Strength & Courage (The Night Horde SoCal Book 1)

by Fanetti, Susan

  “No, you won’t. I’ll have her straight up my ass for letting you stay. I’ll have every damn woman in town up there with her. But you’re a man and a patch. If you want to stay, and if Hooj says he wants your help, I won’t stand in your way—but, boy, you are on loan. You wear Missouri on your back, and I won’t let that change without a fight. When this business clears, you get your ass back to Signal Bend where it belongs. You hear?”

  “I hear, boss. I wouldn’t want it any other way. That’s home. Always will be.”

  “I’ll stay, too.” A blond, a bit older than Nolan—Double A—leaned in. “I’ll stay, too.” He looked across the table to his President. “I’ll keep track of him.”

  Nolan wheeled on his brother. “Fuck you, A. I don’t need a sitter.”

  Show raised his hand. “Same deal goes for Double A. If it’s your choice, and Hooj wants you. On loan.”

  Hoosier slapped his palm on the table. “I’ll take all the hands I can get. Thank you, brothers.” He stood, turned to Show, and held out his hand. As Show grasped it, Hoosier said, “And thank you, brother. The help you offer is real and appreciated, and I understand why you can’t do more.” With that, the tension in the room broke. Before Hoosier closed the meeting, he said. “We need to think and do some planning before we make any decisions. We’ve got our antennae up for new trouble. So, for now, let’s give Mother the welcome they deserve. Let’s party.”

  ~oOo~

  Partying was all well and good, and the meeting had ended on a more positive note than any of them could have hoped, considering how it had started, but Muse left the Keep wondering how the fuck they were going to earn. Not only had the expected bank from the border run evaporated, but they were losing all of Ferguson’s business. If they fought the Castillos—and the fucking Zapatas—no matter how much help they got from Horde friends, that was outlay, not income, and not just borrowing from Bart to re-arm as outlaws, but lost bank for the time away from what business they still had that earned.

  If they aligned with one of the bigger cartels and fought that way, then they would earn, and earn well, but they would be up to their necks in the life. Like the old days. The bad old days.

  As it stood right now, he wouldn’t be able to make the next payment for Carrie and also his own rent. It was time to sell a bike.

  Muse liked vintage bikes. His main was a customized 1946 Knucklehead that he treated like his firstborn child. In his garage, he had a restored 1952 Indian Chief in cherry condition. He also had a 1965 Kawasaki W1 that ran, but not well, and looked like it might shake apart if it topped forty—and it might. It was supposed to have been his next project, but he’d never had the time or the jack to get started since he’d bought it out of some old fart’s barn in Nebraska. And he had a 1993 Harley 1200 Sportster in good shape. His first bike.

  He’d have to bring the Sportster back up as his main and sell all three vintage bikes to get any kind of breathing room between Carrie and a state facility. And he’d have to start with the Chief. That one was worth some real money. He’d worked on that thing for years, taking time where he could while he was a Nomad, standing in his fucking storage locker and trying to make do with that as his garage. He wasn’t a gifted mechanic like Trick, who could build a bike from thin air and do it blindfolded and with one hand. Muse was slow and steady, but he was competent, and he’d liked the quiet sense of pride he’d had in restoring a bike and making it his own. He’d done the same with the Knuckle, though for that one, his first project, he’d had help.

  Fuck. It’d be like selling off limbs. But he had no choice now. They’d gone outlaw to fill their coffers, and then fallen straight into a hole. He didn’t see the club voting in an alliance with a major cartel. So until this fucked-up mess with the Castillos and Zapatas was clear, they wouldn’t be able to earn with anybody. And if they didn’t keep that mess out of Madrone, they could lose the legit business they still had. Fuck.

  He sat at the bar and thought those thoughts, looking across the Hall at Sid. She must have come in while the club was in the Keep. Now she was helping the old ladies lay out food, and she looked comfortable, like she belonged, even though this was her first club party.

  Though he wanted to go to her, he wasn’t about to get in the middle of the bustle of hens. When Bibi had a job to do, she was a drill sergeant, and he’d end up getting yelled at for breaking their formation or something. So he sat where he was, drank his Jack and scratched at his beard. He usually shaved about once a week, which would be right about now, because the itch was maddening, and in the hot months of the year a beard was like wearing a ski mask twenty-four-seven. He didn’t know how his brothers dealt with it. But he hated shaving almost as much as he hated itching. It was November, pushing up on Thanksgiving, and if he could ignore the crazy itch for another day or so, he’d stop shaving until March or April, depending on when the heat returned. Sid had already told him she was curious what a full beard would feel like. He grinned, thinking how much he’d enjoy showing her.

  Just then, she caught his eye and smiled back. He crooked his finger and beckoned her over. On the long table Bibi had set up near the kitchen, she set down the bowl she was carrying, and she came to him.

  She was dressed simply, in a pair of snug jeans tucked into tall, dark brown boots. Her top was just a t-shirt, a kind of faded orange, the fabric textured somehow and just a little bit see-through. Her hair was loose and waved over her shoulders. Fuck, she was perfect.

  Muse noticed the Missouri SAA, Tommy, watching her walk, and possessiveness and territoriality filled his chest. Jealousy. Okay.

  “Hey, you. You okay? You were glowering.” She walked up and stood at his side. He swiveled his barstool and pulled her between his legs. With a glance around the room, she added, “Actually, everybody was glowering earlier. They look mellower now.”

  “We’re gonna have to talk when it’s quiet, hon. But I’m okay.”

  She gave him an astute look. “There’s trouble.”

  “Not between you and me. But things are getting complicated here. We’ll talk, but not now.”

  “Okay…” Her look was skeptical, or suspicious. Or just worried.

  Muse looked over her shoulder and saw Tommy’s eyes in their direction again. Sid wasn’t marked, and Tommy would think he was—would be—within his rights to ogle a piece of ass a brother was pushing up on. Banking the information, as it were, to hit her up later. But hell, no.

  He turned his eyes to the girl between his legs. His girl. “Sid. Remember saying you’d let me protect you? Whenever I needed to protect you?”

  She grinned. “It was last night. I haven’t experienced head trauma in the past day. So yeah, I remember.” The grin changed course and became a frown. “Wait. You need to protect me now? Here?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Just go with me here, okay? If I say or do something that would normally piss you off, understand what I’m doing and go with it.”

  “You’re not gonna maul me in the middle of the room again, are you?”

  He chuckled. “No. But there are men here who don’t know you, so I am going to claim you. I’ll use my words, though.”

  She huffed. “Fine. You guys need sensitivity training.”

  The thought of his brothers sitting around a room talking about their feelings was hilarious, and he laughed outright. It felt good, cleared the muck from between his ears a little. “I love you, hon.”

  She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Me, t—I love you, too.”

  He put his thumb over her lips. “You don’t have to say the words back all the time. I just needed to hear them out loud to know they were true.”

  A faint line emerged between her brows. “It’s just…”

  “It’s okay, Sid.” He stood and hooked his arm around her waist. “C’mon. I want you to meet an admirer.”

  He walked her over to Tommy, who was leaning on a pole, waiting for his turn at the pool table. Tommy saw them coming and stood straight, his exp
ression so far nothing more than expectant.

  “Hey, Muse.”

  “Tommy. I want you to meet my old lady. Sid, this is Tommy.”

  Sid held out her hand, but Tommy didn’t take it. He was staring at Muse. After no more than a second, maybe two, just enough for both men to know what had really happened in that moment, he shifted his gaze to Sid and took her offered hand. “Hey. Good to meet you.”

  “You, too.” Sid looked up at Muse, and he knew she was wondering if there was more to this encounter than the introduction. There was not. He had no intention of hanging out with Sid in such close proximity to a man who clearly wanted in her pants, whether or not he had just been sufficiently discouraged from trying.

  “Looks like food’s up. Catch you for a drink later, Tom.”

  The Missouri SAA nodded, and another look passed between him and Muse—an apology. Good man. Muse smiled.

  As he led Sid to the food line, she asked, “Can we talk now?”

  “If we don’t eat now, there’s likely not to be much left.”

  “Bibi has food for about two weeks back there. We’ll find something. I’m confused about a lot of stuff. Please?”

  “You want to go back to my room?” The last time he’d tried to take her back there to talk, it had not gone well.

  “Your fuck room?”

  “It’s a bedroom, Sid. If you want to fuck, I’m more than happy to oblige. But it’s just a bedroom. And it’s clean, quiet, and private.”

  Actually, if they did fuck in there, he’d change the sheets after. He’d probably be offering that room up to one of the Missouri patches for the night.

  “Okay.”

  He led her back, unlocked the door and led her in. Because the club owned the whole block, they’d had the room to make a real dorm: twelve small rooms with double beds and tiny bathrooms, and a ‘bunkroom’ with six beds. Prospects lived in the clubhouse, and the single Horde each had a room of their own. Connor, P.B., and Lakota all used their rooms as their main residence. The rest of the men had places off the premises, too. Sid was right—for the most part, this room was where Muse fucked. Sometimes, it was just where he passed out. But it was clean and private, and a decent place to talk, too.

  They sat together on the bed, and Sid jumped right in. “What’s going on? Why did everybody look so tense before?”

  They were at a crossroads, and Muse didn’t think Sid even knew it yet. He hesitated before answering, trying to decide how much he’d offer to tell her. They were still new, and he could scare the shit out of her. He probably would.

  In the end, he decided on as much disclosure as he could, and as she wanted. “What do you know about the Horde?”

  She cocked her head; she hadn’t expected that question—or probably a question at all. “A little. I did research when I was putting together my report for Michael. You’re a second charter of the club that got all that press attention several years ago.” Sid’s eyes widened. “Wait. Riley Chase was in the movie about it, wasn’t she? She’s Bart’s wife!”

  He nodded, and she laughed. “Oh, wow. I didn’t connect those dots until right now. Okay. There’s a story there, I guess. But anyway. They were into some criminal stuff, but they don’t seem to be anymore. And this charter is just the bike shop and the Hollywood stuff, right? I know Michael has a long record, and I guess he’s not the only one.” She narrowed her eyes. “You?”

  “My record isn’t as long as it could be, but yeah. I’ve done a little time.”

  “Do you mean it’s not as long as it could be because you could have done more stuff than you did, or because you could have gotten caught more?”

  “Both.” She blinked and sagged, and Muse linked his fingers with hers on her lap. “Ask the questions you want to ask. I’ll be as straight as I can be. But make sure you want the answers before you do.”

  “Were you a bad guy?”

  “I’m an outlaw, hon. I don’t know about good or bad.”

  “You are an outlaw? Present tense? I thought that was in the past.”

  “It was. It’s not now.”

  “Don’t answer with riddles, Muse.”

  “That’s why everybody’s tense. We’ve been working straight since the charter started here in Madrone. But we’re in a situation, and we’re gonna have to do some things that aren’t within the law. We’ll probably stay on that side. Don’t ask me more about that—and that’s to protect you.”

  For several interminable moments, she was quiet, staring at their linked hands. Without looking up, she said, “You know I work with the Sheriff’s office all the time.”

  “’Course I do. It’s not a problem.” He squeezed her hand, feeling an unfamiliar shakiness that took him a moment to peg as anxiety. “Is all this a problem for you?”

  “Have you killed people?”

  And that was likely the worst question she would think to ask. “Make sure you want the answer when you ask a question.”

  She turned her eyes to his. They were sad. “I guess you just answered it, then, didn’t you?”

  He was silent. So was she. When she pulled his hand from hers, that anxiety he’d been feeling bubbled into fear.

  “Jesus, Muse.” The words came on a breath that was barely a whisper. “What am I supposed to do?”

  He took her hand back and pulled it onto his lap. In his other hand, he took her chin, and he stared hard into her eyes. “Love me. Trust me. Trust what you know of me. That’s who I am.”

  “Is that why you keep pushing for Gr—” She cut off abruptly, then started again, but Muse heard the syllable she’d cut off, and he filed it away. “—for the name of the guy who hit me? So you could kill him?”

  “Not necessarily. So I could make sure he left you alone. So I could give him some of his own back. I wouldn’t go farther than I needed to make sure he left you be. But I would go as far as I need to.” He let go of her chin and pushed his fingers into her hair, cupping the side of her head. They’d been moving fast; only last night they’d decided he’d stay with her, move in. Maybe they were crashing and burning just as fast. But he didn’t want to let this go without a fight. “But hon, you knew that already. That’s why you wouldn’t give me his name.”

  “I just thought you’d beat him up.”

  Muse shook his head. “You’re telling yourself a story. That’s not what you were afraid of. You were afraid I’d get into trouble. A guy like that doesn’t report a beatdown, and you know it.”

  “No. I didn’t think—”

  “Sid.”

  She pulled away and stood up, taking all of the three strides it took to cross the room. “So, what? You’re saying I always knew deep down inside that you’re a stone-cold killer, and I have some kind of fetish about it or something?”

  He stood, too, and crossed to her, turning her around to face him. “I’m not a stone-cold killer, and I doubt you have a fetish. I’m saying you know me. I am the man you think I am. The man you say you love. What I’ve done, I’ve done for my club. I’ve done what I had to do to protect the people I love. And I’ve never hurt an innocent or somebody who wasn’t in the life and knew what that meant.” He brushed the backs of his fingers over the new scar on her cheekbone. “I’m the same man, no matter how I earn. Can you live with that?”

  Her eyes glittered, but she didn’t cry. “I don’t know. Muse, I don’t know.” She looked erratically about, as if she was afraid to meet his eyes any longer. “I have to get out of here.”

  When she stepped around him and went to the door, he didn’t stop her. His back was still to the door when he heard it open.

  “I do love you. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. But I don’t know.”

  And then she was gone.

  Muse sat down on the edge of his dorm bed and stared at the wall.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “There you are!” Bibi came up to Sid just as she was clearing the dorm hallway and making an attempt to get free of the clubhouse, of Muse, and Kean
u, too, and get home to be quiet and think. “I’ve been lookin’ for you, honey. I should’ve known where you were. These boys got no self-control at all.” Bibi had hooked her arm with Sid’s and was leading her toward the kitchen. “C’mon. We’re gettin’ out round two.”

  She tried to hold back. “No—Bibi, I’m…” Her head was so fucking loud she couldn’t even get a thought, much less a sentence, through. Fuck, what had Muse just told her? How did it make sense?

  All around them was the cacophony of a party—music, laughter, the click of pool balls connecting, loud conversation, the bells and whistles of a pinball machine.

  Still, it was louder in Sid’s head.

  Bibi stopped and turned to face her. She narrowed her eyes, making her crow’s feet crinkle deeply, and looked hard. “Oh, hell’s bells. He didn’t take you back there to fuck. He took you back there to give you The Talk.” Sid heard the capital letters in the way Bibi said the words. “I’ll be damned. C’mon, honey. You need a drink.”