He laughed. “Where you’re concerned, that is not news.”
She sighed, but she was smiling a small, sweet smile. “Okay. Then get your ass out of here, because I have a lot to do today if we’re running off in the morning.”
Grinning so widely his cheeks ached, he raised up on his knees and kissed her. She kissed him back and, without thinking about it, thinking only of his relief and happiness, he deepened the kiss, cradling her face in his hands and pushing his tongue into his mouth.
She stiffened and pulled back.
“I’m sorry, baby.” Pushing his disappointment away, he kissed her forehead. “Sorry.”
“No—it’s okay. I just…”
“I know. It’s okay. We’re okay.” Picking up her hands again and kissing them both. “Get busy, Sport. I have to get to the clubhouse. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Isaac stood and headed to the door. Before he stepped through, he turned back and said, “All the reservations are taken care of. You just take care of what you need to do. The trip is done.”
She smirked at him. “And if I’d said no?”
He winked and headed downstairs. He’d had to believe she’d say yes.
~oOo~
The Horde were heroes. Fucking heroes. Folk heroes, even. Isaac was amazed. The gunfight down Main Street had drawn the attention of the media as well as state and federal law. News crews had descended on the town in the hours and days afterward. “The Shootout in Signal Bend”—that’s what people were calling it. Like it had starred John Wayne and Clint Eastwood. Dan had hit the nose when he’d said it was like the Wild West.
Dan.
They’d buried him and the others in the town cemetery. MCs from all over the country—even those with which the Horde had no relationship—had sent representatives. The funeral at St. John’s, and the wake in the clubhouse after, had been covered by several major news organizations and maybe a dozen bloggers.
They were heroes because by the end of that day, the two major gangs in St. Louis—the Underdawgs and the Northside Knights—were decimated. The Horde had nothing to do with the demise of the Underdawgs, their friends, but the general populace was no less pleased they were gone, and no less happy to credit the Horde with it.
Lawrence Ellis had been simultaneously exposed as one of the most powerful drug kingpins in the country and eliminated. Bart and Rick had—anonymous and heavily shielded—blasted out to all those news organizations, and the FBI, the information they’d hacked from Ellis. That included the footage Bart had pulled down from that office building in St. Louis. Most of it. He’d destroyed the worst parts of what had happened to Lilli.
The day before, Isaac had taken a call from a Hollywood producer, wanting to “option” the story. Whatever that fucking meant. Hollywood. The guy had spoken some kind of hipster lingo that aggravated the fuck out of Isaac, who’d told him to shove his “option.” But then the guy had said that the story was out there and would get told. The Horde and the town could profit from it, or somebody else could. As he’d talked, Isaac had realized that Signal Bend needed to control the story, not just profit from it. So Isaac, grudgingly, told this “Stan” guy that he’d get back to him. He’d take it to the table.
Meth was dead to Signal Bend. The focus on the town, and the demise of the Underdawgs, their primary buyer, had killed it as a viable economic plan. At first, Isaac had lamented to Lilli the irony of all this hero worship, which had saved them from the specter of prosecution—there was no appetite at any level for putting away the guys that had accomplished in a day what law enforcement had been trying for years to get done, and the Feds had a real interest in keeping Lilli’s past controlled—being the thing that killed the town after all.
But Lilli had said, “Use it.” In the first conversation in which she’d fully participated since she was taken, she’d described ways that the town’s newfound notoriety—no, popularity—might be useful. It wouldn’t bring the family farms back, but it could draw people to Main Street, and bring life to the shops, to Marie’s and the other little cafes. More growth could feed off that. They’d had themselves a modern-day shootout, and the town had banded together and fought off the bad guys.
And now Hollywood was calling.
Isaac sat at the head of the table and laid out the story. Though the Horde had met at table a few times over the past few weeks, those meetings had been focused on specifics, dealing with the fallout of that day—understanding the potential legal risks to the Horde and its allies, organizing the cleanup and repairs, planning Dan’s memorial, updates on Vic and Badger’s conditions (both were pulling through and would recover). They’d put Vic on a year’s probation, his patch in the balance if he fucked up even once. This was the first meeting in which they were looking forward.
“We gotta get out of the meth business. We got nobody to buy what we’d be selling. The void in St. Louis will fill, but we don’t know by who, and we got no relationships with any of the likely players. It’s too hot. We got a pass—and that’s a fuckin’ miracle—because we took the Northsiders and Ellis down. We need to use this chance to get on the right side. Dandy and Becker are on board. Even the Sheriff is ready to be out. These last few months have killed greed.”
He was gratified to see the heads around the table nodding. He’d known they’d be in—no one had any appetite to continue the way they’d been going—but it still felt good to know for sure. He looked at Show, who’d lost so much to this business. His VP was staring at his hands where they gripped the edge of the table. He was working his way back, Isaac knew, but it was a slow go. No telling whether Show would ever be the same. Isaac hoped so. They were a team. If Isaac was good at the head of the table, it was only because Show was at his side.
He had a sense that the table was unified, but a sense was not enough. “All those in favor of ending the meth trade in Signal Bend. Aye.” He went around the table: Show. Bart. C.J., with Vic’s proxy. Havoc. Len. It was a small table these days, but it was unified. They were out of meth.
Isaac nodded. “Carries. I’ve called the cookers all in, and I want us all in the meeting. That’s three kitchens down. All those people not making or spending money. We’re gonna need to give them a way to earn. We can put them to work on the rebuild, but that’s a short term deal, and the insurance money isn’t a get-rich scheme.”
Bart leaned in. He was still in a sling, but nearly back to top form. “I got some help for that. We can do a Kickstarter, get funding for the rebuild that way. Ties in with the idea of using the shootout as a public draw.”
C.J. asked, “What the fuck is a kickstarter?”
Bart laughed. “It’s a website for crowdfunding. Basically, you start an account, describe a project you need money for, and then ask people to give you money. You give them some kind of swag for certain levels of donation—twenty bucks, fifty, a hundred—like we could get coffee mugs made or t-shirts, whatever, and—”
“Fuckin’ charity? T-shirts?” C.J. snarled and crossed his arms. “That’s bullshit. What’s twenty bucks gonna do for us, anyway? Asshole.”
Unfazed, Bart grinned at the oldest member. “Dude. People make fucking millions for their projects. Movies have been funded this way. We’re rebuilding a town. Everybody thinks we did some kind of public service—think about it as getting paid by the public for it. Considering the publicity, I bet we get enough to make a nest egg for the town.”
C.J. scowled at Bart. “Call me dude again, asshole, and I’ll feed you your teeth. Charity’s charity.”
“Okay, guys. Ceej is on record. I say we vote. All in favor of Bart doing this Kickstarter thing. Hands.” Isaac raised his hand and looked around the table. Every hand but C.J.’s was up.
“Carries. Bart, do your thing. Now—do we talk to Hollywood or not? I expect the town to follow our lead. Hands for this, too.” Again, every hand but C.J.’s—Signal Bend was going Hollywood.
“One more piece of business.” Isaac felt oddly nervous about a
nnouncing the next part. He cleared his throat. “Show’s in charge for the next few days. I’ll be reachable, but I’m taking my lady and making an honest woman out of her. She’s baking my kid in her oven.”
Show turned sharply at that last bit of news. Isaac hadn’t said anything to anyone about Lilli being pregnant. Len slapped his back. Havoc applauded. Bart was grinning like an idiot. C.J. sat expressionless. Isaac was getting damn tired of the old man’s attitude, but he ignored him and took the congratulations of his other brothers with a broad smile. Meeting Show’s eyes, he saw a somber kind of hope.
And then Show reached out and grasped his arm. “That’s a good woman. Don’t fuck it up.”
With a laugh, Isaac nodded and turned back to the table. “We leave in the morning—flying to California to pick up her dad’s ’68 Barracuda and then driving back. Stopping in Nevada to do the deed. Right now she’s working out instructions for the Christmas party. I know it sucks worse than a gunfight, but I need a volunteer to handle the party plans while we’re gone.” The table was silent, the men shifting awkwardly in their seats. “Come on, brothers. It’s just telling a bunch of chicks what to do. You’re all great at that.”
Len sighed. “Are there flowers and shit?”
Isaac laughed. “This is Lilli. The party is here. No flowers. Probably a Christmas tree.”
“Fuck. Fine, I’ll do it.”
“My man!” Isaac slapped his SAA on the back. “Okay. Let’s talk to the cookers.” He gaveled the meeting to an end.
~oOo~
“Come on, Sport. You’re making us late for our own wedding.”
“Chill, love. There’s a reason I don’t dress like this. It’s a pain in the ass.”
Isaac stood outside the bathroom door. He didn’t know what her fuss was about. They were heading down to the wedding chapel in the hotel for a ten-minute wedding. He was dressed the way he always dressed—except that, yes, he’d made sure his kutte and boots were extra clean, and, sure, maybe he’d taken a couple of extra minutes with his hair, leaving a lot of it loose, the way she liked.
The day before, they’d landed in Sacramento and picked up a rental car for the ride to Stockton. They’d collected the ‘Cuda—which was indeed a magnificent car—then returned the rental (him following her) and headed for Reno. They’d gotten lucky; though there was heavy snow cover in Tahoe, the roads were clear. Lilli had insisted on driving all the way to Reno, much to Isaac’s chagrin. He did not ride bitch. Not when a woman was behind the wheel. But she’d pointed out that, first, it was her car, and second, she hadn’t been able to drive it for years. So he’d acquiesced.
She drove like fucking Danica Patrick. Jesus. He’d actually been nervous, speeding over winding mountain roads, weaving around slower traffic—which was everyone. He’d been damn glad to see the hotel. But she was letting him drive the rest of the way. He had an image to uphold, so they’d be making it home in record time, even with a honeymoon night here in the hotel tonight.
Assuming they got married today. The chapel had a strict “fifteen minute” policy, only waiting fifteen minutes past the scheduled appointment before they moved on to the next wedding. They were in that grace period now.
Finally, the knob turned, and Isaac stepped back as Lilli came out of the bathroom.
Holy fuck. She was…holy fuck…wearing a short little white lace dress, with sleeves that were almost long, showing a lot of leg. And the most astonishing pair of sky-high heels he’d ever seen. Red suede. Jesus. He’d never seen her wear heels before. Or a dress, for that matter. Lilli had great legs and a stupendous ass. The outfit was definitely working for her. He shifted his swollen cock, trying to find a place for it in his jeans.
She saw him and grinned, then looked sheepish and awkward. She was still a week or more away from being physically ready for sex, and who knew how long before her head was ready. He didn’t care. She was beautiful, fierce, strong, brilliant. And she was his. He took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. “I love you, Lillian Accardo. You are mine. And you look fucking amazing. I don’t know where or when you got that outfit, but I’m glad you did.” He stepped away from her, to the table at the side of the room. “And hey. Those shoes go with this.” He handed her a single, long-stemmed, red rose, which he’d had delivered to the room while she primped. Corny, maybe. But the smile on her face told him it was right.
She took his hand. “Come on, love. Let’s go get official.”
~oOo~
That night, their wedding night, for the first time since Ellis had taken Lilli, they slept naked together. Isaac savored the feel of her warm, soft body at ease in the curl of his own. They slept with his hand on her belly and her hand over his, their ringed fingers linked.
It was enough. It was everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Party planning was not something with which Lilli had any real experience. She’d been raised in a family which mostly kept to itself, without extended relations on the same continent, and after college she’d gone into the Army. Any party planning she’d been part of in the past had involved kegs and pizza.
But Signal Bend deserved a real Christmas. The town had been under siege for weeks—months, really. Years, if the economic disaster in the midst of which they’d been struggling was taken into account. And now Main Street was all but shut down. Everyone but Lilli had been stunned at the damage all those bullets had done. It wasn’t just windows that needed to be replaced. The buildings with wood exteriors, the plaster and drywall interiors, the stock—all of it was a mess. And Don Keyes’ dozer had pushed three vehicles straight through the entire front of Fosse’s Finds.
There was a lot to be done. The town morale was rising, and people were happy to do the repairs, but something told Lilli that they needed some kind of event to mark to end of trouble and the beginning of hope.
She knew she needed it. She needed to keep her mind busy. She’d quit her job, and she needed something to fill her head. When she was idle, she felt like she was losing control of it. She’d said nothing to Isaac. He knew she wasn’t quite right, but he thought it was temporary. He didn’t know she was worried that what had happened in St. Louis had broken her, after all, that maybe it had unlocked the crazy her mother had left behind in her.
And she was pregnant. God. What if she really was broken? What if she was destined to be the kind of mother her own mother had been?
Staying busy kept those thoughts away. Planning this huge party gave her focus, made her feel like Isaac was right, and the crazy was just a normal, temporary part of recovery from trauma. When the party was over, she was going to have to figure out what the fuck she was going to do with her life, though. Because being Isaac’s old lady was not a sustainable profession. That felt like a one-way ticket to crazytown.
She’d had to jump through hoops to quit her job, but she’d managed it. Honestly, they were glad to be rid of her; the Signal Bend story had drawn far too much attention for comfort. They’d changed her faked history, fleshed out parts, redirected others, making it, ironically, able to withstand a bit more scrutiny, since there would no longer be anyone standing at the gate, as it were. And she’d signed all the requisite forms promising to keep her mouth shut. And then “delivery men” had come to the house to take her hardware and debrief her. Her physical condition, with scars and bruises still evident, had been a source of much discussion, and that in itself, the detail they required, had been traumatic, but they’d gone away satisfied that their secrets were safe.
She was truly a civilian, for the first time since high school. She was still Lilli Carson, since that was how people knew her here, where she’d put down her stake, but she was just a regular person now.
No—she wasn’t Lilli Carson. She was Lilli Lunden now. She was glad for it. She was happy to be Isaac’s wife and to be carrying their child, but she was terrified, and nothing felt entirely real. A lot of her attention was spent trying to keep all that turmoil under wraps, trying to show Is
aac that things were okay. That she was okay. She was hoping that would eventually be true.
He was being incredibly patient with her—overprotective, yes, but she didn’t mind that so much at the moment. He hadn’t pushed her at all about the physical stuff. Tasha had told her to wait at least a month, better six weeks, before they tried anything, but it had been just more than a month now, and Lilli was nowhere near ready. It had taken her weeks to get comfortable being touched in any kind of intimate way—a passionate kiss, or, hell, even Isaac’s hand on her back, any touch that had once been sensual between them, had made her stiffen and remember. She’d had to work hard to get to a point where she could just feel Isaac. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him. She wanted him desperately. But she hadn’t yet figured out a way to close off the memories from that day in Ellis’s cell, and any intimate touch set them careening through her head.
Goddammit; she was stronger than that. She’d shoved bad memories aside her whole fucking life. She’d always believed—known—that life could always go to shit in a heartbeat, no matter how hard anyone tried to be snug and safe, and that the only thing to do was not to get caught up in the shit. Do one’s best. Be true to one’s truth. Love as fully as one can. Understand that anything else is chaos and try to navigate around it. That meant setting aside the bad shit and not letting it take over. But this time, she couldn’t find the strength or focus to clear it away.
Maybe part of it was that she still felt wrong, inside. It wasn’t pain, exactly. The pain had been bad, but she knew she was healing well. But she felt different. It was as though Ponytail and his sidekicks had left something behind, or had somehow made her different inside. She hadn’t been able to make it any clearer to herself, and she certainly had not said anything to anyone else. She was sure it was all in her head, but that actually made it worse. It meant she really was crazy.
Like her nagging conviction that she was no longer pregnant. She knew she was. She’d had several more tests, including an ultrasound. She was sick in the mornings. Her breasts hurt. She had all the symptoms. And still she felt wrong—another thing she hadn’t told Isaac. He was already fully involved in making ready for a baby, opening up the room upstairs that had been his sister’s, clearing it out, preparing to remodel it, and ordering wood to build nursery furniture. He’d put all of his anger and grief over what Ellis had done to them and the town into his hope for their family. She tried to take energy from him and quiet her irrational fears. But when she put her hand on her utterly flat, firm belly, she felt empty.
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