Shift (The Disciples' Daughters #2)

by Drew Elyse

  “Ash, I fuckin’ swear to you, we’re gonna keep you and Emmaline safe.”

  He looked too sure, so confident.

  “Whoever it is, they were the ones who killed my dad?”

  A flash of pain and regret came over him before he answered. I knew he could have hidden it. Stone had his name for a reason. He chose to let me see. “Yes.”

  “But they got him…oh god.” I was panicking. No question, I was freaking out. “You couldn’t stop them before. They killed him. What if they get me? What will happen to Emmy? There’s no one to take care of her. What if—”

  Stone’s hand released mine and he pulled me into his arms. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks. I heard him shushing me over my gasping breaths. Yet, everything was weird. I knew all of it was happening, but I felt removed from it. My body, my panic, they were far away from me. I was somewhere else, remembering my dad’s smile, remembering how much I loved him, remembering how much it destroyed me to lose him. I couldn’t let Emmy experience that. She was so young, and she’d be all alone.

  “Breathe for me, Ash,” Stone instructed.

  I didn’t want to breathe. I wanted to run. I wanted to go far away, so much farther than Portland. I’d been too close all that time, I really appreciated that now. I wanted to get Emmy and take her somewhere these people would never find us.

  “Come on,” he kept trying. “In and out.”

  How far could we get? I didn’t even have my own car. Even if I got back to Portland and got to my car, how far could it go? I didn’t have a lot of money, nowhere near enough to start up somewhere new.

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  “Firefly.”

  That name made it through. Stone said it, yet it almost sounded like Dad. His voice had been so clear in my head. I blinked through the tears and looked at Stone, making sure it was really him.

  “Focus on me,” he insisted.

  I did. My mind centered on him and I felt grounded again. I was really there. Stone was, too. He was still kneeling, his hands on my shoulders.

  “In and out.”

  Right. My lungs were hurting. In and out. In and out.

  Each breath came a little easier than the one before.

  “Good. That’s good, Ash.”

  I kept going. In and out, pulling in more air each time, holding each breath in a little longer. It took a while, but eventually, I was calm again. I could breathe steadily and the tears had stopped.

  “Okay,” I said. I wasn’t completely sure what I meant. It was some kind of mix of saying, “I’m okay,” “It’ll be okay,” and “Okay, keep going.”

  Stone understood.

  “I know you’re worried, but things are much different this time. Indian was involved in a way you will not be.”

  “What does that mean?”

  There was a pause I was very used to when it came to asking about Disciple business. It was a weighty pause where the brothers thought about how much they could say without giving away too much of what they considered to be for brothers only.

  “The threat comes from a man we’ve had problems with for a long time. He’s a distributer, deals in anything he thinks he can sell—drugs, women, whatever. He found drugs most lucrative. He runs an operation supplying all through the state, but primarily in Portland.

  “There’s been a lot of tension between his men and the club, partly because we keep that shit out of Hoffman. Barton’s got loose ties in high places, thinks it makes him untouchable. Your dad was particularly hot on taking Barton down.”

  Stone’s tone changed as he went on, becoming more gentle. “You know I respected the fuck out of Indian. He was family. I’m not saying anything against him when I tell you we tried to talk him back from that fight. Barton’s backing thought his operation could be the foothold to bring their reach up this way from California. They were willing to supply him, help him get shit done. We didn’t have the kind of power we needed to fight that on our own.

  “Indian didn’t want to wait it out. He kept pushing Barton. We backed him on that play. He was our brother and we weren’t about to let him take on that fight alone. But that didn’t change facts. He led the charge and Barton knew it. That’s why Barton targeted him.”

  I’d wanted that information. Years ago, I had wanted so badly to know why it was my dad who had been killed and I’d been so angry about not getting an answer. Finally, I had my answer, and I felt…nothing. Knowing didn’t help; it just gave me more questions. I didn’t understand why Dad would put himself on the line. Why would he risk being taken from me?

  For the club, I answered myself. He risked it because of the Disciples.

  An old ache felt fresh as that understanding settled. The club always came first, even if it meant dying for them.

  I wanted to be done with this discussion. I wanted to get out of there. So, I prompted, “And what about now?”

  He’d expected more of a reaction from what he’d said, but I didn’t have it in me to give that to him. I needed time, and I needed to be alone.

  “Now,” he thankfully went on, “the backing Barton had has dried up. He knows it. He also knows we know, or expects we will soon. And, most importantly, he knows we’re going to get revenge for Indian. That’s got him scared. The threat against you is meant to throw us off. Maybe he thinks we’ll back off if we’re reminded of what happened last time. Maybe he wants us to think he’s still got power behind him. I don’t know. I don’t give a fuck. Either way, it’s bullshit.”

  “If the threat is bullshit, why am I here?” I asked.

  “The threat isn’t bullshit. He’ll follow through, given the opportunity. With you in Portland, he would have had that opportunity at some point. We couldn’t protect you there. What’s bullshit is him stating he can get a hand on you if you’re protected, which he knew we were going to do as soon as he sent the photos. If it were about hurting you, he would have just done it. No pictures, no warnings. That’s not what this is. He wants to tell us he’s still got enough power to get through our protection. That is bullshit.”

  That didn’t sound good. That sounded like a gamble with my life, and my daughter’s in the balance.

  “How do you know he doesn’t have that kind of power?”

  Again with that pause where he considered what he could tell me. “Because we have mutual alliances with the powers that used to back him. We know they’ve pulled out. On top of that, they took half of the workforce Barton recruited.”

  Well, alrighty then.

  “So, I’m not in danger?”

  “I won’t say that. Barton’s a man backed into a corner. What he’s built is falling, and he knows it. That can make people desperate. He could decide he wants to hurt us while he goes down. Without protection, without one of the brothers with you, you are in danger. We’re not going to let that happen, though. We’ll keep you safe.” He was firm in that declaration, and I felt like I could believe him.

  “Okay.”

  “Last thing we gotta talk about is how we’re going to keep you safe.” Something about the way he said that told me I wasn’t going to like what he said next. “It’s going to take more than bringing you here. There wasn’t a chance to set things up sooner, but now, it’s all in place. You aren’t at the farmhouse or here, you’ve got a brother on you.”

  Crap.

  “Um…”

  “Nope. Not gonna hear it, Ash. That’s non-negotiable. Only way to be sure you and Emmy are covered. The guys will be on a rotation. End of.”

  Well, damn. That was firm.

  “Need to know one thing, though.”

  I had a sneaking suspicion of what he needed to know. “Yeah?”

  “Is it going to be a problem if Sketch is part of that rotation?”

  Yes. Definitely, yes. I needed to stay away from him as much as possible. He was determined he was going to get me into bed and…whatever else he had planned. If I spent too much time around him, he was going to succeed. I knew it. Denying it—at least to m
yself—was not going to make that fight any easier. So, the answer was absolutely yes. Being around Sketch was a problem.

  “No.”

  “You sure about that?”

  I didn’t sigh, even though I really, really wanted to. “Yes. I’m sure.”

  “Alright. Then, it’s settled.

  I was pretty certain nothing about the situation was settled, but maybe that was just me.

  “I’ll get out of your hair,” I said.

  I started leaving, but he spoke before I could make it out the door. “Ash.”

  I turned. “Yeah?”

  “Not the circumstances I’d want, but I’m glad you and that angel of yours are here.”

  Whoa. That was more than I ever expected from him.

  I couldn’t agree, even though I kind of wanted to in response to what he’d just given me. Instead, I gave him something else that was the truth.

  “I missed you, Uncle Stone.”

  Then, I got myself out of there. I was dangerously close to losing it again.

  I was walking back into the main room when I heard it, and I couldn’t believe my ears. My feet moved forward even as my brain stuttered. I was sure I was losing it. But no, it was definitely what I thought it was.

  In the middle of the room, between two of the couches, my little fairy princess was dancing around with Daz. Through the speakers—which I was surprised weren’t bursting into flames seeing as they belonged to a bunch of bikers—was Live While We’re Young by One Direction.

  I cleared my throat. Daz froze and his head flew my way.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “I had no idea you were a directioner, Dazzle,” I teased. “You’ve definitely got the boy band moves down, though.”

  “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this,” he warned. He looked at a giggling Emmy and told her, “That goes for you, too.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I heard and turned to see Ham on the other side of the room, his cell phone raised in front of him. “I got the whole thing on camera.”

  I burst out laughing as Daz muttered, “Fuck my life.”

  “Boy, I thought you were gettin’ gone over an hour ago?”

  I looked up from the sketchpad at my station to Carson, who was standing over me with his pipe in his mouth. Carson was the owner of Sailor’s Grave Tattoo Parlor. He was also a fucking brilliant artist, and my mentor. At sixty-two, he was still a badass motherfucker. Built like a brick shithouse and hairy as a fuckin’ animal, he looked like the type of guy you didn’t fuck with. Most would never guess he was an artistic genius by looking at him, but that was their loss.

  He had his panama hat on—the thing had to be nearly as old as he was and just as weathered—and his hair tied back, as usual. The pipe was also par for the course, though it was always empty nowadays. He used to smoke from it. The thing would stay on him all day and he’d dip out every so often to have a toke. He never smoked it inside, but that didn’t hinder him much. Emphysema did, though. He still kept the pipe around even though the tobacco had to go. Claimed not having the pipe made the craving stronger.

  “Just drawing something out,” I told him. He was right. I meant to leave an hour ago. My appointments were done and we didn’t do walk-ins. Carson said walk-ins just led to idiots putting shit on their skin they weren’t prepared to live with and doing that was a disservice to the art as a whole. I couldn’t argue that logic, but I’d still inked my fair share of shit I figured didn’t mean that much to people.

  “This for a client?” he asked, pulling up a chair.

  Carson was hands on. I hadn’t been his apprentice in years, but he still offered his guidance from time to time. Some might find it annoying, but I was glad to take any advice he offered. I was good, I knew it and Carson knew it—he wouldn’t have trained me if I weren’t. Still, he had a lifetime of experience on me and I’d be an idiot to ignore it.

  “For me,” I answered.

  “You ain’t got a lot of real estate left.”

  “Nope.”

  “You finally addin’ to the left side of your chest?”

  I looked down at the design. It wasn’t right yet. It had to be perfect before I’d ink it in permanently.

  “Soon, if you’ll do the honors once I get the drawing finalized.”

  “Glad to, kid,” Carson answered. His eyes were still on the pad. “Wouldn’t let you take it to someone else.”

  Carson knew me. He knew the whole long story. He’d been like a father to me since I lost Gunner. He knew, though I’d never said it, why my left pec was still mostly blank. And he knew, looking at the rough draft of what I’d put in that space, what that tattoo meant to me.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Might make it my last before retirement.”

  “What?”

  Carson had dialed back his work a while ago. He was only taking appointments with people he’d done work on before. Mostly, he just hung around the shop and saw to the work the rest of us were putting out. He could easily transition into full retirement at any time; it was just surprising that he would.

  “Been thinkin’ on it a while,” he explained. “The missus has been talkin’ about it, too. Got a lot we want to see and we ain’t gettin’ any younger. You all’ve got the skill now. Don’t need me to teach you what the fuck you’re doin’. Thinkin’ it might be the time.”

  I couldn’t argue that. “It’ll be different, not having your cranky ass around.”

  He pointed the stem end of his pipe my way. “Shut your mouth, boy. I’m tryin’ to tell you I’m passin’ Sailor’s Grave over to you.”

  Fucking hell.

  I dropped the pencil in my hand and straightened in my seat. “Are you serious, Carson?”

  “I mean it. I got what I need out of it. Jean and I are set up for whatever life we’ve got left in us. Now, I just wanna make sure it moves into hands I trust. Trained my share of artists and I got a great staff workin’ here, but no one I’ve worked with has got the talent and passion you’ve got. That’s what I want carryin’ on the legacy of this place.”

  “Shit. I’d love to take over for you.”

  “Know that.” Carson clapped a hand on my shoulder, then stood. “Gotta get all the legal shit squared away, then she’ll be yours. Come in early tomorrow, we’ll start going over shit.” Then, he just left. He walked on out like he hadn’t just dropped a huge fucking bomb on me.

  I looked around the shop. Jess was behind the desk and Danny was leaning against it, probably trying to get her to stop rejecting him. Clara and John had clients at their stations. Nate, the other artist on staff, was off for the day. I couldn’t believe I was going to own the place.

  Fuck.

  Hours later, after a meeting with Stone about guarding Ash—which I gladly took responsibility for—I finally rolled up to the farmhouse. Ace was in the living room, kicked back on the couch and watching TV. He was on Ash duty for the day, so she had to be around.

  “Where are the girls?”

  “Backyard.”

  The sun was mostly set and the lights out back nearly didn’t reach where Ash was standing. It was late for Emmy to be out running around. I walked their way, not hesitating to wrap my arms around Ash when I got to her. Fuck, she felt right there.

  “What’re you doing out here?”

  I didn’t have to wait for her answer. The jar in Emmy’s hands was answer enough.

  Emmy jumped up and down, the costume wings she was wearing flapping with the movement, and I stifled a laugh. “We’re catching fieflies.”

  “Fireflies,” Ash corrected. She did that a lot and always seamlessly. She didn’t harp on Emmy for the way she said things, just gave her the proper way and let the issue correct itself.

  “Fi-re-flies,” Emmy broke it down. After a nod from her mom, she went back to stalking the little flashing bugs.

  I hunched over, resting my chin on Ash’s shoulder. She was stiff, and it made me grin. She was trying to hold herself away from me, but she
didn’t want to. If she wanted the space, she would have moved away when I first touched her. Ash was a pro at avoiding contact with people. She wanted me close; she just didn’t want me to know it.

  “It’s like looking back through time,” I said as I watched Emmy. “She looks just like you when we were little and came out here, Firefly.”

  “I never dressed as a fairy princess,” Ash returned in a removed voice.

  Oh, this was going to be fun. She really was struggling.

  “That must’ve been my remembering of it.”

  “Don’t use your stupid lines on me.”

  “I don’t have lines. Just call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

  “Whatever.”

  I grinned. Score one for me.

  “I’m serious though, Ash. She’s the fucking spitting image of you.”

  “You think?”

  There went the armor already. She could try, but she wasn’t hard. I’d break through whatever she threw up.

  “Exactly, Ash. She’s adorable, just like you were, and she’s going to grow up and be just as fucking gorgeous.”

  She ignored the inherent compliment, but I knew she would. “I just want her to grow up happy.”

  “She will. We’ll make sure of it.”

  That made her try to pull away. I’d been wrapped around her for five minutes and that was the first move she made to get out of my hold. She didn’t succeed. I tensed my arms, keeping her still.

  “It’s not your job,” she bit out in a hush, keeping Emmy unaware of our tiff.

  “I beg to differ.”

  “Seriously, Sketch. It’s none of your business. She’s not yours.”

  I tightened my arms even more in warning. “Ash, you can throw attitude all you want. You can fight me off and I know you’re going to. But do not tell me that little girl is none of my business. Maybe she isn’t mine by blood, maybe she is. Either way, she’s going to be mine. She’s going to call me daddy and any other kids we have are going to be her siblings.”

  I felt her struggle at the word “daddy”, but I didn’t let up.

  “We talked about having three, remember? You still want two more? I like three or four. Emmy should have a big family. She shouldn’t be alone like we were. We shouldn’t wait too much longer. We don’t want there to be a big age gap between them.”