by Sarah Osborn
“He's a good kid; works hard and stays out of trouble. I guess that's Beth's doing.” He chuckled. “And Henry's. Beth did okay, there. He's a decent guy.” The old man in the distance pulled a large white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes, then turned and walked to the gate. “But he keeps himself close and keeps moving. Spike thinks...” He shook his head. “Fucking stupid idea—kid don't even ride, an' even if he did, ain't no way I could take him on. I'm an old man. My days on the road are over, an' Luke's a nomad, it's written all over him.” He pulled off his beanie, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don't want my little girl nowhere near him, brother.”
A small girl trotted through the gates, took the old man's hand, and led him, chattering in the way only small girls can, towards a woman—her mother, he assumed—leaning on a car parked next to his bike. “I guess I don't get a say. But if he hurts her, I'll kill him.”
~ oOo ~
“Sorry I'm late.” Lottie headed to the tiny room out back to hang up her coat. “I.. um.. overslept.”
Felix arched an eyebrow. “Sure you did. I know that look, Charlotte Samson. You got laid.”
She grinned. “Coffee?”
“Sure.” Felix followed her and poured them both a cup. “So, who's the lucky guy?”
“Luke—don't say anything to Mom.”
“Tiny's Luke? I thought he was back in Cali.”
“He decided to stay awhile.” Lottie sipped her coffee and frowned. “You can't say anything, Felix. If dad finds out, he'll lose his shit.”
“I thought he'd be okay about that.”
“Me too, but he's being really weird.” She sighed. “I don't get it. I know he doesn't want me near any of his brothers, but Luke has no interest in the club.”
“Is this thing going somewhere, Lottie? Because if it is, you can't sneak around, and I'm not going to lie to your mom.”
Was it going somewhere? Lottie wasn't sure, but even if she set aside the fact that she'd just had the best sex ever, there was something about Luke that she'd not experienced before. She liked how self-contained he was, and there was something about the way he carried himself. It kind of reminded her of her dad.
Oh! Fuck!
“No. It's not going anywhere.” She forced herself to smile. “I don't do boyfriends, you know that.”
She got it now. The reason her dad didn't want her to get involved with Luke was because what he saw in Tiny's kid was potential. He saw a Freak. No, it was worse. He saw a nomad.
Fuck.
Lottie loved her dad, and she'd grown up with uncles who'd worn a patch on their backs. It was all she knew, and she'd never felt anything other than loved and protected. But she'd also been the kid with her dad in the joint, and the kid who learned at a very young age when to avert her eyes and button her lip. A memory of a teacher commenting on her good manners popped into her head. Growing up around her dad's brothers had done that. Her dad was wrapped around her finger, but Samson demanded respect.
She didn't remember her dad wearing a nomad patch, but she was well aware of his reputation. And while it was hard to reconcile the loving father with the ruthless outlaw, she was sure that the snippets of information that had reached her ears were just the tip of the iceberg. And Tiny was the stuff of legend.
She took a breath. “I'm going to do something about the window display. It's too cluttered.”
As she walked back into the shop, Felix laid a hand on her shoulder. Talk to your mom, love?”
She shook her head.
“I think you should. Because I don't believe that this is nothing, and if this isn't resolved you're going to get all pouty—which is bad for business. Then I'll have to get up in your dad's face. I could outrun him now, but he could still damage my beautiful face.”
Felix did this all the time. He'd push and poke, until she admitted he was right. And once she did, he'd be her greatest champion. Lottie had grown up surrounded by hard-bitten outlaws, but none were braver than her Uncle Felix.
NINETY-FIVE
It had taken three attempts for Luke to find the Freaks MC clubhouse. The GPS had taken him to a bar called The Freak Club, which, while interesting, wasn't somewhere that he could see Samson or Spike drinking in. Then he'd found himself outside The Clubhouse, a bar in an area that, he guessed, a real estate agent would call 'up and coming.' There were signs of new business, and among the slightly rundown houses, there was fresh paint and manicured lawns. He'd nearly gone inside—there were bikes on the lot, but there were cars too, and the clientele were most definitely not Freaks.
Finally, after calling Lottie and getting directions—something he should've done in the first place—he found it in a forgotten part of the city, surrounded by vacant lots and derelict buildings. The place looked like it was empty—there were no lights shining through the windows, and the doors were closed. But there were a few bikes outside, and he recognized one of them.
Lottie had told him that it wasn't a good idea to just walk in, and that there would probably be no one there in any case, but he'd wanted to see it. And it wasn't like he had anything else to do until she got home from work.
He was curious, though, and that was Samson's bike. Fuck it. He climbed out of the car and made his way to the big black doors, emblazoned with the two-headed viper. He hadn't even touched the door when it swung open. “I wondered if you'd show up here. Come on in.”
“How did...” Samson rolled his eyes and looked up at the security cameras. “Oh, yeah.” Feeling kind of stupid, he followed the big biker inside.
It was the archetypal biker bar, frozen in time. Dimly lit, stale smelling, with a pool table at one end, and a few low tables and stools scattered about the place. On the wall furthest from the doors, the viper looked out over a long, well stocked bar, and in the far corner there was a cage. Samson grinned and clapped him on the back. “It ain't changed much since you were last here.”
“I've been here?”
“Yeah. When you were a baby. Reckon you've had your diaper changed on that pool table a few times.”
“Oh. Did Mom come here? I thought...”
“Wasn't really your mom's scene, but she'd come sometimes. Usually your dad would bring you.”
“Dad took me to a biker bar?”
“Not to the parties, son.” Samson chuckled. “Mostly, it's like it is now—a few ol' timers cryin' into their beers an' reminiscing about the good ol' days. There are worse places for kids to be.”
Luke couldn't quite see how. On the wall nearest to them was a photograph of his dad, surrounded by dozens of others. Samson followed his gaze and frowned. “Fallen brothers.”
“There's a lot.”
“Yup. Club's been around a long time. Most of 'em croaked on the john, an' not in a hail of bullets or under the wheels of a semi.”
“Does that mean they don't get to Valhalla?”
“Nope. It means they were smart.” He grinned and slung his arm over Luke's shoulder. “An' that they shoulda eaten more fiber.”
Luke allowed himself to be led to the small group of men huddled over the bar. At first glance, apart from the leather vests, there was little to set them apart from the old timers who frequented dive bars, all over the country. But as he got closer he could see the more subtle differences: the faded ink, and heavy rings. Those who still had hair wore it long, and those who didn't were completely shaved. As a man, they straightened up and turned into something else.
The oldest, who must've been near ninety, grinned. “Samson wasn't kidding. You got a lot of Tiny in you, boy. I'm Wolf, I was your dad's President for a while. This is Bugs, and those two ugly fuckers are the Psycho Twins, the Presidents of the nomad chapter.”
“Presidents?”
“Yup. Figured as they've only got one brain between 'em, and no one can tell 'em apart, we'd give the gig to both of 'em. You wanna drink?” Without waiting for an answer, he nodded to one of the Twins, who slipped behind the bar.
“Do you have coke
?”
“Sure.” The huge, intimidating man behind the bar, grinned. “You wanna straw?”
They were all watching him carefully. It was disconcerting, and it was pissing him off. He fixed his gaze on the edge of the bar and forced the anger down. “I thought Spike might be here.”
“He will be.” Samson stared hard at Luke's left ear. “You want the tour?”
“Sure.”
With a hand on his shoulder, Samson led him across the barroom towards a staircase. “Most of the action takes place here.” Luke looked over at the cage and Samson laughed. “We hire bands that don't always go down too well, an' strippers, who do. Things can get lively sometimes. Come an' see the gym.”
Unlike the dark, dingy barroom, the basement gym was brightly lit and well equipped. Samson chuckled and leaned on a cross trainer. “The ol' ladies come here as much as their men. An' some of us can't train how we used to.” He nodded to the ring in the middle of the room. “Been a while since I've been in there.” For a horrible moment Luke thought he was going to actually challenge him, and Samson obviously read his mind, as he snorted and shook his head. “S'okay, son. I got no desire to get my ass handed to me. You might not be your dad, but I ain't the man I was, either.”
“I wouldn't get in there with you.”
“Why not?”
Luke met the eyes of the man in front of him. He must've been at least in his mid-sixties, but looked younger. And he clearly kept himself in shape. “I wouldn't want to hurt you.”
Samson held his gaze. “You think you would?”
“I know I would.”
“Yeah. That's what I thought.” He looked away. “You box? Or do martial arts, or something?”
“No.” Luke didn't like the direction this conversation was taking.
“Your dad was a demon in the ring. Not many men who could put me on my ass, but he could. Fucker would make sure I stayed there, as well. Reckon if he could've controlled that rage when he was younger, he would've made it big.” He wandered over to a bench and sat down. “That why you won't get in the ring with me? Scared you won't stop?”
“I'm not my dad. You don't know shit about me.” He was going to have to get out of there. Samson was starting to push his buttons.
“I know more than you think.” Samson took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. “C'mon. My brothers are waiting to bore you with stories of your dad's exploits.”
The stories weren't boring. They were a revelation.
NINETY-FOUR
He was glad it had been Alice who'd met him at the airport. Partly because she was the least judgmental person he knew. But mostly because having two hands on the wheel meant she couldn't question him.
She'd chosen, years ago, to refuse a cochlear implant. Alice preferred her silent world and, had never once considered herself disabled. She could lip read, and pretty much everyone she associated with could sign. And, as a writer, she expressed herself perfectly. As they pulled up at a red light, she turned and raised an eyebrow. “So?”
He grinned. “I got laid.”
“For a week?”
“Pretty much. Not such a loser after all, huh?”
“If you say so.” Alice smirked as the light turned green.
It had been the best week of his life. Luke shifted in his seat as his cock stirred at the memory of Lottie writhing underneath him. He'd spent the last seven nights exploring the delights that she'd had to offer. And his days in the company of men who not only accepted the beast that lurked inside him but embraced it. For the first time in his whole sorry life, he'd felt like he belonged.
The only blot on the landscape had been Samson. The big biker's behavior had been... weird. Really fucking weird. Luke reckoned he could read people pretty well, and he'd never once felt that Samson didn't like him. And, even after he'd found out that he'd checked out of the hotel, and was staying with his daughter, he'd been cool—kinda. But in the clubhouse, he'd kept his distance and would barely acknowledge him. And at his and Emma's place, Luke had been made to feel welcome, but Samson had been guarded and watchful.
He became aware that Alice wasn't taking him to his apartment, but to his folks' place. He tapped her on the shoulder, but she just grinned and ignored him. Luke sighed. He should've known that his sneaky little sister wouldn't let him hide from his mom. He poked her on the arm. “I hate you.”
~ oOo ~
His mom gave him The Look. Sometimes, Luke wondered if she practiced it in the mirror. Without her saying a word, he knew she was Disappointed And Hurt. Yeah, he'd always hated The Look. He took his dad's credit card from his wallet and put it on the bookshelf. “Hey.”
“Will you be staying for dinner?”
“Sure.” He glared at Alice, who grinned and announced she had work to do, then disappeared into the study. “Anything I can do to help?”
Luke enjoyed cooking. Ever since he'd been a kid, he and his mom had baked cakes and tried out new recipes together, and although his work history was varied, he tended to gravitate towards kitchens. He thumbed through an old recipe book, and then opened her cupboard. His mom smiled. “I was thinking of making a chicken pie.”
“Homemade pastry?”
“It will be, now that you're here.”
The pie was in the oven, and still neither of them had touched on why he'd stayed in Seattle. Luke knew that unless he did, his mom would just pretend it hadn't happened. “Samson kept Dad's bike.”
“Oh.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I...”
“Why did you say the club turned its back on us?”
She sighed. “Because it was easier. I didn't want you anywhere near it. They're not good people, Luke.”
“And Emma?”
“Emma...”
“She didn't sleep with Dad.”
She shrugged and began loading the dishwasher. “Well, she would say that, wouldn't she?”
“I believe her. And so does Samson.” He pulled the band from his hair. “Is that why you kept us away from our family?”
“They're not your family.” His mom straightened up and turned to face him. “They're a criminal organization, nothing more. Oh, they talk about family, and loyalty, but, believe me, it's just talk. They expect their members to put their freedom, their families, Hell, even their lives on the line for the club. Do you really think I care whether Joe...” She faltered and swallowed. “Joe and Emma slept together? It was a long time ago, and it really doesn't matter. The club wasn't there for me or the girls. They were only interested in you.”
“Things are different now. They...”
“No, they're not. You only have to scratch the surface, and you'll see.” Her smile was bitter. “I'm betting they welcomed you with open arms.”
“Not all of them.”
“Samson?” Her eyes widened. “Is this about you and Lottie? Did you and her? You did, didn't you?” She laughed as he looked away. “Finally, karma bites Deke Samson on the ass.”
NINETY-FIVE
“You know he'll come back, don't you?”
Deke ran his fingers through Emma's hair, as she lay with her head on his chest. “Yeah.”
“And you know you have to get right with whatever happens?”
“I know.” He closed his eyes.
“Don't go to sleep. You've got that guy coming to look at the Triumph at two.”
“I know.” He kissed the top of her head, but didn't open his eyes. He and his girl still loved daytime fucks. But they weren't as young as they once were, so they tended to happen in bed. And they were usually followed by a nap. “I'm just resting my eyes.”
“Sure you are.” Emma tweaked his nipple and sat up. “I mean it, Deke. You have to get right with this. Lottie likes him. Don't make her choose.”
“I know. I won't.” He opened an eye. “But if he...”
“If he hurts her, you will hold her, until she's strong again.”
“Yeah. After I've killed him.”
~ oOo ~
“Goddamned piece of crap.” Lottie slammed the car door and kicked the tire. She popped the hood and pulled out her cell.
Her dad answered on the second ring. “Hey. What's up?”
“The car's dead.”
“Dead how?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn't be calling you.” She sighed. “Sorry. I think it's electrical. Everything looks okay, but it keeps cutting out.”
“Call Trog for a tow.”
She'd much rather abandon the stupid thing at the side of the road. She didn't hate the Camaro—in fact she loved it—but she spent as much time with her head under the hood as she did driving it, and she couldn't afford to put gas in it most of the time. Despite this, selling it wasn't an option.
Her dad had bought it a few weeks after getting out of the joint, and the two of them had transformed the neglected, unloved heap of rusting metal into a thing of beauty. It had been a bonding experience for both of them at a difficult time. Two years is a long time when you're a kid, and while he was away, she'd grown tits and discovered boys. They'd clashed a lot; Lottie hadn't wanted to be treated like a kid, and her dad hadn't wanted to let his little girl go. But when they were in his workshop, all that was forgotten. And when, nearly two years later, the Camaro was as pristine as it had been in 1978, equilibrium had been restored.
She hadn't expected him to give it to her—most seventeen-year-olds don't get muscle cars for their birthdays—and, had she been asked in advance, she'd have told him that it was too big and heavy, and that it was too expensive to keep on the road. She hadn't been asked, though. So she walked to work and wasted countless hours driving around, looking for a parking space she could actually get the thing in.
After calling Trog, she climbed back in the car to wait and, absently, began scrolling through her phone.
Hi. How was your flight? Shit, she wasn't going to do this.
Good. You OK? Wow. That was quick.