Legacy - Night Horde SoCal 3

by Sarah Osborn

  “Maybe you should try selling more.” Felix popped out his hip. “That is why I employed you.”

  She shook her head. “You employed me so you can sneak off whenever the fancy takes you.” The shop was just another in a long line of projects that Felix had thrown himself into, and she figured he'd get bored with it soon, just like all the others. “You are aware that a successful business is supposed to sell stuff and make a profit. It's not just an excuse to buy every shiny thing that catches your eye.”

  “You sound just like James.” He swapped two pieces around, then swapped them back again. “And you still haven't answered my question. How was the wedding? Did your mom and Beth get into a cat fight?”

  “The wedding was pretty dull, actually.” She grinned and passed him her cell. “Wanna see Dad in a suit?”

  “Oh my!” Felix's eyebrows shot up. “He does scrub up nicely, doesn't he? I could...”

  “Don't!” Lottie put her hands over her ears. “Whatever it is you'd like to do to my father, please keep it to yourself.”

  Felix smirked and continued scrolling through the pictures. “Wow! Is that Tiny's kid? It has to be, he looks just like him.” His grin widened. “Now that I could...”

  “Felix!”

  He laughed. “Tell me you don't think he's cute.”

  “He's Tiny's kid. It doesn't matter how cute he is.”

  “I'd have thought that would be a bonus. Your caveman of a father is less likely to beat him into a pulp.”

  Lottie made a face. “True. But he'd probably approve. And that would be worse. Luke's cute and he's nice but it would just be way too complicated.”

  “Nice? Tiny's kid is nice? Now there's a triumph of nurture over nature.”

  “Did you know him well?” She couldn't remember him mentioning Tiny before, although she'd always assumed their paths must've crossed.

  “Not really.” Felix swapped the vases around again. “But on the few occasions I saw him, 'nice' was not a word I'd have used. Hot and terrifying, maybe, but definitely not nice.”

  “Mom liked him.”

  “Your mom married your dad, sweetie.”

  “Point taken.” Lottie swapped the vases back. “I'm hungry. I think it's your turn to get lunch.”

  ~ oOo ~

  Abi said their mom had a martyr syndrome or something, and she was sure as shit demonstrating it now. Luke stabbed at his bacon as she piled on the guilt. “Abs was cool with me splitting, Mom. I snuck out early, what's the big deal?”

  “You snuck out with Lottie.” His mom sipped her coffee and sighed. “You need to stay away from her, Luke.”

  His dad smiled. “I'm sure Lottie's a nice girl, and it's understandable that you'd want to see your dad's stuff, but her dad is bad news. Your mom's just worried that you'll get sucked into that life.”

  “Jesus, I'm a grown man, Mom. I have my own place, I work and pay taxes. I'm capable of making my own judgments. And I'm pretty sure being a biker is a condition of joining the club.”

  “If you were capable of making your own judgments, you wouldn't have dropped out of school, and would have stuck in a job for more than six months.”

  The beast stirred, and the voice that had been in his head forever whispered. “Put that shit away, son. Don't turn it on the people you love.” Luke looked up and met his mother's eyes. “Back off, Mom.” He'd seen that look before—Samson had given him a similar one the day before. “This isn't your call.”

  “You need to stay away from Samson. He's a dangerous man.”

  “Oh, please. All Luke's interested in is getting into Lottie's panties.” Imi sat back and smirked. “Ain't that right, Bro.”

  “That's enough, Imi.” His dad glanced at his watch. “You guys need to get your stuff from the rooms. We're going to have to move if we don't want to miss our flight.”

  “I'm gonna stick around for a few days.” Luke had spoken before his brain was aware of what he was going to say.

  “What about work?”

  He shrugged. “It's just another dead-end job, Mom. If they let me go, I'll find another.”

  “And what will you do? Please tell me you're not going to be spending time with Samson.”

  “I don't know.” Luke pushed his plate away and stood up. “Probably, seeing as he's the only one who's prepared to talk about Dad.”

  Henry pulled out his wallet and handed over a credit card. “The rooms here aren't cheap, and you'll need to rent a car. You can pay me back when you get home.” His mom opened her mouth, but he silenced her with a look. “Luke needs to do this, Beth.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” EIGHTY-EIGHT

  If he was honest with himself, Luke's decision to stay in Seattle had more to do with getting to know Lottie than it did with tracing his roots. He'd felt a connection with her that he needed to explore further, but he'd been too dumb to get her number, which was why he found himself knocking on the door of Samson's little house in the country.

  “Luke!” Emma smiled as she opened the door. “Come on in. Deke's not here, but you're welcome to wait till he gets home. I thought you were going home today.”

  “I was, but I thought I'd like to stay awhile.” His eyes fell on a group of black and white photographs on the hallway wall. “Did Lottie take these?”

  “Yeah.” Emma laughed. “I'm just glad I wasn't the subject. I'm not vain, but I don't want to be faced with every single wrinkle every time I go to collect the mail.”

  “I like them.”

  “I do, too, but Lottie doesn't pull any punches.” She tapped a portrait of Samson. “That is not how I see him.” She turned and led him through to the kitchen. “Do you have any plans for while you're here?”

  “Not really. I just thought I'd look around for a while.” Emma was in the midst of preparing dinner, and he picked up the knife on the counter. “How do you want the carrots chopped?”

  “Big chunks. I don't know what time Deke will be home, so I'm making a casserole.” Her eyes widened as he began chopping the vegetables. “Wow. Those are some impressive knife skills.”

  “I work in a kitchen.” Luke grinned. “Well, worked. They'll probably fire me. I'm supposed to be in tomorrow.”

  “Why are you here, Luke?” Up close, she looked older than she'd first appeared, but those were the lines of a person who laughed a lot, and her hands spoke of a person who wasn't afraid of hard work.

  He shrugged and shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “Samson said I was family.”

  Emma nodded and passed him a red onion. “You are. But I don't want us to come between you and your mom.”

  “She lied.”

  “I think she believes every word she says.” She frowned. “What did she tell you about your dad?”

  “Not much.” He dropped the chopped vegetables into the slow cooker.

  Emma laughed. “You're a lot like him.”

  “Yeah, I've seen the pictures.”

  She searched his face for a while and took a deep breath. “No, I mean there's a lot of Tiny in you. What do you remember about him?”

  He shrugged. “Just stupid stuff.”

  “Stupid stuff, huh?” She grinned. “Pass me those herbs. Shit, no bay leaves. Oh well, Deke just shovels it into his mouth, no matter how it tastes.”

  “I was just a little kid, Emma. I don't even know if what I remember is real.”

  “Is that why you're here? To find out about your dad?”

  “I guess.” He pulled himself up to his full height. “Did you and him have an affair?”

  “Wow. You don't beat about the bush.”

  “I'm not interested in anything you have to say if you two were fucking behind Mom's back.”

  He honestly didn't think there was anything funny about what he said, but Emma clearly did, and it took her a while to compose herself. “Sorry.” She wiped her eyes. “In answer to your question: No, there was no fucking behind anyone's back. Tiny loved Beth and I love Deke.” She laughed again. “And if you want to know what yo
ur dad was like, look in a mirror.”

  He was like his dad? Of course Luke had often wondered whether there was more than a physical resemblance, but he'd usually dismissed it. His dad had been part of a violent motorcycle gang, and the only thing he remembered of the funeral was the hundreds of bikes. Luke couldn't be more different: he had an almost pathological fear of conflict, and had never felt close to anyone, except, maybe, Alice. He was a loner, not because he particularly enjoyed his own company, but because he'd never felt comfortable around people.

  He felt comfortable here, though.

  He'd expected Emma to elaborate, but she'd just patted him on the arm and smiled sadly before turning on the slow cooker. “I have to work. You're welcome to wait here, there's a TV in the living room and plenty of books. If you're hungry, help yourself to anything.”

  “You're going to leave me here alone?” He couldn't believe anyone could be so trusting. “Aren't you worried I'll rob the place?”

  Emma laughed. “Good luck with that. There's nothing here worth stealing, and if you were stupid enough to try, Deke would hurt you. A lot. I'll only be over there.” She pointed to her studio. “If you need me, just holler.” She touched his arm again, something he'd usually hate, but with her felt okay somehow, and, with the dogs at her heel, she walked to the door, leaving him alone.

  After cleaning the kitchen—he couldn't believe she was prepared to leave it like that—he poured himself a coffee and wandered over to the bookcase. Like everything else in the house, it appeared, at first glance, to be all Emma, but on closer examination Lottie and Samson's presence made themselves known. Between the intricate wall hangings were stick figures drawn in crayon on scraps of paper, among the books on gardening and art were Harley manuals. And right next to The Tao of Pooh was a copy of Hells Angels, by Hunter S Thomson.

  It didn't seem possible that two so very different people could work, but Samson and Emma had been together for a long time and, from the little he'd seen, were happy together. And they'd had a daughter. He grinned and picked up a faded photograph of Lottie, aged about ten, in torn jeans and with a smudge of something across her cheek. The daughter of the hippy and the outlaw.

  EIGHTY-NINE

  When he'd been a prospect, the club had been full of old men. Now it was full of kids. Samson sat on his usual stool at the end of the bar and watched Lottie and the latest prospect play pool. He peered into his lite beer and sighed. He'd become 'that guy.' The one with his usual seat, who drank lite beer, cuz he had to watch his weight. He even had his own fucking glass. The old timer, who was mostly ignored and bitched about the goddamned music.

  Lottie sank the eight ball and held out her hand. Samson grinned as the prospect handed over a ten dollar bill; the poor sucker just never learned.

  Sunday afternoons at the clubhouse had become something of a tradition for him and his kid. Unlike Friday and Saturday nights, when the place was crowded, and not everyone knew to keep their hands to themselves, it was quiet, with no more than a handful of his brothers and their families. He liked spending time with her, and relished every moment. One of these days, his Lottie was going to want to spread her wings, and she was her father's daughter. When his little girl learned to fly, he feared she'd never come home.

  She caught him watching, and grinned. “Wanna play, old man?”

  He stood and slammed a twenty on the table. “Just remember, wiggling those titties ain't gonna work with me.”

  Lottie raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Don't need to wiggle anything at anyone to beat you.”

  “Ha! Fighting talk.” He pulled out another twenty from his wallet. “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

  While Lottie was more than capable of hustling some snot-nosed wannabe, who was too scared of her dad to beat her, she really wasn't much of a pool player, and Samson struggled to let her win. Finally after a game that lasted an eternity, she sank the black, then silently walked to the bar. He pocketed the money and followed her. “You didn't pick up your winnings.”

  “No.” Lottie frowned and sipped her soda. “I told you, I don't need your money. Please don't patronize me.”

  “It's just a few bucks. Felix said you've been walking to work. Get some gas.”

  “Jesus. This fucking family drives me nuts. I'm walking to work because I can never find anywhere to park, and I like walking.”

  “And has nothing to do with the fact that you're broke again.” He pulled the money from his pocket. “Then spend it on something shiny.”

  “Dad!”

  “Just take the money, Lottie.” He slammed it on the bar. “Do as you're fucking told.”

  Spike, who'd been listening to their exchange, snorted. “A Samson woman doing as she's told? I wanna be around when that happens.”

  “You an' me, both, brother.”

  Lottie rolled her eyes. “I'm going to go and talk to someone who exists in the twenty-first century.”

  Spike chuckled as she wandered off in search of her next victim. “They never learn, do they?”

  “Nope.”

  “So. How was the wedding?” Samson had known Spike had been itching to ask. “Beth an' the kids okay?”

  He shrugged, and immediately regretted it as a sharp pain shot along his arm. “Beth's the same as always. The kids are fine. Abs looked beautiful—she's the image of her mom, and the twins seemed okay, but I didn't speak to them.” He grinned and nodded over to where Lottie was talking to one of the new patches and his young wife. “She took a shine to Luke. Took him back to our place to see Tiny's stuff.”

  “You okay with that?”

  “She's a grown woman, Spike. But I don't think there's a father in the world would want their daughter within a hundred miles of Tiny's kid.”

  “He like his dad?”

  “A lot.”

  “Shit.” Spike passed him a cigarette. “I could see it in him, when he was a kid.”

  Samson knew that this was the reason Tiny wanted Spike's eyes on his family if he wasn't around. “He ain't got that fucking attitude his dad had at his age, but....”

  “You know what Tiny would've wanted.”

  “Tiny ain't here, Brother. Beth kept him away from the club for a reason.”

  “Ain't her call.”

  “It ain't ours, either.” Samson lit his smoke and watched his daughter. Luke would be back in Cali now, and hopefully he'd decide to stay there.

  NINETY

  Lottie found herself on the ratty old sofa in the corner of the clubhouse, trying as hard as she could to not think about the bodily fluids that had been spilled there. She could think of better ways to spend a Sunday, but her dad would be disappointed if she stood him up, and she liked spending time with him—always had. As a kid she'd hung out in his workshop with him all the time and, almost by osmosis, had learned how to build bikes. He'd taught her how to ride and, to her mother's dismay, how to use a gun... although she'd apparently inherited Emma's shooting skills. There had been an abortive attempt to teach her how to box, but Lottie had cried almost all the time, because she didn't want to hurt anybody.

  She picked at her nail polish and waited until her dad was done talking with Spike. She didn't dislike him, but he did make her uncomfortable at times. And her dad would get all bent out of shape if he stepped out of line. She knew Spike would never actually do anything, and that his was a scattershot approach when it came to women. Every female over the age of consent would be on the receiving end of, what he called, the ol' Spike charm, in the hope that maybe one would fall for it and drop her panties. She sighed. It was kinda sad, really.

  Her dad turned and gave her an apologetic smile, and she gave him a little wave, then stood and, reluctantly, joined them. He grinned and threw his arm over her shoulder. “You run out of suckers to hustle?”

  “Yeah. No one wants to play with me anymore.” She pouted. “Make them play with me, Daddy.”

  He kissed her forehead and laughed. “Brat.”

  “I am ki
nda bored, though.” She dug her elbow into his ribs and waved the twenties under his nose. “How about we take a ride? I'll treat you to a steak.”

  ~ oOo ~

  He loved riding with his kid almost as much as he did with his ol' lady. And he infinitely preferred to have her on his bitch seat than on her own bike. Samson had few regrets, but teaching Lottie to ride was one of them. Whenever she took her bike out, he'd be on tenterhooks until she got home. And runs with her was downright humiliating. That fucking crotch rocket left his old Fat Boy standing.

  They always used the same steakhouse; it was a nice ride from the clubhouse, and was usually quiet on a Sunday. Samson felt a little guilty that there wasn't a vegetarian menu, but Lottie insisted that she was happy with side dishes and salad, and that their cheesecake was the best in town. He pulled onto the lot and, as he unclipped his helmet, felt his cell vibrate.

  “Hey, baby. What's up?”

  “Luke's here.”

  “Oh. What does he want?”

  “I don't know. To talk to you, I think.”

  “I guess I'd better head home, then.”

  “Please. I've had to abandon him. I'm so behind on this piece, and I've already had two extensions.”

  “I'll be as quick as I can, I just have to take Lottie home, then I'll hit the road.”

  Lottie frowned. “Problem?”

  He'd have liked to have lied, but Lottie was Emma's kid, and she'd see straight through it. “Luke showed up at our place. Your mom didn't want to turn him away, but she has to work. It looks like we'll have to cut our date short. I'll take you home.”

  “I'll come with you.”

  Shit, he'd had a feeling she was going to say that. “How are you gonna get back? You've got work in the morning, an' I don't like you riding at night.”

  “Luke must have a car. He can drive me back.”

  Of course he could. Perfect. Fucking perfect.

  NINETY-ONE

  While Lottie loved riding with her dad, she really wished that he'd forget she was there, and stop riding like an old woman. She knew if he'd been on his own, he'd have made the journey home in a fraction of the time, but urging him to go faster was a complete waste of time. He was convinced that if he opened the bike up, she'd fall off and break her neck or something.