappearing.”

  “I will be there,” I promised.

  “Then why are you in Laredo? It’s what, almost four hundred miles away?”

  “I can be home in seven hours. But, look Tate’s family has the ranch down here. They have a rustler problem and his kid sister came looking for him in Amarillo. She needs help, regulators or whatever.”

  Fabio lost it. I finished my cigarette while I waited for the obnoxious laughing to subside.

  “You’re playing cowboy? Fuck man, someone better take a picture of that shit. Like getting on a horse?”

  “Shut up asshole we used to ride when we were kids.”

  “Yes, Kristy’s fruitless attempt to get us interested in anything other than bikes. I remember. But you also haven’t been on a horse in at least ten-fifteen years.”

  “I don’t forget shit like that.”

  “Sure. So, are you brining her to the wedding?”

  “Her who?”

  “Tate’s sister.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because she’s something that even caught the big badass Houston Callaghan’s attention. You drove clear across the state and are playing cowboy to help her out.”

  “She’s Tate’s sister, I’m just helping him out.”

  “Tate would rob a bank and send the money to his sister for her to hire help. Even he wouldn’t go back to ranching. Men do stupid things for women.”

  “How are those bullet wounds Fabio? I can get you a matching pair.” I growled.

  “You don’t scare me. Especially from seven hours away. Try as you might, I have the other Callaghan firmly on my side. You lose by default. Listen, Alec and Kristy got in a few days ago. He said this morning that you cancelled church.”

  Alec was Kristy’s husband. He was also the closeted thing I had to a father. Wes died when I was eleven and even in the years before that, Alec was the one always around. Legally Alec and Kristy adopted all three of us in the months following Wes’ passing. They dedicated their lives doing the best they could for us. Poor, dumb bastards.

  For the better part of twenty-four years Alec served as president of the Sweetwater, Texas Chapter. The original charter for the Devil’s Bastards. He had stepped up when Wes went Nomad and then he had stepped down once, to let Austin take the reins. Back then I was Sargent of Arms and Micky, forever known as Micky the Rat, was the VP.

  Alec came back when Austin was murdered, and I followed in my biological father’s footsteps and went Nomad. That was until Destiny came home. The only female patch member she got her prospect cut through a loophole and she earned the rest. Six months ago, Alec went into semi-retirement, all so he could take Kristy traveling. Destiny took the gavel with Fabio as her VP and Alec went Nomad, which meant he rode under me, a technicality. I had little authority over the old wolf.

  “It’s just postponed. Nomads don’t have pressing business like you do, it’s kind of the point. I’ll hold church when we are in Sweetwater, everyone will be there. Tate’s annoyed he’s missing the wedding, but little can be done. He had to go the rig.”

  “Fine. Destiny worries about you. I’ll let her know that you’re as screwy as ever and she can deal with you in two weeks.”

  “Tell her I love her.”

  “Will do. Bring her man. Amelia’s her name, right? You’ve never done that before.”

  I laughed, Amelia would feel better knowing that Tate had mentioned her before for Fabio to know her name. “And for good reason. Just because you fell all disgustingly in love…”

  “I’m hanging up now!”

  I flipped my phone shut. Yes, flipped shut. They were all burner phones. Flip phones were still the cheapest, and they went through a lot. Better to stay safe than sorry. I looked at mine. Four months now I had it. That itself was probably some kind of record.

  Fabio had a personal phone that’s what I had called. The soon to be husband of the Devil’s Bastard Queen had settled down. And he had forcefully sucked Destiny into it. The girl who had never had a substantial living situation since she left Kristy’s, saddled up with the only single member of the patch who had a three bedroom, nicely maintained house in Sweetwater. That he owned.

  I was impressed. Fabio had a custom paint and auto body shop. He even convinced Destiny to get a real, non-club related job when things calmed down too. Sure, she was teaching self-defense classes and other hand on hand combat, but she liked it and for the first time since she left the military she had a paycheck that came with a tax form.

  They had normalcy in their lives. I hadn’t had a drop of it in four years. Not since Austin... Our lives had been a series of tragedies. Mom was murdered in cold blood when I was six, Dad killed when I was eleven. Austin when I was twenty-five, nearly lost Destiny in the Middle East just a few months later. Then last year waiting by Fabio’s bedside for days after he took bullets meant for Destiny.

  That didn’t count the patch brother’s we all lost. Friends, family that I would live and die for. So much darkness. That’s why I left Sweetwater. I don’t know if I was running from the darkness, trying to fight it, or trying to lure it away from my family.

  That’s why I, being a Callaghan and having the enemies I had, went Nomad. Because I would always have enemies and there was always someone who wanted to fight the alpha. Trying to take the power away from them. From us.

  But for thirty-five years the Callaghan name had held on. It had meant something. In this part of the world The Devil’s Bastards meant power. Even in the calm years when the club walked straight and true. Bastards were feared. And among the Bastards, the Callaghan name, a name that Wes and Breanna had given power to when they forged the club when they were barely of age themselves, for that, it meant something.

&n
bsp; In two weeks, I would be the last Callaghan. While people who always remember my sister as Destiny Dallas “Double D” Callaghan she would legally become an Ames. She would take Fabio’s name like she should have done years ago, and I would be the last one standing. And when I finally died, and being realistic, it won’t be of old age, so would my family name.

  ***

  The next morning my alarm was ringing much earlier than I was used to. Who am I kidding, I don’t set alarms. I had always been a night owl so rolling out of bed just before five was a shock to my system. I dressed, cut included, and met Amelia in the barn. She was fighting with some gangly looking punk outside the main barn.

  “It’s called an executive decision Brad.”

  “You don’t have executive powers! I am ranch foreman!” he shouted back.

  “Foreman is just a fancy title. If we don’t do something, we will lose a part, if not all, of the ranch! It’s not like you have been making headway with the situation,” she straightened up, tossing the bucket she had been carrying and it clattered to the ground.

  “But an freakin’ outlaw! He’s covered in tattoo’s Grams said. Probably prison ink!”

  I rolled my eyes. Such a stereotype. I had never been in prison. Kind of shocking, but the most I had ever done was a few nights at a time in a couple different city and county lock ups. I’d been lucky.

  “And if it is? All the damn better. We need him. We need something Brad. I’m not going down without a fight even if you seem more than happy to just let the place go.”

  “It was never your home to bitch! You need to learn your place and it’s not on the ranch,” the gangly cowboy, apparently named Brad. So, this was the cousin, unimpressive, I thought as I walked up on the pair.

  The cowboy was trying to scare Amelia, but she didn’t appear to be having any of it. Neither was I.

  In a swift motion I had the cowboy by the back of the neck and two inches off the ground. “What the?” Brad squeaked.

  “Thought cowboys had better manners than bikers like me?” I asked giving him a little shake.