Knife & Flesh (The Night Horde SoCal Book 4)

by Susan Fanetti

  On the other side of the altar, where the maid of honor would normally stand, was Kyle Moore, also in a black suit, grey tie, and peach rose boutonniere. Cordero had asked him to be her ‘man of honor.’ The priest had been shocked at the rehearsal the night before.

  Moore had been cordial to Connor and civil to Trick when they were back in a side room, waiting for the service to start, but now he was ignoring them.

  “Easy, brother,” Trick chuckled as he watched Connor fuss with his clothes. “Not long now.”

  “Are you shitting me? There’s a whole Mass. We’ll be up here for a fuckin’ hour.”

  The priest, already standing before the altar, turned a judgmental frown on them. Trick grinned back with a shrug.

  He was surprised, though, so he said to Connor, quietly as he could, “The rehearsal thing last night was only fifteen minutes.”

  “Gentlemen, please,” Father Somebody grumbled.

  Connor nodded and stopped fidgeting, and then the music for the bride’s walk began to play. As the guests stood, Connor turned and faced down the aisle. Trick sought out and found Juliana, standing near the front, next to Faith, among his family. Where she belonged.

  He wished Lucie could have been here, too.

  But she was with her father. They’d know after this weekend whether Stiles had been chased off by their namedropping of Jason Devore. If not, if he intended still to make trouble for Juliana or for the Horde, then they now had a bigger stick. Sherlock had connected dots and filled in a picture that, while short of proof, could do Stiles real damage.

  Jason Devore was a silent money man in Hollywood, the kind of guy who had virtually no public presence, but whom everyone who needed to get a project financed knew. About a decade ago, while Stiles was his head of security, Devore’s young wife disappeared. The story had made news for about a minute and a half. Trick didn’t remember it, but he hadn’t been home from overseas for long at that time, and he’d been so disoriented he’d barely noticed the weather, much less the news.

  Shortly after the story died down, Stiles left Los Angeles with a huge payout from Devore. Sherlock had not yet discovered truly damning evidence, but his theory was that Stiles had, at his boss’s behest, killed Tiffany Devore, or at least disposed of her body. Stiles’ reaction to the name certainly suggested that he had some story he didn’t want told.

  Trick wasn’t interested in Stiles’ past activities, but if they had leverage to keep his present and future activities in line, then all to the good. Because if that asshole did anything to hurt Juliana or Lucie, in any way, Trick would handle it, and he doubted he’d have any new demons tormenting him over that.

  As if she knew he’d been watching her, Juliana turned and caught his eye. She was beautiful, in a simple, blue satin dress that he’d watched her make. She had her hair up in some kind of sleek style, and Trick was momentarily distracted from the event of the day by a strong mental image of his mouth on her long neck.

  His cock shifted, and he flinched. A boner here at the altar while he best friend got married—probably bad form. Just a guess.

  Cordero walked down the aisle arm in arm with her grandmother, Renata. She wore Renata’s wedding dress, Trick knew, all lace aged to ivory, the top off-the-shoulder. In the place of a veil, she wore a cluster of red, orange, and yellow flowers in her hair, pinned at the nape of her neck. A larger cluster of similar flowers formed her bridal bouquet. Trick grinned as he remembered Connor’s drunken lament that he now knew the difference between a dahlia and a daisy. Between his mother, his old lady, and her grandmother, Connor had been far deeper in wedding planning than he’d ever wanted, especially since he hadn’t really wanted a wedding at all.

  But he loved his woman, and she loved her grandmother, and her grandmother wanted a big wedding. So, though Connor had never before worn a suit, he was in one now. And though Cordero was among the least girly women Trick knew, she now walked slowly down the aisle in a forty-year-old Mexican wedding dress. With flowers in her hair and in her hands.

  She smiled at Connor the entire way. Trick looked sidelong at his friend to see him smiling right back, looking positively moony with love.

  Trick had always thought Cordero was hot. Today, he saw that Pilar was beautiful.

  When they reached the altar, Renata hugged her granddaughter, and Connor, and then joined their hands before she went to sit in the front pew—next to Bibi and Hoosier. As bride and groom stepped to the priest, Trick sought and caught Juliana’s eye again. She smiled and put her fingertips to her lips, blowing him a kiss.

  ~oOo~

  Though the wedding itself had been formal, the reception was more in keeping with Connor and Cordero’s personalities. Not that they hadn’t gone all out: they’d reserved almost half of the Madrone City Park, and, since the party began right after the wedding and would continue until they got thrown out when the park closed at midnight, they had turned the reception into something like a festival. For the kids—there were quite a few kids—they had a bounce house and games. For the grownups, there was a catering tent with a full bar and a buffet, with snacks early on and then a dinner later. The Horde had built a stage for the music. They’d booked a couple of bands: one to play during the day and another to play at night.

  Another tent near the catering tent held makeshift dressing rooms, so that people who had attended the wedding could change into clothes more befitting the casual vibe of the reception.

  Trick came out of the changing tent, comfortable again in his jeans, t-shirt, boots, and kutte, and found Juliana standing outside, still wearing that sleeveless satin dress and sky-high silver shoes. Her weathered backpack dangled off her hand.

  “Hey.” He walked over and put his hand on her back. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” she sighed. “I’m just bummed that I only got to wear this dress for a couple of hours. I wanted a Cinderella night.”

  He grinned and kissed her cheek. “If you want, you can give me one of those sandals, and I’ll chase you around with it at midnight.”

  “Har-de-har.” She gave him a playful push. “Move. I need to go change.” She headed into the tent.

  While he waited for her, Trick turned and surveyed the area.

  The guests at the wedding Mass had been limited to people closest to Connor and Cordero: the Horde and their families, the regular club girls and hangarounds, firefighters from Station 76 and their families, and a couple of Renata’s friends. A few dozen people, maybe fifty or so.

  The reception, on the other hand, had been opened wide. They’d invited friends from other local clubs and their families, firefighters from other San Bernardino County stations and their families, and Renata’s work colleagues. And Horde business associates. Rather than a few dozen guests, a couple of hundred were converging on the park.

  The Horde had set Titus and Jerry at the entrance to the section they’d rented, directing traffic and doing crowd control.

  While Trick watched now, two black Range Rovers pulled up, and Titus and Jerry let them through to park where the Horde and their families were parking. La Zorra had arrived.

  Though he’d known to expect her arrival, he hadn’t allowed himself to think on it too much. For whatever reason, Dora Vega and her apparent personal interest in him was a major trigger, and his mental balance had been so fragile over the past several weeks that he did all he could to avoid triggers.

  Now, though, as he watched her climb out of the Rover and wondered whether whatever she wanted from him would be made clear here, at Connor’s wedding reception, Trick felt nervous.

  No. Not nervous. He felt panic.

  Real panic. Too much panic. Oh, fuck.

  Standing outside, in the middle of a park, walls closed in on him anyway. The sounds of the party receded, and his head got loud. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. His chest contracted and squeezed his heart, and he clutched at his shirt, trying to make room.

  He had to get out of here. But where? How? Oh, fuck.

>   A big hand grabbed his arm from behind, and he wheeled around, ready to fight. Connor had him, his brows drawn down with concern and confusion.

  “You okay?”

  Trick couldn’t answer. Connor dragged him around the tent, to the narrow space between the changing tent and the catering tent. An obstacle course of guywires nearly tripped Trick, but Connor pulled him on, not stopping until they were well sheltered.

  Losing the fight against the anxiety, Trick folded forward and grabbed his knees.

  “What the fuck, T? Are you sick? Are you having a fuckin’ heart attack?”

  He tried to answer, but he couldn’t. Consumed now with panic, he shook his head, then dropped to his knees.

  “Trick! Jesus Christ! Where’s Juliana?”

  “I’m okay,” he finally gasped as the attack loosened its jaws a fraction.

  Connor crouched at his side. “You are very far away from okay, my brother. What is goin’ on?”

  The world crawled back, and he began to feel like he wasn’t going to die right here and now. Again he said, “I’m okay, Con. Just need a minute. Go be a groom.” Connor had to go out and meet the Queen, if nothing else.

  “I’m not leaving you back here like this.”

  Gaining some more traction on reality and calm, Trick sat back on his heels. “I’m okay, man. I’m okay. I don’t need you hovering like a bitch. Get the fuck out.”

  Studying him closely, Connor finally nodded. “Alright. You chill, though. Then go home.”

  Trick shook his head. “I’m not leaving. I’ve got a toast to do.”

  “Fuck the toast.” He stood up. “Jesus, T. You and I are gonna have a talk about this. For now, I’m gonna find Juliana.”

  Trick didn’t want her to see him like this, but he wanted her comfort. He closed his eyes again and didn’t answer. When Connor finally left him, he sat his ass on the grass, pulled his knees up, crossed his arms over them, and buried his head.

  Jesus fucking Christ. All this over a woman. Why? He had to find a way to think it through without losing his shit, or it was never going to lose its hold on him.

  First, though, right now, he had to pull himself together enough to get through this party. Although the disabling anxiety had receded, Trick knew that it would be hours before he would feel something like normal. Maybe not again tonight. But he had to get at least through the toast. He was the fucking best man. He had a duty.

  Wrapped up in his attempt to find the ground under him again, he didn’t know Juliana was there until he felt her hands on his shoulders.

  “Trick.”

  He looked up; she was kneeling in front of him smiling a one-sided smile—not ridicule or amusement. Compassion. He tried on a smile of his own, and he thought it was moderately successful.

  She put her hand up and combed her fingers through his hair. The drag of her fingernails over his scalp soothed him, and he closed his eyes again and leaned into her touch, sighing out weary tension.

  Without saying anything else, she turned and sat at his side. When she put her arm across his back and pulled him toward her, he let her, and when he found his head in her lap, it was a good thing.

  He lay there while she combed her fingers through his hair, for a long time. Until he finally felt like he could manage the party, and La Zorra, and all the rest of it.

  Neither of them said another word until he stood up and held his hand out for hers. When she took it and let him pull her up, she said, “I love you.”

  ~oOo~

  Juliana wanted to take him home. Connor tried again to get him to leave. But he was getting through the toast. He’d fixated on that marker, and he was going to fucking make it. His mask of calm was in place again, so all he had to do was avoid any new triggers.

  Like La Zorra. She had ensconced herself at a side table, where Hoosier, Bart, and Connor kept her company in turns throughout the day. Other associates of hers and theirs stopped at her table to pay their respects. The Queen indeed.

  For his part, Trick kept Juliana close and lavished her with PDA, so much so that she started giving him suspicious looks. But he was cleaving to Connor’s idea: demonstrate that he wasn’t available, let Dora see that, and let her keep her distance. No rejection, no implosion of her relationship with the club, no risk to anyone.

  Keeping Juliana close, and not getting too far from the bar and its whiskey, Trick got himself through to dinner and his toast.

  He’d spent an afternoon writing and memorizing it. When it was time, and he stood, rather than do the knife-on-glass move to get everyone’s attention—it wouldn’t have worked, anyway, the glassware and silverware were plastic—he put his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and whistled.

  That got everyone’s attention. As he scanned the scene, all those faces turned to him, expecting—What? Humor? Profundity?—the toast he’d written seemed overblown and full of platitudes, quotes, and clichés. He left the folded paper in his pocket and set what he had memorized to the side of his weary mind.

  “Hey. Those of you who don’t know me, I’m Trick, the best man. I’m supposed to give a toast today. I had something prepared, but it’s crap, so I’m just going to talk for a minute, if that’s okay. Not too long, I promise.

  “Con’s been my best friend now for nearly a decade. He was my friend before I wore this patch. In fact, he taught me to ride and sponsored me in the club. I was a freaked-out vet when we met, alone in the world, out of sync with life stateside. I came into the bike shop on a whim, looking for something to do, somewhere to be, where I didn’t feel so…just wrong, I guess. Wrong all around. Another vet had told me how riding cleared his head, so I looked into it. Don’t know why I went to the bike shop instead of just to a Harley dealer, but I did. And I found a family there. And a best friend. Never looked back.

  “I know Connor about as well as almost anyone. There’s not a lot of women around who could be enough for him. I don’t mean good enough, whatever that means. I mean enough—strong enough, smart enough, brave enough, all of it. Maybe that’s true in some way for all of us. We don’t live normal lives. But Con stands out in front, and that’s a different kind of not normal. He found Cordero—or, honestly, she found him—and I think she might be the only woman on the planet who could handle him. What I know of her, I think the reverse is true, too. It’s something special that they found each other. I don’t know if I believe there’s a plan to the universe, but Connor and Cordero make me believe that there’s a rightness to it. I wish them a long, full, happy life together.” He turned to Connor and lifted his glass of whiskey. “I love you, brother. Don’t fuck this up.”

  ~oOo~

  He’d made it through the toast, and his psyche, knowing it had hit its mark, began to flag hard. While everybody was still eating, Trick reached over and picked up Juliana’s hand. She turned from her talk with Bibi, still smiling from whatever they’d been saying.

  “Hey,” she said. “Time to go?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. If you want to stay, that’s okay.”

  “Don’t be dumb. I want to be with you. I just need to get my clothes—and yours, too. And say goodbye to some people.”

  While she did that, Trick went over to the bar for one last, calming drink.

  “You are leaving?” An accented female voice asked him from behind. “I had hoped for a moment tonight.”

  Swallowing down the whiskey he’d just ordered, Trick turned to face Dora Vega.

  She was a small woman, and beautiful. She was shrewd and intelligent. And she’d made Trick uncomfortable even before she’d made her interest in him known. There was a darkness in her eyes, deeper than color. That darkness wasn’t evil, but it was watchful. And it was willing. The most unsettling thing about Dora Vega was her invulnerable will.