“Riding doesn’t solve everything, Watcher.” From the humorous tone of Andy’s voice, Watcher knew he threw it out as a joke, but Watcher wanted him to understand sometimes what we choose to do is a reflection of who we are.
“Brother, you know that ain’t true. Motorcycles are like livin’. Either get the fuck on and ride or don’t and sit the curb. Simple as that. Your life, your choice.”
Silence for a moment, then Andy asked, “What about you?”
Juanita had walked out of the house and stood, smiling at the trio lying on the ground. “Me? Oh, hell yeah, I’m ridin’.”
Never again
Watcher
“Jesus.” Watcher twisted to look the other direction along the alley, hearing a grunt as Opie hit the wall beside him. “How many are there?”
“Got ten or twelve, but they’re packing a serious arsenal.” Another fusillade of shots came from the street running parallel to where they stood. Opie grunted again, tapped his earpiece and said, “On our way, brother.” To Watcher, he said, “We gotta move. Spider’s got two of them outside the safe room at the church.”
“Outside?” Watcher didn’t wait for a response. He jogged down the alley, knowing Opie and the other men would be directly behind him.
His own earpiece hit static for a moment, then, “Got forty rolling the bridge, Prez.”
Fuck. He, Opie, and the other men here were in a better position to deflect the new wave of enemies. He tapped his earpiece, grunting, “Copy. Update with changes.” Turning with one raised fist, halting their advance, he told the men at his back, “Bikes headed our way. We need to cut them off.”
The Soldiers had been engaged in a running battle with the cartel for nearly three months. Each time Watcher thought they’d cut the head off the snake, it wiggled back to life. His Soldiers had worked hard to convince the coyotes it wasn’t worth their lives to route through Soldier territory north of the bridge. Since the Soldiers claimed I-10 from Odessa, Texas, west through New Mexico to Lordsburg, and from El Paso up through Albuquerque, it didn’t give Machos or the cartel much room to ease past them. But, carving out that section gave his men the bulk of the state as theirs, and outside of the Machos, it wasn’t a claim to be questioned.
Colorado clubs stayed north of the Soldiers, and the western clubs weren’t interested in anything other than Cali. Things should have been comfortable. Should have been, but the cartel also looked to be finding additional support in small upstart clubs, cycling cash and product through them in a way that ensured they grew out of control, imploding at the end. Even knowing it was coming, each bloody implosion still took energy to watch and contain. Mason, Bones, and Watcher had determined this was the cartel’s intent. A tactic to keep enough shit stirred up to keep the clubs busy and on guard, giving the cartel time and room to seek out other avenues to peddle their product.
The way Watcher saw things, he could just about map how deep the Machos were in with the Columbians. He didn’t expect they’d ever be able to claw their way clear of anything, and Raul reported the Mexican club had seen record defections. It looked like Machos had joined forces with the cartel to try and maneuver things so their men had no choice but to toe the line. This meant frequent forays into the US to bring back money to buy loyalty. Or, as they were today, they could try and flank the Soldiers and run a shipment through where they weren’t supposed to be.
Tapping his earpiece, he barked a call number, then waited. A moment later Devil said, “Yeah, boss?”
“Routing to intercept.” Their path was predetermined because he took this kind of shit into account when putting together a battle plan. “Cover base.”
“Copy.”
Base was his home, where his girls and Juanita were, and the Southern Soldiers’ only clubhouse. Devil was either already onsite or headed that way because it was where their families had gathered. Today was supposed to have been a family party, interrupted by this bullshit business.
He used another call number, getting a response broken by gunfire in his ear. “Spider’s got executive decision.” Beside him, Opie laughed.
“Copy.” The single word came through the earpiece, all sound crisper now the gunfire had ceased. “Spider’s in control.”
Cutting his gaze to Opie, Watcher muttered, “Gonna regret that, aren’t I?”
“Oh, hell yeah, boss.” Opie shrugged his rifle higher on his shoulder. “He’ll lord it over everyone until we’re sick of it, then you’ll have to beat his ass.” Laughing again, Opie said, “SNAFU. Dude should have it tattooed on his body, but he lives to deal with this kind of shit.”
“True that,” Watcher said, moving towards the mouth of the alley again. “Let’s roll.”
Five hours later, he and every Soldier member stood around the patio table beside the backyard pool and sang a very upbeat, if off-key happy birthday to both Carmela and Bella. The girls didn’t share a birthday, but with only two weeks between, Juanita always thought it’d be more fun for both girls to celebrate them together.
Mela darted around the room, aiming her camera at the different groups, urging them to smile by angling her head around the device and grinning at them. Raul was nearby, not hovering, but close, the man quiet as laughter rang from the crowd of children gathered around the cake. This year should have been Carmela’s quinceanera. Seeing the pain on Raul’s face, Watcher firmed his resolve to do whatever it took to make it so no father ever had to look at their daughter with that expression again. Never again. Not my girls.
***
“’Nita, honey, stop crying.” Watcher hated how his voice sounded, hearing the broken pieces of his heart exposed in the words. “Honey, please.” Ass to the bathroom floor, he held her against his chest, one leg propped on either side of her shaking body. “Honey, stop. You’re gonna make yourself sick.” She yanked on his shirt, pulling hard, face buried against his chest. “Baby, stop crying. I love you.”
She wailed, a brief tormented sound brutally cut off as she shook her head. “No.” Even the one word was a struggle for her to get out, her voice catching and hiccupping. “Na…No, Watcher.”
“You know I do, baby. I love you.” Each time they went through this she questioned why he would stay with her. Over the years he’d run out of words, and instead tried every day to show her. She moved to push away, and he tightened his arms around her, holding her close. Watcher tipped his head, resting his cheek on her hair. “I love you, honey. Shhhh. You can’t do this again, honey. You gotta stop this.”
He’d woken as she crept out of their bed, carefully easing out from underneath the covers, trying not to disturb him. When she didn’t return after a few minutes, he’d thrown back the sheet and seen the blood. She hadn’t even told him she might be pregnant this time, which meant she’d endured the anguish of waiting alone.
“You and our Bella, our Mela? Right there, everything I need.” He gave her a squeeze. “And I cain’t lose you, baby. Cain’t, not and stay sane. I’m gonna call the padre, get his wife to come wait with the girls while you and I hit the ER.” She shook her head, and he gave her another squeeze. “Honey, don’t even think you’re gonna argue with me. You should know by now, I always win when it comes to making sure you’re okay.” He moved, sliding out from behind her, frowning when he saw the growing stain on her nightgown. “Up you get. Wash your face, and we’ll head into town.” Phone in hand, calls made while he dressed, he grabbed her robe on his way back to the bathroom and came to an abrupt halt in the doorway. His heart squeezed in his chest, and fear paralyzed him for a moment, cold sweat breaking out all over his body. There was a large pool of red spreading out from where she lay silent and still on the floor.
“Juanita!” He stooped, one knee to the tile next to her, panicked when there was still no response. Gently he lifted her shoulders. As her head fell backwards, he caught it in one hand, cradling her. “Jesus. Honey, come on.” Nothing.
Careless of the blood, he gathered her into his arms and ran, racing th
rough the house and barreling out the door and into the night. A car was pulling up as he closed the vehicle door on an awake but groggy Juanita, but he didn’t stop to greet the woman behind the wheel. He was afraid he’d already wasted too much time.
Phone in hand, Watcher reversed down the driveway, the truck jerking and jumping when he spun the wheel, stopping with a jolt as the back bumper hit a fencepost, then he jammed the transmission into drive. Wheels spitting gravel behind him, he accelerated to the road, feeling the rear wheels jolting across the surface when he slid sideways, foot already buried to the floorboard.
Five minutes later he skidded the truck to a slanted halt in front of the ER doors, met by a corps of nurses and Juanita’s doctor. Lifting her carefully from the seat, he laid her on the gurney, one hand on her leg as he raced up the hallway beside her, not caring he’d left the doors of the truck ajar.
Four hours later, seated in the surgical waiting area, Watcher was still waiting. Elbows to his knees, he was bent over, fingers of one hand rubbing across his forehead, back and forth. Staring at nothing, he ran the events through his head again and again. Shoulda known. The rasp of his callused fingertips rubbing across his skin was all he could hear. The hospital was quiet at this time of the morning. I shoulda got up sooner. He sighed, glancing at the clock and then back down to the floor. Shoulda called an ambulance. Footsteps in the hallway pulled him to his feet, and he was facing the doors when Opie walked in, followed closely by a half a dozen of his Soldiers.
“Hear anything?” That was Opie. He walked across the room, reaching out to grip Watcher’s shoulder. Watcher shook his head. “Need coffee?” Fingers gripping tight, Opie held on as Watcher’s mouth twisted sideways. Opie saw and swallowed hard, then asked again, “Need some coffee, brother?”
“No,” Watcher got out, turning to look away. “Who called?”
“One-Shot’s gal works ER,” Opie twisted to gesture to one of the men now seated in the hard, plastic chairs beside the black TV. “She called him, he called me, I called them.” He turned back to Watcher. “We’ll talk later about why you didn’t call.” His grip tightened on Watcher’s shoulder again. “For now, it’s enough we’re here.” When Opie grinned at Watcher, it wasn’t true, didn’t hit his eyes, but he was trying. “I need coffee, and you’re a bastard without yours, so I’ll grab you a cup, too.”
Two cardboard cups of stewed and burned coffee later Juanita’s doctor walked to the doorway and paused, looking around at the men scattered around the room. “Mr. Otey,” he called, and Watcher stood, not sure how to take the look on the man’s face. “Come with me.”
He didn’t think he could walk across the room without falling to his knees, so shaking his head, Watcher planted his feet, waiting. “No.” Somewhere he found enough strength to demand, “Tell me.” The doc scanned the room again, his gaze coming back to Watcher. “They’re my brothers, Doc. My family.”
“Juanita’s going to be okay. It was a…challenging surgery.” They’d taken her away to stop the bleeding, the docs not sure what they’d have to do once they got started, but Watcher hadn’t expected actual surgery. In the past, she’d had the procedures where they made sure she miscarried cleanly, but this sounded like so much more. Worse. “As you know, she’d lost a lot of blood. We had trouble keeping her stable during the surgery.”
Watcher held tight to the doc’s first words: She’s going to be okay.
“Mr. Otey, we had to perform a partial hysterectomy.” The doc paused like he expected Watcher to yell and scream, when all he felt was a profound relief. Never again would she have to go through this. Never again. “She’s in recovery now, still under anesthesia, but once she’s awake and alert, we’ll move her to a room. Would you like to go back with me and see your wife?” Opie’s hand pounded the center of Watcher’s back, rocking him forwards as he nodded.
Watcher took a step, then turned back to Opie. No more babies. Ever. “Need you to bring Bella and Mela here, soon as you can.” Opie nodded. “She’ll need to see them. This is gonna kill her.” Opie nodded again, lips twisting in sympathy. “Thanks, brothers.” Watcher looked around the room, marking each face turned his way. “No words.”
***
Watcher kept Mela visible from the corner of his eye, cataloging what was off with her. Bella had to be restrained from throwing herself at her mother, not worried about her so much as simply missing her. Even though she was older than Tabby had been when their mother died, Bella wasn’t mature enough to understand mortality and what could have happened. And if Watcher had his way, he’d try to make sure she never experienced loss as he and his sister had.
Mela, on the other hand, older than her years, having seen so much of life, and not the good parts, seemed to know exactly how close they’d come to losing Juanita. Eyes to the toes of her shoes, she leaned against the wall on the other side of the room. As far from the door as she could be, but even though she kept her distance, she was still close enough to Juanita to reach out and touch if Mela wanted. Bella was hanging off the railing on the bed, talking a mile a minute to a smiling Juanita.
Juanita had taken the news better than Watcher expected. He’d led the conversation softly to where he needed it to be but hadn’t held anything back. The bleeding was bad, the docs had tried to stop it, but couldn’t. They also couldn’t pour blood into her fast enough to compensate for what she was losing, so, midsurgery, a decision was made to save her life. Those were the terms the doc used, and that was what Watcher repeated. So fuckin’ close to losin’ her.
A touch on the back of his hand caused him to jerk and look down. Mela. She’d sidled in his direction while he’d been distracted, and now stood next to him. In a whisper, she asked, “She’s gonna be okay, right?”
“Yeah, honey. She’s gonna be fine.”
Mela was silent for a beat, then with a small voice asked her question again, seeking a reassurance he didn’t understand. "She really okay?"
"Yeah, baby girl, she really is," he responded, resting his hand on her shoulder. "She's okay, now and forever."
"Was it...?" Her voice trailed off, and she tucked her chin to her throat. Shoulders curling in, she stayed quiet until he prompted with a soft repeat of her words.
“Was it what, honey?”
“Was it because of what happened to her? Before?” Despite the quivering fear in her voice, she pushed onwards. “You know, before you saved her?”
Watcher stared at her, the anxiety bleeding from her at such levels he could feel it from where he stood. “No, Mela. This was something she needed to have done.”
“But, how can you be sure?” He watched as she cut her eyes up at him, then back down, again studying the toes of her shoes. “Really, really sure?”
“Carmela.” He called her name, wanting to put this fear to bed for her for good. “Juanita got sick once. Now, she doesn’t make the right kind of stuff to help her stay pregnant. Isabella is a miracle, because when we had her, we didn't even know there was a problem. The surgery was because her body couldn't stand another pregnancy. Every time she got pregnant, the risks to her were worse, and I agree with the docs. I don't wanna lose her. It didn't have anything to do with what happened to her.” He leaned in, needing to get it right. “Or you, honey. You gotta know this won't happen to you. What you went through doesn't mean you'll have the same problems. But”—lifting his hand, he stroked her hair, draping and smoothing it over her shoulder—“if this is something you're worried about, we can talk to someone, make sure you're good.” She nodded, bottom lip trapped between her teeth, and he nodded in response. “I'll get it set up, honey.” He pressed his hand to her back, gently urging her towards the bed. “Now go, say hello to Mama ‘Nita. She wants to see you.”
Mela looked up at him searchingly before she nodded. “I'd...thank you.” He was surprised when she circled his hips with her arms, burying her face against his ribs. “I love you, Papa Watcher.”
Cradling the back of her head, he bent deep, pre
ssing his lips to the top of her head. “I love you, too, my Mela.”
Enemies and friends
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Spider muttered from behind where Watcher sat in a chair positioned along one long edge of a table. They were in the back room of a diner in Lordsburg, taking a meet with Shooter. Watcher hadn’t expected this conversation to be contentious and, caught off guard, tried to school his face to an impassive expression. What Spider was reacting to was Shooter’s demand of free passage across I-10. Not a request, but a demand. “Are you fucking high?”
Watcher held up one hand, silencing Spider. He stared at Shooter, taking in the man’s relaxed pose. Casually leaning back from the table, ankle up on one knee, elbow propped on the back of the chair beside him. In any other setting, Shooter would be giving off the impression of a man who’d recently pushed back from a buffet table, filled and satiated. Comfortable, visiting with friends. At his back stood a small group of men, and one boy who wasn’t trying to hide his dislike of every man in the room. Watcher lifted his chin, studying the boy. “Luke,” he said, knowing this was Shooter’s son.
Shooter brought the flat of his palm down on the table, slapping it sharply. “Talk to me, not my boy.” Watcher didn’t flinch. There was a slide of metal on leather from guns leaving holsters behind him, but he kept his gaze on the kid. The corners of Luke’s mouth curled down, and his head moved side-to-side ever so slightly, disgusted in some way at his father’s posturing. Interesting.
Shooter’s father had gone down in Utah some time ago, about the same time Darrie had died, and since Justice Morgan’s death, the Outriders had pulled back. It took a while, but Shooter had settled into the role he’d been training for since he was younger than Luke. This would be the Outriders’ first attempt to venture into Soldiers’ territory, and Watcher wondered if Shooter had chosen this direction because he thought Watcher still had some loyalty, or—and this thought pissed him off—if Shooter felt the Soldiers were weak in some way.
Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 3 Page 87