Lead (The Brazen Bulls MC, #8)

by Susan Fanetti

  So now, she didn’t get fussy about what she stuffed in and how. She just filled bags as fast as she could.

  The ruckus behind her changed, and the room shook lightly as her mother went quiet. She turned again and saw that Becker had reached his limit. He had her mother up against the wall, one hand holding her wrists above her head and the other over her mouth.

  “You will shut up now and be still, Patsy,” he growled in Sage’s mother’s face. “I don’t hurt women, but I’m about to make an exception.”

  Her mother nodded reluctantly, and Becker let her go. Sage went back to her work, speeding up even more. Was anything here important enough to endure this scene?

  “No,” Becker said. “You don’t go in there.”

  With a quick shot over her shoulder, Sage saw her mother in the doorway, and Becker’s hand on her arm, holding her back.

  “What did you do to me, Sagey?”

  Let that go, let that go. Just pack up your shit and get out of here. She could practically hear Becker’s voice in her head, and her own voice agreeing with it, making a harmony of urgent advice. Don’t take the bait. Just pack and go.

  She couldn’t. Dropping the bag from her hand, she turned all the way around. “What did I do to you? Are you high? I did nothing but try to take care of you. You did this. For my whole fucking life you did this! And you chose him. You watched him break my face and you chose him! Well, guess what?”

  “Sage!” Becker barked, and Sage snapped her mouth shut. She’d been about to tell her mother what he’d done.

  Her mother didn’t seem to understand what had almost been said. She simply shook her head. “I need him. You already left me. For him”—she shoved her thumb in Becker’s direction. “I got nobody now. I need Den.”

  “You had me, Mom. I would have taken care of you. Always. My whole life, I tried to do it. But you threw me away.” A dark shadow dawned in her mind, and Sage gasped as it struck her. “I always thought that you chose me, but that wasn’t ever true, was it? You never chose me. You didn’t care that I grew up around all your drugs and shitty people, watching you get knocked around and whored out just so there’d be a man in the house. You didn’t care what any of that did to me. You thought you were so great because you didn’t let ‘em hit me, but that wasn’t about me, either, was it? You just wanted to be able to live with yourself.”

  “What do you think men are, Sage? What do you think they do? You think this one is any better than any of mine? No. He’ll show you your place soon enough. But a woman alone ain’t nothin’ at all.”

  Becker pushed past her, into the room, and grabbed up in both hands all the bags Sage had stuffed. “That’s enough. Whatever you leave behind, I’ll buy you new. We’re gettin’ the fuck gone right now.”

  Sage followed after him, feeling broken and meek.

  “That one’s just the same, girlie,” her mother called after her. “He’ll put you down in time.”

  ~oOo~

  Sage walked away from the clamor of people, across the wide green lawn that fronted the two farmhouses that made up this strange little country compound of Simon and Deb and Gunner and Leah.

  This morning, she’d thought she’d had a great idea—she could go get her shit from her mother’s house, have all her clothes to choose from for the party, and have the party to keep her mind off whatever went down at her mother’s.

  Becker had thought she was nuts, and it turned out he was right. There was no getting her mind off that scene.

  So here they were in the country, an hour from home, for Simon and Deb’s son’s first birthday. The Bulls were all here, and their old ladies, and their kids. Apollo and Jacinda had brought their baby girl, which was apparently a Big Deal, because she was finally strong enough to be out in a crowd for a long period of time. Fitz and his family were here, too, and that was a Bigger Deal, because he was strong enough to be out in a crowd for a long period of time, too.

  Sage, on the other hand, though she was mostly healed, was not strong enough to be out in a crowd. So she’d taken the first opportunity, when even Becker was distracted, talking with Fitz, to disappear from the party, walk out of the halo of colorful lights and into the dusky land beyond.

  This was a beautiful farm. A real farm, with animals and crops. It reminded Sage a little of Field of Dreams, actually. She’d never lived anywhere but Tulsa; she’d hardly ever been anywhere but Tulsa. Only an hour out, this was almost like another world. Peaceful and fragrant.

  Coming up to a wood fence, she climbed onto the bottom rail and looked out over ... nothing. Just grass rustling in a night breeze. A little bit of calm entered her, and the bear in her mind huffed and walked to the center, dragging its chain. She let herself confront it.

  She should have left her mother long ago. For all those years, she’d thought she was helping, being present to keep the worst from happening, waiting until her mother would see that they could do better on their own. But she’d never seen, and Sage understood, now, that she’d never shown her. All she’d done was enable. She was a co-dependent.

  Just as much a victim as her mother was. And just as much a volunteer for it.

  Her mother believed that she couldn’t live without a man. Sage hadn’t thought to leave without her until she’d had a man of her own.

  Was she any different?

  She was different. She was. She had to be.

  “Hey, shortcake. You wandered off.” Becker came out of the dark and to her side. He leaned on the fence. “Thinkin’ about this morning?”

  “Yeah.”

  He brushed her bangs away and skimmed a finger over her temple. “Your mom’s mind is all muddled with drugs and beatings, Sage. She doesn’t know shit, not about you, or me, or herself. Don’t let her dig in there like a worm.”

  Not a worm. A bear. “I’m trying. It’s noisy in my head.”

  Moving to stand behind her, he framed her with his body and leaned in, setting his chin on her shoulder. “I’ll never hurt you.”

  “I know. You’ve been taking care of me since I met you.” She leaned back, into the shelter of him. “I just need to let all these weird bad feelings run around in here until they get tired and fuck off.”

  “Just don’t let them take you with them. I want you right here with me.”

  Sage closed her eyes and felt the cool breeze flutter over her face. She felt Becker’s warm, strong body holding her up, surrounding her.

  She was different. And so was he.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Becker came out of the shower and dressed in the bedroom without seeing Sage. He felt a little lonely. In just the short time they’d been together, she’d shown herself to be a charming little pest in the morning. If she didn’t creep into the tub with him while his back was turned, she got in his way in the bedroom while he dressed. But the past week or so, since they’d cleaned her shit out of her mother’s place, she’d been quiet and a lot less playful.

  He found her in the kitchen, standing at the back window, an empty coffee mug held in both her hands as if she were still drinking from it. He stopped a few feet off and watched her, but she didn’t move.

  She was staring at her mother’s house; she fell into this fugue every now and then, just watching. There wasn’t much to see from here but the back door and a couple of windows, and yet she could stand here for fifteen minutes or longer.

  ‘Feeding the bear,’ she called it. Her explanation for that had been sparse, she hardly talked about her mom at all now, but Becker thought he understood. He knew about complicated relationships with mothers. He knew about the guilt and anger, the need and loss, the love and hate, each one a chain binding you to a past and a person you could scarcely comprehend.

  Lemmy whined at the door, and Becker let the pup in. He crouched down to ruffle his fur. “Did you do your business? Good boy.”

  The cast had come off his little leg just the day before. He limped a bit yet, but, like Sage, his wounds had healed. Unlike Sage, he seeme
d perfectly happy now, too, without any residual mental trauma.

  When Lemmy went to get a sloppy drink from his water bowl, Becker stood. Sage had turned her head and was watching him.

  He took the mug from her and set it aside. Pulling her into his arms, he looked out the window with her. Knowing she didn’t want to talk about her thoughts, he didn’t bother to ask. “You’ve got work today, right?” She’d lost her job at the record store while she was too injured to work, but the library had kept her on. Today would be her third shift back.

  “Yeah, until two. I was thinking about going over to the Bin after and talking to Abe, trying to get back on.” Lemmy had thoroughly soaked his face and was now underfoot, seeking cuddles. Sage ducked down and picked him up.

  Becker hadn’t liked her working at the record store and didn’t relish the thought of her going back. It was too close to the edge of Bulls territory, too close to the Street Hounds—as attested by his encounter there a few months ago with the junkie runner. The treaty was solid and had held now for four years, but Becker took nothing for granted. The Hounds had lost a lot making that peace—and they were still losing, every time they made a rent payment to the Bulls so they could sell in what had once been neutral territory.

  One of the chief draws of buying this place was its location at the northern end of Bulls territory, where he could keep an eye on what was going on at their border.

  “You don’t need two jobs. You don’t even need one. You can stay home with him.”

  “I like to work. And I do need it.” She didn’t elaborate, but Becker understood. Too much time alone, and she wound up standing at windows like a zombie.

  “Then stay at the library. You don’t need more than that.”

  “I like the Bin. I got to be in charge there.”

  He didn’t have time to wrangle this with her right now, and he didn’t want to leave her in a bad mental place, so he played a little bit dirty and scratched the top of Lemmy’s head. “He needs you home. When we’re both gone, he’s alone in his crate all day.”

  As if he were in on the ploy, Lemmy chose that precise moment to set his head on Sage’s shoulder and snuggle up close to her neck. Good boy.

  She closed her eyes and took in a soft breath. “Okay. I’ll stick with one job for now.”

  “Thank you. I gotta go. I’m meeting with the contractors at the station this morning, but I want to swing by and check in on Fitz first.” He leaned over and lifted her chin on his finger. “All good?”

  “All good.” Lemmy licked his finger and her chin, and Sage laughed, and truly was good, snapped back into her place in the world. That little guy was good at his job.

  “Love you, shortcake.” He kissed the top of her head and pulled her and her puppy in tight.

  ~oOo~

  “Thanks, Tania.” Fitz stared pointedly at the woman—Kari’s mother—until she slid the glass door closed and left them alone in the back yard.

  Becker chuckled and took a seat on an old-fashioned metal lawn chair beside Fitz’s. The day was a typical hot, muggy Oklahoma day on the cusp of August, but they sat under the friendly shade of a big oak. “Still doesn’t like you, huh?”

  “We’re okay. It’s the patch she doesn’t like.”

  Almost four months since the crash at the station, Fitz’s speech was much improved, and he was walking better, too. His beard was thick and becoming long again, and his hair had grown enough to cover the scars on his scalp. He’d lost some muscle in these months of recovery, but he’d get that back as soon as his balance was solid enough for him to start lifting again. He wasn’t a musclebound fucker like Apollo, anyway.

  “How’s therapy going?”

  Fitz slouched in his chair. “Steady. Too slow, but steady.”

  “I don’t know about slow. You didn’t see you that night it happened, bro. You scared the fuck out of all of us. You look great in comparison.”

  All he got back was a grunt, and then Fitz changed the subject. “How’s the station coming?”

  “Too slow, but steady.” Becker echoed, laughing, and Fitz picked up a chuckle as well. “D and I’re meeting with the contractor this morning. The leak abatement was a goddamn pain in my ass, but now the new tanks are in, and the new foundation’s laid for the station.” They’d had to dig out the original foundation; the build was truly starting from scratch, and they were still months from being back in business. If the Russians hadn’t brought them back in from Siberia, Becker didn’t know how they’d have stayed afloat.

  Fitz turned his head and faced Becker straight on. His neck was still stiff, and his shoulders turned as well. “I need to work, Beck.”

  “No, you don’t. Not till you’re ready. The club’s got your bills.” He could say that because they’d done their first meth run and had another gun run coming up in a few weeks. He could say that because the club had voted to use the $50,000 loyalty bonus toward Fitz’s medical bills.

  “I’m goin’ nuts, not being able to do anything. I got people I need to take care of.”

  “And you are, by gettin’ yourself healthy. There’s no work for you anyway, bro. You can’t ride yet, and the station’s not open. Your people are taken care of. All of ‘em.” When Fitz shook his head, Becker threw up a hand. “Do not start the charity shit again. We’re takin’ care of our own. That’s not charity. It’s family. Got it?”

  Fitz studied him before finally giving a ghost of a nod. “Got it. And thank you.”

  The glass door behind them slid open, and Becker looked back to see Kari’s little boy—and now Fitz’s, too—Quentin, pulling with determination on the handle, dragging the slider closed again. Finished, he turned, tucked a little toy under his arm, brushed his hands like a man who’d just finished a good job, and walked over.

  “Hey there, little bro,” Fitz said and sat up taller in his chair.

  “Hi, Papa.” Quentin climbed up onto his lap. “Hi, Uncle Beck,” he said when he was settled where he wanted to be. Fitz closed his arms around the boy, and Quentin snuggled in.

  “Hey, kiddo.” Becker nodded at the toy in his hand. “What d’ya got there?”

  Quentin held up a little blue wooden train engine. “This is Thomas. He’s a tank engine.” He looked up at Fitz. “Nan says is Uncle Beck eating lunch too so she can make enough.”

  Lunch? Shit. Becker checked his watch. It was just past ten-thirty in the morning. He had to go, but he wasn’t late. And it wasn’t lunchtime.

  Seeing him check the time, Fitz chuckled. “That was Tania-speak, asking how long you’re staying. Don’t mind her. She turned passive-aggressiveness into an Olympic event.”

  “I gotta go, anyway. Do you need anything?”

  “Nah, Prez. You’ve got us covered already. I just want to get back in it.”

  “You will. We’ll be there waiting when you’re ready.” With a squeeze of Fitz’s shoulder and a pat to Quentin’s shaggy head, Becker left. He went around to the side gate so he didn’t have to encounter Tania again.

  ~oOo~

  Becker came around to the passenger side of his truck and helped Sage down. She could do it herself, but she was short, and his truck was not, so she had to jump. While she was healing, he’d helped her down so a jump wouldn’t hurt her. Now, he just liked it, and so did she.

  It was a bright, hot, late-summer day. Sage looked like her usual cute punk self, in jeans faded pale and almost more hole than denim, flowered Doc Martens, and a once-red-now-pink Joy Division t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. Her hair was loose, but she had an elastic tie around her wrist; eventually a ponytail would occur.

  He’d become a big fan of ponytails since she’d taken his ink. When he’d asked her to keep his flame, she’d hemmed and hawed enough that he’d have been pissed, except that she’d still been recovering. Turned out that her reservation wasn’t about him but the ink itself. She didn’t want a brightly colored flaming heart to ruin her carefully designed body art.

  That had been easy to solve. She
was the only old lady with a black and grey flame. It was a small but ornate piece, in the lacy style of all her other work, on her neck, just below her right ear, one of his favorite spots to kiss. When she wore her hair up, everybody could see it clearly.

  At the last minute, he’d told Marla to add a crown to her heart. Ready or not, she was the club’s queen.

  While he had her in his arms, he couldn’t resist going in to kiss that spot. When she moaned and settled in, that quick intimacy shifted gears, and they stood beside his truck, in the wedge of the open door, her body wound around his, and made out freely until Lemmy made a little whining bark. He hated to be left out. Becker kissed the little red scar on the bridge of her nose and put her down.

  With her feet on the ground, she walked to the front of the truck and looked up ahead, where a small village of white tents rolled out.

  They were at a state park just southeast of Tulsa, which had held an annual arts and crafts fair every summer for a while. Becker had never been before—arts and crafts were not exactly one of his chief interests—but it was one of those things that happened in a city that it was impossible not to know about. He’d never been to the Rhema Christmas Lights, either. Holidays were also not exactly one of his chief interests. With his stepfathers, big holidays had meant more drunkenness and, thus, more violence.

  The Bulls did Thanksgiving and Christmas big—or they had with Delaney and Mo. Shit, that was on him now, he supposed. He had a few months before he had to think about that. Certainly not today.

  He reached in and picked up Lemmy, clipping his leash to his new leather collar before setting him on the grass. Sage turned back and took the leash from him, and he pulled his kutte from the jump seat and slid it on.

  “I have to tell you,” Sage said, grinning, as Becker came up alongside her, “this was not how I figured on spending, like, any day ever with you.”