Strength & Courage (The Night Horde SoCal Book 1)

by Fanetti, Susan

  Muse was no stranger to rage. He didn’t lose his shit like Demon, but he’d known rage in his life. A lot of rage. There was something comforting and familiar about feeling it now, simmering at the base of his skull, waiting to be a useful tool.

  He had Sherlock trying to track the asshole down. They’d thought they had enough to go on—arrests for assault and/or domestic disturbance on the date in question, and the big ring, which should have ended up in a personal effects inventory. Sherlock had some kind of secret way into the Sheriff’s Office database. But there had been a couple dozen such arrests in the county on that date, and either the ring wasn’t inventoried or the deputy who did it was shit at description. Or it just hadn’t been entered in.

  Whatever the case, they were trying to narrow the field—when they weren’t doing work for the border run or any other club business. It was taking too fucking long.

  In the meantime, Muse had talked to Hoosier, and they had Keanu watching her when he couldn’t be with her. Fuck discreet; he needed her safe. Sid was even okay with it, for the most part. Since that day at Lake Arrowhead, she trusted him more and fought him less. He’d only had to push a little to get her to agree to let Keanu hang out with her until ‘things blew over.’ He didn’t say that he planned to be the one doing the blowing. If he could keep her clear of that knowledge, he would.

  The only wrinkle was work—she wouldn’t let Keanu follow her around at work. She said she visited people’s homes, and it was an invasion of their privacy for him to see where people on her caseload lived and worked.

  He still followed her, but he did it at a distance, without her knowledge.

  Yeah, Muse knew he’d pay for that if she found out—knowing Keanu, that was when she found out—but he’d deal with it then. He had enough to deal with now.

  Following Hoosier and Connor, they rolled into the parking lot of the casino and backed their bikes in, making a row near the entrance. They locked their firearms in their saddlebags; they’d be searched inside, anyway. Muse, who’d strapped a sheathed hunting knife to his thigh as well, locked that up, too. He kept his switchblade in his boot. He never went into any outlaw meet totally unarmed, not if he could help it. The last time he had, he’d ended up bleeding out on a warehouse floor, half his back opened up.

  For months after patching into this legit—now formerly legit—club, he’d felt naked without the weight of his Beretta on his body. But eventually he’d gotten used to it. This morning, it had felt strange to arm up again, but within ten miles, he’d felt like his old self.

  Habits of a lifetime didn’t die hard. They didn’t die at all.

  Once their metal was safely locked away, seven members of the Night Horde SoCal went in through the front doors of the casino to make their appointment with Wade Ferguson.

  They were one-percenters once again.

  ~oOo~

  Ferguson met them in a ballroom, one that was between bookings, the tables lacking any finery, the chairs stacked in rows along the wall. He stood in front of a small stage, with a spotlight on him, like some kind of wannabe rock star. He wore a suit that probably cost more than Muse’s rent, and his dark hair was expensively styled.

  Three large, suited men stood on the stage behind him. Considering the layout of the room and Ferguson’s theatrical stance, Muse assumed that there were five or six men positioned elsewhere.

  Since they were allies and business associates, and since the Horde had been searched before they’d been led into this room, the display made Muse’s scalp prickle, and he could tell by the subtle glances among his brothers, and Connor’s broad, tense stance at his father’s side, that all the Horde were with him.

  Ferguson stepped forward and extended his hand. “Hoosier. Thank you for coming.”

  Hoosier shook. “Wade. What’s with the production? There a problem?”

  One large, round table was arranged with chairs around it. Ferguson held out his hand toward it. “Let’s sit.”

  The table sat six. Muse and Diaz stood behind Hoosier and Connor, facing off across the table against Ferguson’s visible goons. In their earlier outlaw days, Muse and Diaz had both served as enforcers and now would again; since Connor had taken the SAA’s seat at Hoosier’s left at the table, it was right for them to stand guard.

  Ferguson looked around the table, eyeing each man in turn. “Where’s Bart?”

  Hoosier’s answer was terse. “He’s handling some other business.”

  “What other business?”

  “Business that’s not your business.” Their President’s patience was obviously at its end. “What’s the problem, Wade? I thought we were here to pin down the details.”

  Though Ferguson’s dark eyes had narrowed at Hoosier’s brushoff, he addressed the more pressing point. “There’s been a slight snag in those details. The history and reputation of the Night Horde has my…associates concerned. They need assurances before they’ll agree to our deal.”

  “What kind of assurances?”

  “Collateral.”

  “Collateral? What the fuck are you talking about?” That was Connor; Hoosier put his hand on his son’s arm, settling him.

  All the Horde had gone tense at that word. Though Ferguson hadn’t used the word ‘cartel,’ and seemed to be carefully avoiding it, they all knew who his ‘associates’ were. Sherlock had done his homework. Ferguson was working with the Castillos, led by Esteban Castillo. They were new, mid-level players in Mexico, headquartered far south, in Oaxaca, looking to up their game. That made them even more dangerous, because they had a mark to make. If they wanted collateral, they weren’t looking for a postdated check.

  “They ask that one of your men be…detained…until the first run has been successfully completed. They want Connor.”

  Hoosier’s son. The club SAA.

  Fucking hell. Ten minutes back into the outlaw life, and it was going to shit already.

  All the Horde went rigid, but none reacted strongly. They would follow Hoosier’s lead. Muse slid his eyes to the side and saw Diaz playing with the rings on his fingers. His rings were unique, specially designed to open and release spikes when turned a certain way. Muse had his blade in his boot, and he could get a lot done with a blade, but he’d need five seconds to get to it. He assumed his brothers had similar contingencies—bringing a couple of spiked rings and a few knives to a gunfight made for shitty odds, however.

  Hoosier was still behaving calmly. “You know I’m not gonna agree to that shit, Wade. If those are the terms, then we’re gonna have to walk away from this deal.”

  Ferguson stood. “I’m sorry, my friend.” And he honestly did look sorry. “But the deal is done. There’s nothing I can do. There is no walking away.” He nodded toward one of his goons.

  They were seven men, poorly armed, standing or sitting in the middle of a ballroom in a casino. Though the Horde did protection work in his strip clubs and gaming satellites, and on some transport, his security division within the casino was elite and full-time. Casinos were among the most heavily guarded and highly secure facilities on the planet, just a step or so below, say, the bunkers where the government kept the nuclear warheads. Every one of the men on the casino’s security detail could now be considered an enemy and a threat. Muse estimated that the Horde would easily be outnumbered five or six to one once the party got started.

  But they were starting it anyway.

  Connor made the first move, leaping up and grabbing his chair, throwing it with a howl toward the closest goon. He knocked the big guy on his ass just as he was reaching for his piece. The other Horde leapt clear, scattering, pulling tables onto their sides as the bullets began to fly.

  The sound of gunfire was muffled—their guns were suppressed. So as not to disturb the gamblers and guests. They expected to handle any problem the Horde presented in this room, away from public eyes.

  They weren’t prepared to bring the shootout into the casino. That neutralized most of the security team and narrowed the fie
ld to the assholes in his room.

  When Connor had made his move, it had put distance between him and his father. Muse had come in to fill it and was now covering Hoosier. They’d dived behind an upended table, and Muse had retrieved his blade from his boot. Hoosier, who didn’t like to wear rings, had his brass knuckles, and Muse almost laughed. If anything was less effective than a knife at a gunfight, it was brass knuckles. But he loved those fuckers.

  “We get out of this room, we can get clear,” he muttered near his President’s ear. “They don’t want the attention. We need to get into the main areas of the casino.”

  Hoosier nodded. “Good thinking.”

  After the first quick, quiet volley of bullets, there was silence. Then they heard Ferguson’s voice. While he spoke, Muse and Hoosier worked on conveying through body language the plan—throw and bolt.

  “Hoosier. I don’t want this. We’ve been associates for a long time. I consider you a friend. Connor won’t be harmed. It’s insurance, that’s all. When the run is completed, you’ll have their trust, and all will be well.”

  Muse caught movement at their flank. A shadow—the goons were on the move.

  Without waiting for Hoosier to call it, Muse shouted “NOW!” and four large, round banquet tables went sailing through the room. The Horde bolted for the row of doors along one wall—those doors led into the main lobby.

  Muse had been right. Though they were pursued, they weren’t shot at. They ran through the busy, brightly loud lobby to the main entrance. Ferguson’s men followed them through but stopped just outside the entrance. They got clear of the building and to their bikes with only one injury: P.B. had been grazed in the arm by a bullet. The wound was bleeding freely, but he was able to ride.

  As they mounted, a look went around. It fucking sucked to run from a fight like that, and they had their weapons right here with their bikes. But Hoosier shook his head and rolled out. It was the right call. Even better armed, they’d still be badly outnumbered, and shooting up a casino full of innocents was wrong in just about every way. They followed their President out of the lot. When Muse cast a quick glance back to the entrance of the People of the Pines Casino Resort, Wade Ferguson was out ahead of his men, looking pissed. And worried.

  Once again, everything had changed. But now, Muse didn’t know what the fuck would happen next.

  ~oOo~

  To his credit, Bart had not uttered the words ‘I told you so,’ or even intimated that he would have liked to. The riders returned to the clubhouse, and the rest of the club was waiting for them. Hoosier had called in on the ride back. J.R. had stitched P.B. up. Now the club was assembled in the Keep, and Hoosier had explained the disaster on Big Bear Mountain.

  Sounded like the title of some bad TV movie—the kind Muse worked on.

  But a disaster it was. Now, the new job was dead, and with it went all of their other work with Ferguson, which was a sizable chunk of their income. That pain would go deep.

  Worse yet, though, they were in Ferguson’s crosshairs—and, likely, in the crosshairs of the Castillos, his so-called ‘associates’ south of the border. They hadn’t even had a chance to work with a cartel before they’d landed on their wrong side.

  When Hoosier finished his brief, the table was silent.

  Demon spoke first. “How do we get clear of it?”

  “I don’t know.” Hoosier pulled his beard. The day had really rocked him. “We need friends.”

  For the first time in the meeting, Bart spoke. “Missouri will be here tomorrow. Between the two charters, we have friends who’ll throw in.” He leaned forward. “As I see it, our problems are two: we need a truce with Ferguson and the Castillos. And we need to earn.

  “No,” Lakota interjected. “We don’t need a truce. We need retaliation.”

  The men around the table turned and stared, and Lakota went on. “Ferguson set us up. Under the guise of partnership, he surrounded us and tried to take our SAA. Fuck a truce.”

  Hoosier answered. “After these years clean, we’re not geared for war, brother. And we don’t have the bank to get geared. It would wipe us out.”

  Lakota turned to Bart. “Brother? You’re loaded. Spot the club a loan.”

  “Riley earned that money, not me.”

  “You’re her old man. You saying she keeps you on allowance?”

  Bart’s eyes went dark. “Watch your mouth, asshole.”

  “Bart. Is it a bad idea?” Sherlock asked. Bart and Sherlock were both techies and spent a lot of time together. Bart didn’t really have what Muse would have thought of as a ‘best friend’ in the club. He was a family man and didn’t hang out at the clubhouse nearly as much as he did with his wife and kids. But he was probably closer to Sherlock than anyone else, aside from Hoosier.

  He sighed. “If we have a real plan, then okay. But I’m not agreeing to hit up my kids’ future until we know what the fuck we’re doing. Riley’s pregnant again. I got two kids and another one coming, and we’re talking about calling hell down on our heads and using my family’s security to do it.”

  “We’re your family, brother.” Connor’s voice was low.

  Bart met his eyes. “I was talking about the club, too.”

  “Take a breath, boys,” Hoosier interceded. “Bart’s right. We need a plan. We need friends, we need alliances. That means we need to have something to offer, and that means we stay on the outlaw road, even with the run we voted in dead.” He look around the room, stopping pointedly at Bart. “Do we need to vote that?”

  Bart stared, then shook his head. Hoosier’s eyes scanned the table again. Every man, even those who voted against the border run, shook his head. Even Demon, though he looked conflicted. Muse decided he was going to try to talk to his friend again after the meeting.

  Assured that the table was finally united, Hoosier sat back. “Good. That’s one problem fixed. I don’t like cracks between us, brothers. Maybe we can squabble when we’re fighting over bike jobs and security work, but not now. Now, we need to keep our arms linked. I think we have some time to plan. Not a lot, but enough. Right now, the Castillos are Ferguson’s problem. He’s the one who didn’t deliver. Maybe they’ll solve our problem and take Ferguson down themselves. While we keep an eye on that drama, let’s get ready for Mother. We’ll meet again tomorrow, when Missouri gets here. We’ll bring ‘em into the loop and see if they can help. I want every patch back at this table with an idea. Let’s pull together and clear through this shit.

  He slammed the gavel on the table, leaving another gouge in the oak.

  ~oOo~

  As the Horde left the Keep, Muse put his hand on Demon’s shoulder. “Let me buy you a shot, brother.”

  Demon turned angry blue eyes on him, but then backed off. He nodded, and the two men headed to the bar. Since the vote on the border run, Demon had refused to acknowledge Muse in any kind of friendly way, so this reaction was a real improvement.

  One of the girls was behind the bar. Muse didn’t know this one’s name. “Two of Cuervo silver, darlin’.” Muse heard himself say the word ‘darlin’’ and smiled. He’d been paying attention since Sid had told him she liked that he called her ‘hon.’ As far as he knew, she was the only one he called that. He didn’t know why he did, but she liked it, so he’d keep it up.

  None of the Prospects were around. Muse assumed they’d been put on old lady detail. There were only three Prospects, though, and four of the members were married: Hoosier, Bart, Diaz, and J.R. None of the others had old ladies or steady women.

  Except Muse himself, that was. Shit. Keanu was already watching Sid, though. Unless Hoosier had pulled him.

  “Hold up a sec, Demon. I need to catch Hooj quick.”

  He turned and caught up with the President as he was walking back to his office. “Prez, hold up. You got the Prospects on the women? Is Keanu still on Sid?”

  Hoosier nodded. “There’s already a credible threat on her, so I left Keanu where he was. Ingrid’s in Europe doing her runway t
hing. Beebs and Riley are hanging out together. Fargo’s on them. And Peaches is with Veda. Right now, they’re covered. But it’s a stretch, and if this goes on, we’ll have to put patches on them or lock down. So tell me now: Is there a reason more than chivalry we should be using dear club resources to keep her covered?”

  Muse knew what Hoosier was asking, and that tripped him up for a second. He didn’t have a ready answer.

  Hoosier pushed. “You know I’ve talked to her a few times, about taking in Deme’s kid. I like her. But we can’t cover everybody we like. You planning to mark this woman?”