Into the Storm

by Susan Fanetti

  He obeyed, walking with the amble of a not-quite-falling-down-drunk man. He stopped right in front of her and then shocked her to her toes by grabbing her breasts—just took two big handfuls and squeezed. In the stunned moment before she could react, he leaned close and said, “Your tits just don’t quit. And that booty! Damn! Make a grown man cry!” She batted his hands away.

  There was a crash from behind the front desk, as the glass door leading to her office and apartment flew open, and Show was there, filling the doorway. As he strode into the parlor, Shannon turned back to David and pushed him back hard. He staggered until he hit the opposite frame of the double door.

  “You keep your hands off me. I don’t give a fuck who you are or who you know or what you do. You don’t touch me. Ever.” Show was there at her side now, and she turned and pushed him, too—though not as hard, and with different intent. “I have this, Show. Back off.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Beth had come back into the dining room, probably drawn by the commotion.

  Show backed off, but he turned to David and snarled, “I will kill you, motherfucker, you pull that shit again.”

  David laughed drunkenly. “I was just playing. Just a little harmless flirting. Shit, you rednecks are uptight.” Show took a step toward him again, and again, Shannon pushed him back, this time not sure she was going to be able to stop him.

  Beth came up now and said, “Connie and I have the dining room under control, Shannon. Why don’t you take Sir Lancelot back, and I’ll deal with our friendly friend.”

  Shannon nodded, feeling shaken and furious, and caught Show’s good hand, dragging him back through the parlor, through her office, and into her apartment. She slammed the door and locked it. When she turned back to Show, he was on her, pulling her close with his good arm. She knew he was trying to comfort her, but she pushed him off.

  “What the hell was that?”

  He gaped at her. “What—you’re mad at me? What the fuck?”

  “I’m mad at both of you. What were you doing, storming in there like that? How do you think that was going to help?”

  “Shannon, are you kidding me with this shit? He was all over you. I should cut off those fucking hands and make him eat them!”

  “And how does that help the inn? How does that help Signal Bend? And, God! You have one hand yourself! How were you going to do anything?”

  That was the wrong thing to say. His blue eyes went dark, and he used that one good hand to grab her and virtually throw her to the wall. He winced, but he did it. And then he leaned in, snarling. Shannon was scared.

  His voice low and dangerous, he said, “You saying I can’t take care of you? You don’t think I can protect you? That it?”

  In the face of that dark rage, she calmed. “No, Show. I’m saying I had it. I can take care of myself, too. It’s not the first time in my career a drunk guest has gotten fresh with me. And we have to be careful with these Hollywood people.”

  “You willing to get felt up for the goddamn movie? What does that make you, then?”

  Okay, she was angry again. She tried to push his hand off her shoulder, but she couldn’t get it to budge. So, instead, knowing it was a dirty trick, but doing it anyway, she slapped him in the gut, right over his recently healed and still tender incision. He grunted hard and backed off.

  “Go to hell, Show. I’m not willing to get felt up. I had it handled. Even if you were 100%, the only thing that you going at him would accomplish is tearing apart my dining room. And maybe ruining this whole movie thing—which, I’ll point out, is supposed to be part of the town recovery.”

  She must have hit him hard; he was still clutching his stomach. He sat down with a groan and a sigh. “If I go to the Keep and say what that asshole just did, the movie is dead. Nobody cares about the damn movie so much that we’re willing to let one of ours be disrespected.”

  Sitting down next to him, she put her hand on his leg. “I appreciate that. But I didn’t need a rescue. I had it.”

  He looked her in the eye. “It’s not just about you, hon. It’s about me. He knows you’re mine. You don’t push up on another man’s woman. And you don’t let it stand when it happens. And that wasn’t flirting. That was a fuckin’ assault.”

  “It was. You’re right. It made me sick. But by the time David Gordon leaves this establishment, he will have apologized to me in every way he knows how, and he won’t feel like he was forced to do it. I promise.” A thought entered her mind, and she considered it. “I get what you’re saying about it being disrespectful to you, too. But I don’t want you hurt, and you know full well you’re not done healing yet. Show, I just took you off your feet with a slap.”

  He started to protest, and she put her hand over his mouth. “I get it. If you need to deal with it—in some way that doesn’t hurt you, the inn, or the town—then go ahead. Just get help, and don’t do it here.”

  “Jesus, woman. You might as well just cut off my balls and stick ‘em in a jar. No one in the Horde is stronger than me. I’m the one they come to for that kind of help. Not the one who seeks it out.”

  She laughed, and he scowled. “Show, you almost died not two months ago. It’s not weak to need a minute to recuperate. And I like your balls where they are.” She opened his belt and started on the buttons of his jeans. “I like your whole package, in fact.” He got hard in her hand, and she grinned. “Can we do something more fun than fight, now? I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

  He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, bringing her close. “You’re lucky I love you.”

  “I agree.” She closed the last fraction of an inch between them and kissed him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Seemed like virtually the whole town was crammed in and around the clubhouse and lot, welcoming the Horde back from a charity run, their first full club run in a year or better, and Show’s first ride of any length since his accident. The weather on this mid-April weekend was sunny and on the warm side, perfect for a run—and one that didn’t include anything but good friends, good food, good drink, and good works. Well, a little business, but nothing high-octane. It had been refreshing to enjoy a club ride and the company of their tribe, and now the town had gathered to continue the party at home.

  Club business had been basically legit for a year and a half, focused mainly on the town, and Signal Bend had crawled out of decades’ worth of rubble and found its feet. Even after a rough winter, the town was standing and getting stronger. The Horde had had to bail out a few new businesses that hadn’t planned well for winter hibernation, but they would plan better for next year. They wouldn’t have a choice.

  The library was opening again, too. It was Lilli’s new project. With the B&B firmly in Shannon’s hand, Lilli had been going nuts just being home with Gia, and driving Isaac nuts along with her. The town wanted to reopen the library and staff it with volunteers, and Lilli was first in line. The line had been fairly short, truthfully, but she had a few teenagers and older folks, and they were planning an opening in the next week or so. Lilli with a project was a force of nature. She got shit done.

  They were also going to have a real local market for the first time in years—just a little thing, mainly catering to the weekend picnic crowd, but a place where you could get some real shopping done without having to drive the nearly thirty miles down the highway to the nearest supermarket. Bobby Dirkins, who ran the 7 Eleven, hadn’t been entirely thrilled, but he was the only gas station in town, so he’d be fine.

  The Main Street Marketplace, a few blocks of antique shops and boutiques, had become a legitimate commercial district, with decent traffic every weekend since the thaw. There was even a small souvenir shop going into one of the remaining empty storefronts. Run by the city council, it would sell Signal Bend-related merchandise. Things were quiet during the week, and they probably always would be, but everybody in town was glad for that. They were still wary of strangers.

  Even that was changing, though, as a couple of famili
es were moving into Signal Bend, buying and refurbishing properties long gone to seed. They weren’t farmers, these new residents. They were commuters, wanting a quiet life for their families while one of the parents drove all the way into the city for work. The townspeople hadn’t figured out what to think about that. One of the families—the Borecki-Sanders (the hyphen alone had caused a stir)—had a working mom and a stay-at-home dad. Tongues were wagging about that, and Jon Sanders, said dad, got strange looks when he walked around town with a baby strapped to his chest.

  The twenty-first century had found Signal Bend.

  The B&B was starting to do brisk business again, booked well on the weekends and on the quiet side midweek. It meant Shannon had very little time for Show on weekends. Like this one. He’d wanted her to join him on the run, but there was a wedding at the B&B, and Shannon had to stay and run it. Show thought she needed to hire more actual staff. She deserved real time off. Lilli agreed with Show, but Shannon was reluctant to do it—especially where wedding planning was concerned. She’d talked Show’s ear numb on several occasions about other people’s weddings. He’d found her clinical detachment about the topic curious. She loved doing them, but he didn’t think she ever thought she might be a bride herself. Her interest was in the planning, not the event.

  Not that he was thinking of proposing. Not yet. But they were serious. Show thought it was something about his accident that had kicked them into gear, and discounting the occasional fight—because he didn’t fucking back down these days—they were doing well together. She still had a big blank space in her past, but he’d come to trust that whatever she clung to so tightly back there didn’t matter to them. They had a good thing going. So good it made Show a little nervous, if he thought about it too long. He had a lot to lose, again. He didn’t think he’d survive more loss.

  He had Rose and Iris back, though. The plans he’d made with Holly to come down for monthly visits were thwarted by his accident, but he’d gone down to see them in March, when he was strong enough for the drive, and he was ready now for monthly trips. And wonder of wonders, Holly had driven them up to see him while he was cooped up in the clubhouse, a couple of weeks after the accident.

  He’d told her no, that he didn’t want the girls to see the way he looked, but, true to form, she’d ignored him and done things her own way. She’d said they were too scared to wait. They’d been frightened, seeing him all scarred up, but they’d been glad to see him nonetheless. And Shannon, bless her, had made herself scarce that day, just knowing that it wasn’t the time to announce her presence in his life.

  He pulled up at the end of the row of bikes, next to Lilli’s SUV. She’d come on the run—following the Horde, carrying Gia and towing the club’s entry in the bike show, a customized beauty Havoc and Bart had designed and built over the cold, snowy winter, which had won the custom Softail class, and which they’d subsequently sold for a solid profit. Watching Isaac wandering around a biker rally pushing their jogging stroller, Gia sitting pretty in a tiny leather biker jacket and a floppy flowered hat, had been amusing as fuck, but it had also made Show feel lonely. He’d called Shannon five times on a two-day run, feeling like a lovesick teenager. He’d had a damn good time, free again on the road. He’d seen old friends and had drunk hard, but he would have liked it even more with Shannon at his side.

  She was standing now out front, everybody knowing not to crowd her out, that she was Show’s. She looked fine, dressed in jeans and tall black boots, wearing a flowing black top with lots of cleavage, her hair richly red and loose, left to its natural waves, as he liked it. He parked his bike, and she walked over as he was dismounting and removing his helmet.

  “Hi. Good ride?”

  He was sore as fuck. His shoulder was screaming and his back and hips ached. But he wasn’t about to admit that shit. He grinned and pulled her close. “Great ride. Would’ve been even better with you. Missed you.” Grabbing her sexy chin, he tipped her face up and kissed her. “How was the wedding?”

  “Perfect, of course.” She wrinkled her nose. “You smell like road.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “You know, it’s not. Gasoline and leather and…wind, or something. Also the obvious lack of a shower. It’s surprisingly hot, after the first whiff.”

  He hooked his arm over her shoulders and tucked her close. “You’re a real biker bitch, you like that smell. Come on. We’re in the Keep first, but then I’m gonna take you back and let you smell me some more.”

  ~oOo~

  The mood around the table was high. It had been a great run, a reminder of what they loved. Though the quiet since Ellis and the end of their meth business was a desperately needed respite after a devastating war in which they’d lost much, the Horde had been getting restless. Show felt it less than most, because he’d been checked out for the first full year.

  The Horde was still the power in town, and probably always would be. But now the talk in the Keep was usually about business proposals and event schedules. With the exception of a few low-profile runs for the Scorpions in the fall, and a couple of times someone had needed to be ‘convinced’ to toe the line, they had not done any kind of shady work since Ellis.

  This was a table full of rebels and bad boys, who now spent their days keeping order and promoting town growth. With the exception of their years running the pipeline, they’d always been small time outlaws. They all had straight day jobs. Even when meth was at its peak, they’d worked their day jobs—and had needed to. But some of the Horde—Vic and Havoc in particular, and Len, too, though he was smarter and better understood the value of the quiet—were beginning to chafe at the constraints of legitimacy. When, at the last town meeting, Mayor Fosse had timorously suggested that it might be helpful if the Horde stopped the regular brawls at Tuck’s, rather than simply controlling them, Isaac had had to grab Havoc back by his kutte to keep him from jumping the mayor in the middle of the meeting.

  Show, however, didn’t mind the quiet. Maybe it was that he was looking down the barrel at fifty. Maybe it was what he’d lost. Maybe it was the ache and fatigue that was with him always since the accident. But he was glad for the quiet. He knew Isaac, hotheaded as he was, liked it quiet, too. Families were safe, because they weren’t on anybody’s radar.

  Or they wouldn’t be, as long as they kept control of the movie thing. That was the business Isaac and Show had conducted at the rally—a meeting with the heads or representatives of most of the crews with which the Horde was allied. To a man, they expressed concern about how this movie deal could hurt their business. Having just approved the script rewrite (and both Shannon and Show had made their point with Gordon before he left) they gave their friends as much reassurance as they could that the story that would be told would not expose or in any way compromise the conditions of any other club. The Scorpions were written out of the rescue of Lilli—which was a shame, because they wouldn’t have been able to do it without them. The Joplin and Tulsa crews, which had supplied weapons for the fight, were not mentioned. Even the meth had been whitewashed. No secrets had been exposed. The writers had been frustrated to the point of hair-pulling, at least in Harrie’s case, but the script told the right truth—the story of a town that had saved itself from a much more powerful, ruthless enemy.

  Whether that made a movie anybody still wanted to make remained to be seen. Despite the possible financial boon, Show would be perfectly content if it never got made, and he knew everybody around this table agreed with him. Everybody but Bart. Bart, whose job it was to keep track of all the movie news, was deeply invested in the idea of having celebrities running around Signal Bend, even for a little while.

  “So that’s where we are with this movie shit. Sam, Dandy, Becker and the rest have given us their trust, and we have given Stan and his production company our trust. We will be severely fucked up if this goes south.” Isaac turned to Bart. “So you need to make sure you catch every mention anywhere of what’s going on in L.A.”

  Ba
rt nodded. “Yep. So far, everything looks clean. Still a lot of chatter about casting, but it’s moved down the feed some. Right now, everybody’s more focused on…” He stopped and laughed. “None of you would have any idea what I’m talking about. But there’s another movie deal that’s got everybody’s attention right now, so we have some breathing room.”

  Isaac nodded. “Good. I talk to Stan regularly, but I know damn well I’m getting company line bullshit from him. I can feel him fucking managing me, and he’s damn lucky he’s two thousand miles away. Probably why he hasn’t come to town himself. Fuck, the way these Hollywood people talk.” He shook his head. “Anyway. That’s the update on the movie.”

  He lifted the gavel and paused. “Anybody got anything else?”

  “I do.” That was Havoc. Isaac and everybody else raised their eyebrows in surprise. Havoc was more the sit back type when it came to club business. Show couldn’t think of the last time Havoc had brought new business to the table.

  Isaac nodded and set the gavel down. Havoc scooted his chair forward on its rollers. “We need another bar in town—one where the out-of-town assholes can go and drink their fuckin’ Chablis or whatever and leave Tuck’s alone. I know we needed things to change to keep the town going, but I’m starting to wonder what we’re changing into. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I fuckin’ need Tuck’s to be like it’s always been. I need a place to be, where I can swing a fuckin’ fist.”

  Everybody around the table agreed with that. Even those who liked the quiet wanted a place to let loose. Show certainly did. Fighting each other in the ring was not anything like going at it in a brawl.

  Len said, “Agreed. But I don’t think anybody’s stepped up asking to open one.” He looked at Isaac for confirmation, and Isaac shook his head. Len continued, “Ain’t any of us gonna want to run a place like that, so I think we’re screwed until somebody comes along.”