Huck

by Jessica Gadziala

  "Something is going on. Find Seeley," I demanded, getting a nod from Che whose face was a mask of the dread I felt building inside.

  I didn't imagine Seeley would have left Harmon alone in the house if he didn't have to.

  That poor fucking kid had taken more than his fair share of pain thanks to his connection to us. And we hadn't even given the guy a patch yet.

  "Tell me what happened," I demanded, closing the door, sliding the lock, reaching out to grab her wrist, pulling her through the house with me, checking to make sure no one else was around.

  "I was cleaning up after lunch. Seeley was getting ready to go out back to smoke. And, really, you guys don't try to break him of that habit? At his age?" she said, babbling because she was anxious, so I didn't bother to respond to that part. "Anyway, there was a slamming sound. Like, I don't know, someone lost their balance and hit the house, maybe? Seeley told me to stay inside, to lock the door behind him, then he took off. And I... I haven't heard anything since then."

  "Alright. We're on it," I assured her, pulling her into her bedroom, glancing out the window.

  "No!" she shrieked when I moved back toward the door. "Don't leave," she demanded, voice high, edgy.

  I wasn't sure I'd felt as torn as I did right that moment.

  I belonged with my men. I owed it to Seeley to help find him.

  That said, if Harmon was suddenly a target for being very loosely associated with the club, then I was just as responsible for her well-being as I was for Seeley's. More so, even, since she hadn't signed up for it. Also, let's face it, she was at risk for having worse shit done to her than was likely going to be done to Seeley.

  This was where I belonged.

  "I'm not leaving," I promised her. "I am just going to go look out the window in your office. You can't see shit from here."

  "Wait," she demanded, rushing forward, moving to stand behind my left shoulder. "I'm coming," she added.

  I wouldn't lie and say it didn't bolster up my ego a bit that she wanted to follow behind me, that she trusted me to protect her, because it sure as fuck did, even if my mind should have been on other things.

  Like where the fuck Seeley was.

  Like who the fuck was so obsessed with us all of a sudden?

  We moved into Harmon's office, and she stayed glued behind me as I watched out the window, seeing nothing, no one.

  A muffled shriek escaped her when my phone started to ring in my front pocket. As I reached for it, her forehead pressed into my back, and I could feel her taking a slow, deep breath, trying to calm her frazzled nerves.

  "McCoy," I said, tension making a muscle tick in my jaw.

  "We found him," McCoy said. "Alive," he rushed to add.

  "How alive?" I asked.

  "He was jumped from behind. Got knocked out by a rock, judging by the blood we found on it. Looks like he's going to have another scar to brag about."

  "Take him to the hospital this time," I demanded. "Don't fuck around with head wounds."

  "Oh no," Harmon whimpered behind me as I tucked my gun into my waistband, raising my arm to reach behind me, pulling her forward, keeping my arm around her as I listened to McCoy tell me a whole lot of nothing.

  No one was around.

  No clues left behind.

  No car treads.

  Fucking nothing.

  "Alright. Get him to the hospital. Send Remy and Che back to the clubhouse. We will meet them over there in a few. Call and lean on Arty a bit now that shit is getting serious. Keep me updated," I added, ending the call, tucking my phone away.

  "Poor Seeley," Harmon said in a small voice, again pressing her face against me, but this time, my chest.

  "He's a tough kid. He will be fine," I assured her. "Alright. Come on," I said, pulling her along with me as I walked her back to her bedroom. "Pack a bag."

  "Ah, what?" she asked, pulling back enough to look up at me, her eyebrows pinched.

  "You are coming over to the clubhouse."

  "No, I'm not."

  "Christ. Are we going to argue about this for twenty minutes, wasting both our time first, or can we just cut to the chase?" I asked. "You're coming with me, even if I have to toss you over my shoulder. And if I have to pack your shit, it's going to be thongs and that is it."

  "Why do I need a bag?"

  "Because I don't know how long this shit is going to go on. And I don't need it on my conscience that you're over here unprotected."

  "Wouldn't I be less safe over at your place? You know, where they do drive-bys?"

  "We have shit in the works to shore up the place. And since someone was here today and managed to take out Seeley, then, no, babe, you're not fucking safer over here."

  "I don't want to go over there," she said, losing the argument, so she was getting stubborn, her chin raising, her arms crossing over her chest—frying pan and knife and all.

  "Tough shit," I told her, going into her closet for her, finding a bag, tossing it on the bed. "Thongs it is," I decided, going over to her dresser.

  She seemed to get that she wasn't going to win then, dropping her knife and pan on the bed, pushing me out of the way, and rummaging through her drawers, mumbling to herself the entire time she did it.

  "This is what I get," she said, aggressively slapping a handful of shirts onto the bed. "Trying to be a decent person always gets you bitten in the ass," she ranted, going into her closet to grab a few more things.

  "It's not a fucking prison sentence," I told her, shaking my head as she tossed everything into her bag. "You got meds and shit you need to pack?" I asked, watching as her gaze went to her nightstand, something making her start to nibble on her lower lip. "What?" I asked.

  "I don't take prescription medicine," she told me. "And I, ah, I have a medical card for it and everything. I mean, I can leave it here if it is a problem," she added.

  I walked across the room, ripping open the top drawer, finding a bottle of CBD oil and a couple joints.

  "It's fine if you don't want me to bring it."

  "Babe, I got a basement full of fucking illegal guns. I let Seeley get fucked up at my house when he's not of-age. You think I give a shit that you smoke for your seizure shit? Or even just for fun?" I said, tossing it into the bag.

  "Ah, the CBD oil is for the seizures," she told me, picking up her bag. "the other stuff is for something else."

  "For the car shit?" I asked. God, that felt like a fucking year ago already.

  Someday, shit would calm down, and we would be nostalgic for these crazy days. But in the moment, it was all getting to be a bit much.

  "For PTSD," she said, then ducked her head and rushed out of the room before I could ask any follow-up questions.

  She dipped into the bathroom, grabbing a toothbrush, a hair brush, some assorted girl shit, and tossing it into a different bag.

  "How long is this supposed to go on?" she asked as we finally made our way toward the front door. "I need to work," she added, shooting her office a longing glance.

  "If it goes on for longer than the weekend, we can move your recording shit into the clubhouse too."

  "I have absolutely no say in this, do I?" she asked, searching my face for an answer she didn't want to hear.

  "No," I said, shaking my head. "I get that this shit isn't fair. But you're just going to need to go with the flow for now. Once we figure out who is coming at us, we will handle it, and then you can go back to your life."

  "Handle it," she repeated, falling into step with me as we moved across her front yard. "You mean kill them," she concluded, voice tight.

  "Yeah, babe, I mean kill them. Before they kill us. Or you. That's how this works."

  "Have you done it before?" she asked. "Killed people," she clarified.

  "Yes."

  "A lot of people?"

  "Define 'a lot,'" I said, shrugging, figuring she was going to let it drop at that.

  "More than ten," she decided.

  "Me personally? No, not more than ten. Yet. Th
is club? Yes. The mother chapter of this club? Fuck yeah. If it makes you feel any better, no one has been innocent. We don't get off on the killing. It's just part of business."

  "Take them out before they take you out."

  "Exactly." She didn't even sound shocked, or disgusted. "Alright," I said, leading her through the back door of the clubhouse, finding Che and Remy leaning against the island, waiting for me.

  "Was it bad?" Harmon asked, looking at them. "Your fearless leader here isn't saying much," she went on. "But if you guys had me fish a bullet out of him to avoid the hospital last night, then him going to the hospital today is bad, right?"

  "He was okay," Remy said. "A little groggy, confused. Probably has a concussion. Will be getting some stitches. But he's going to be fine. So, you're rooming with us for a while, huh?"

  "As if I have a choice," she said, shooting small eyes in my direction.

  "Have you guys called Teddy?" I asked, ignoring her comment. She would get over it. "It might be a good idea for him to distance himself from us for a bit. Ayanna, too. Tell Booker. He'll keep her stubborn ass away even if she doesn't want to."

  "On it," Che agreed, reaching for his phone.

  "You," I said, nodding at Remy. "I need you to get in touch with that guy about the ballistic steel for the walls. And some sort of security system to hold us over until Booker can fit us in."

  "Consider it done," Remy agreed, moving off to make his calls."

  "So, am I going to be on room arrest, or can I move around the house?" she asked.

  "Both," I told her. "You can walk around unless we say you can't. Some shit, you don't need to know about," I told her, trying to soften the blow of my words.

  "Oh. Yeah. right. Murder plotting," she said, looking a little lost.

  "Alright. Come on. I'll bring you upstairs. You can get settled. Then you can get some coffee," I said, ushering her up the stairs. "No, here," I said when she moved away from the bedroom door.

  "That's your room," she said, stiffening.

  "Yeah," I agreed, opening the door.

  "I can stay in the guest room," she said, backing away.

  "Relax, I'm staying in the guest room. Figure if I have to turn your life upside down, the least I can do is give you the better room, the better bathroom. Plus, there's room in here to move your desk in if it comes to that."

  I didn't want to tell her so, but it was going to come to that. She was freaked out enough. I wanted her to be able to process one thing at a time. But unless Seeley saw a face—which I doubted—or Arty pulled off a miracle, it was going to be a bit before we found the threat, scoped it out, then made a move to take them out.

  Luckily, it wasn't like we had to fuck up her whole life, or rip her away from work, friends, and family.

  She lived and worked alone. Sure, her brother was in the picture, but it didn't seem like they were that tight.

  If anything, it might be good for her to be able to spend some time around other people.

  "Huck," she said as I backed up toward the door.

  "Yeah, babe?"

  "Thanks. For coming when I called," she said, shaking her head. "I know I probably seem ungrateful. It's just... this is all a lot. My life is usually so, ah, boring. And predictable. This is overwhelming. And I don't want you to think I'm blind to the fact that you're trying to do the right thing."

  "You want to thank me, you could walk around in that thong I saw you pack."

  "What is your obsession with thongs?"

  "Have you seen your ass, babe?" I asked, shooting her a smirk, liking the way her cheeks looked a bit pink, but forcing myself out into the hall, closing the door before I got ideas about going over there and sinking my hands into that ass of hers.

  Sure, being at the clubhouse might be the best place for her.

  But keeping my hands to myself wasn't going to be easy.

  "What?" I asked when McCoy raised his brow at me.

  "That look," he said, nodding at me. "I know that look. It was the same look West had when he was falling for your sister."

  "It's not like that."

  "Yeah, think I remember him saying something like that too. Now look at them."

  Living up in Jersey.

  Gus was shacked up with a member of the mother chapter of our club, after he'd come down to help us set up our chapter.

  But it wasn't like that.

  Was Harmon hot? Yeah. Did I want to see her bent over in bed, that amazing ass of hers just begging to be smacked while I fucked her? Of course.

  But that was it.

  I wasn't the settling down type.

  Nothing—and no one—was going to change that.

  I liked my life exactly as it was.

  Or, you know, so I thought.

  Chapter Seven

  Harmon

  For all my original objections, staying with the guys wasn't actually that bad.

  When they weren't partying, they were a pretty chill group who hung out, ordered take out, flicked around at the TV while paying most of their attention other phones.

  You know, just like normal people.

  Except I knew, of course, that they weren't mindlessly scrolling through social media or reading stupid puff piece articles with clickbait titles.

  I caught Huck shooting off texts to some guy named Reign about how things were fine.

  As if getting shot at and attacked was just status quo.

  Hell, maybe it was.

  No one seemed overly anxious about the whole thing. Not even Seeley who'd come home from the hospital the day after he'd gone in after being there for observation because of his concussion.

  He didn't seem the least bothered by the wound on his shoulder, or the one to the side of his temple, the stitches going back into his hairline that they'd needed to shave slightly to put the sutures in.

  I figured he would come home, lounge around for a few days, take advantage of the sympathy he would find from his friends.

  But, nope.

  Seeley was usually the first of everyone up, sweeping up the floor, putting on coffee, even going out to freaking wash the bikes.

  "He should be taking it easy," I objected, watching him out the window for the third day in a row, cleaning already clean bikes.

  "He wouldn't even if you told him to," McCoy informed me. "He's hungry to prove himself."

  "Hasn't he done that already?" I asked, shaking my head. "What do you guys want from him? The promise of his firstborn son? He can't even lift his arm, but he's out there washing your bikes and making your meals and cleaning your clubhouse."

  "Pretty sure you've been taking some of those tasks away from him," McCoy said.

  "Yeah, because he should be taking it easy. And he won't do that if there are tasks to be done. Because your opinion matters to him."

  "Not so much mine, Harm," McCoy said. "Huck's."

  "Yeah, well, when he shows his face, I am going to tell him, too."

  "Tell who what?" Huck asked, rolling out of bed at ten in the morning.

  "You missed breakfast," I told him, more frustrated than I should have been over the fact. But a little voice in the back of my head reminded me that the main reason I'd made a big breakfast spread in the first place was as a sort of truce with Huck for my surly behavior when he'd forced me to come over. And then when I thought he'd screwed up my computer when he brought it over. And, you know, most mornings before I had time to properly wake up and get my coffee. He'd taken it all like a champ. And I wanted to do something nice because of that over the past several days.

  Hence the breakfast.

  And the fact that I was a little bitter about the fact that he'd missed it.

  "You cooked?" he asked, stopping mid-stride to turn to look at me, eyes wide.

  "Yeah. We had waffles and omelets and homemade hash browns..."

  "Those were bangin'," Remy said, nodding. "Dunno what you put in there, but it was pure magic."

  "You cook?" Huck asked again, looking at me like somethi
ng wasn't adding up.

  "Yes, I cook. That's why my ass is the size that it is," I said, trying for a joke. Or so I was telling myself. A part of me just wanted his attention on my ass again.

  Considering he'd been doing some heavy flirting up until he'd installed me in his bedroom, it had all oddly fallen away since then. I swear he barely even looked my way now, let alone made comments about thongs or knowing I wanted him like he wanted me.

  "Why didn't someone tell me?" he asked, sounding almost upset about the whole thing.

  "You were up late," Remy said, shrugging.

  "Yeah, but she cooked."

  "Ah, I am going to assume you guys don't have home cooked meals often."

  "I mean, what Seeley throws together."

  "Unseasoned steak and a side of greasy freezer fries?" I said, shaking my head. "That's not exactly cooking."

  "Was it really that good?" Huck asked, glancing at his men, looking like a little kid who had missed the ice cream truck.

  "Yeah," McCoy told him, seeming to enjoy teasing Huck.

  "Are you going to cook again?" Huck asked, looking over at me.

  "If the mood strikes," I said, shrugging, deciding I was enjoying teasing him a bit too.

  As a whole, he seemed so stalwart, so unflappable. It was entertaining to see him looking worked up about something. And it was hilarious that that thing was a meal he'd missed.

  "How long might that be?"

  "I don't know, " I said, shrugging, making my way out of the room. "But maybe next time you can be awake for it," I added, smiling as I went up the stairs toward the second floor.

  For such a big man, he could move as quietly as a cat when he wanted to. I had no idea he was following me until the door slammed behind me after I'd gone into my room.

  "What..." I started, turning, heart tripping into overdrive.

  Sure, things had been calm. There hadn't been any more drive-bys, anyone getting hit with rocks, but a part of me was still on edge when there were sudden noises.

  "So," Huck said, leaning back against my bedroom door, giving me that cocky little smile of his. "What kind of mood do you have to be in to cook again?" he asked.