by Paula Cox
“They’re called charters,” Griffin replied. Natasha rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, super-important information right now.”
“Stop it, and you’re right,” Zachariah chimed in. “Just be careful. It’s not as though these kind of coups always fail; some people might not care who’s in charge.”
“Like you?” Griffin said in a challenging manner. Zachariah tugged on the thread in his wound a little too hard, causing Griffin to wince.
“No, I thought Emanuel was the best leader we possibly could have, and if what your saying is true, I don’t think Damon going to make it out of this alive, do you?”
Griffin didn’t say anything; he was still wrapped up in everything that had happened. Zachariah finished up his work and asked Griffin to lay back in order to rest. He handed the whiskey bottle back, and Griffin took a deep, reassuring swig. Natasha reached for it next.
“Let me get a look at you too while you’re here,” Zachariah told Natasha. It struck her by surprise although she knew that it shouldn’t have. She was probably still bleeding from her own interaction, and she helped Zachariah move her hair aside so he could get a better look at the cut at the base of her skull.
“It’s a lot worse than it looks,” he said, as he dabbed at the cut with a whiskey-soaked paper towel. It stung, but not in a terrible way. The fire felt almost good. It felt purifying.
“Thank you,” she said. Zachariah gave her a smile, and it seemed genuine. In fact, it lit up his entire face, something that previously seemed very dark and forbidding. Natasha wasn’t sure if this was actually the case, but it seemed as though he didn’t give that type of smile very often, and she was thankful to receive it.
“So, Emanuel’s daughter, huh? Come to take over the family business?”
Natasha opened her mouth to answer, but Griffin beat her to the punch. “She’s not in this. She’s not a Disciple; she’s just trying to keep from getting killed.”
Griffin’s ready answer threw Natasha off her game a little bit, to the point where she almost immediately wanted to speak up to the contrary. She couldn’t blame him, however, knowing that up until the moment she pulled the trigger and killed the man who was trying to kill her that that had been her very stance. Zachariah nodded solemnly.
“Sometimes that’s all it takes to get in, but there are different ways that happens,” he said. She looked at Griffin, who finally looked relaxed against the pillows of Zachariah’ bed, and once again felt that nervous tug, that annoying fight against the future that could be hers. Griffin had almost died for her, and yet she still couldn’t say the words to properly get into the game.
“I understand,” was all she could say.
“I’m going to go smoke a cigarette,” Zachariah said, standing and throwing his bloodstained paper towel aside. “Give you two a moment.”
He tossed Griffin a wink and left the room, gingerly closing the door behind him.
Natasha knew that she couldn’t throw herself into his arms, so instead she gave a slow, shuddering breath and leaned towards him, focusing on his good side. Griffin wrapped an arm around her and held her as tightly as he dared, pressing his face into her hair and breathing in the smell of death that she knew must cling to her.
“Damon said that he sent someone to take you out,” Griffin said after a while. Natasha nodded against his chest.
“Yeah, it didn’t work.”
Griffin didn’t say anything to that, and Natasha couldn’t bring herself to explain what happened further. It was still too new, still too terrible to think about. He gently ran his fingers through her hair, teasing out the tangled strands absentmindedly.
“You’re tougher than you look, Morrison,” he told her gently. She smiled.
“I try,” she replied. “But now we need to come up with a plan.”
Chapter 29
Griffin and Natasha spent the next few days laying low at Zachariah’ place. It was definitely a boon to have such a powerful and respected member of the Lost Disciples on their side, given the fact that they could be kept secret almost indefinitely. Even Damon didn’t want to risk losing Zachariah’ surgical skills, and although Griffin knew that some of the guys had gotten injured during the raid, he was almost relieved to see that they hadn’t been so injured that they would need to show up at the trailer unannounced.
It wasn’t customary for people to go to Zachariah. Often times, he would show up at the Disciples’ clubhouse as needed, or the occasional hangouts that each charter favored. He was a man who liked his privacy, and it was a testimony to how close he was to Griffin that he would even allow such a thing to happen. Then again Griffin had been pretty messed up at the time. Zachariah had told them that he was worried that Griffin was going to end up needing a blood transfusion, which although relatively simple in a hospital, was a bit harder for Zachariah to get himself.
Natasha actually enjoyed the down time. Griffin was too injured for them to have sex, so instead they just enjoyed the time that they had together when they weren’t planning their next move. It was a strange time, given the high-octane week they had faced earlier, and when Griffin was well enough to move to the couch, Natasha moved with him. They lay close together, basking in each other’s warmth, and Natasha knew that the times they were sharing would definitely end up being something she remembered fondly for years to come, even if she ended up going back to her own life.
Her own life… what was that anymore? She had managed to get her finals deferred, but she knew she was going to have to make a decision sooner or later. Shelly, her roommate from college, had tried to call her again, but she didn’t have the energy to pick up the phone. Everything seemed completely crazy, and there was Griffin in the middle of it. Griffin, with his shaggy dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His tattoos. Part of her wanted to run in the other direction, but a bigger part of her wanted to wrap her arms around him. She wanted to know what each tattoo on his body meant. She wanted to mean something to him, and that scared her.
Julian had checked to see if Griffin was still alive, and Natasha could hear the intense relief—even as a tinny voice over the phone. Griffin hadn’t told him exactly where they were just in case, and Julian was laying low for the time being at what turned out to be his girlfriend’s house.
Griffin’s eyebrows had shot up in a pleasant surprise when he heard the news, and he later confessed that Julian, although a good guy, had never had much luck with women. Natasha remembered that large, disheveled man who had stumbled into the parking lot and smiled. Although their meeting had been brief, he still seemed like a nice guy who deserved happiness. Griffin had told him to lay low, and that he would get in touch with him the moment he knew what to do next. Julian seemed on board, which was a start.
Zachariah ended up making a terrific host, regaling the two lovers with hilarious stories about Emanuel when he was just coming up in the Lost Disciples. Natasha had never heard stories like this about her father, and it helped her understand him so much more. It wasn’t as though her father had been a stranger; it was only that she had never really been allowed to view this world like this. It was pretty incredible to see, and for the first time in a few days, she felt the ache of his loss once again.
After two days, Griffin was well enough to walk around, and they ended up having a shockingly nice barbecue in front of Zachariah’ trailer. It seemed as though this was his favorite method of cooking. While ribs was on the menu more often than not, on this particular evening he had simply made some burgers and hot dogs and plied everyone with bottles of beer, as they sat in front of a small fire he had lit in a pit in front of the trailer.
Natasha held her bottle of beer loosely in her hand, as she felt the muscles in her shoulders start to relax. She didn’t realize how hectic things had been and how tense things had made her until she finally had a moment to relax. This was the sort of thing she never could have pictured her father doing. For some reason, in her mind, bikers were all too badass to sit around and tell w
armhearted stories. Yet, there the three of them were, sitting and enjoying each other’s company, knowing that it might be the last peace they had for some time.
Zachariah leaned forward, allowing the crags of his face to almost glow in the fire’s light. He was an animated talker, full of passion for his story, and this one was no different.
“So your pa finds this vintage motorcycle in the local junkyard and says that he’s going to fix it up and that it was going to be his main bike and everyone would be jealous—given how awesome it was. Now I told him that he’s full of crap—there’s no way that bike’s gonna run and there’s definitely no way that it will carry that lard ass, but he takes it back and works on it. I mean, every night he’s going back to his garage and working on this thing. I couldn’t believe it! Finally, the day comes and he goes, ‘Owen, you need to see this. I did it!’ Of course I don’t believe him, but I’ll be damned if he didn’t wheel that bike out and it’s the best restoration I’ve ever seen. I remember telling him that I was pretty relieved that he hadn’t made a bet about it— because if we had, my balls probably would have been dragged across Highway 1!”
They all laughed, and Natasha wiped some tears out of her eyes. “Did he make it his main bike?” she asked him. Zachariah let out a deep belly laugh at this.
“Hell no, little girl! That damn thing fell apart during its first ride! He spent so much time making it look better that he forgot to make it run better!”
For some reason, this was the funniest thing Natasha had ever heard about her father, and she gave into the laughter with complete abandon. It felt so good to laugh, and even more to laugh in a way where it wasn’t at anyone’s expense. It probably wasn’t the funniest story, but it was what she needed to hear at the time.
“It’s good to hear stuff like this,” Natasha said. “I never saw the motorcycle club as much beyond a place where men got together to ride motorcycles and be mean to each other.”
Griffin looked offended at the thought, but Zachariah just grinned. “Aw, nah, it’s not like that at all. You get what you put in, that’s all. Look at this guy over here.” He nodded his head in Griffin’s direction. “He was just some punk, probably started bumming around us when he was twelve.”
“Thirteen, if I remember correctly.”
“Now him, usually people like him are chewed up and spit out by the very fabric of the club. First, he started off drinking a little, then he’s working his way up the drug ladder, and soon he’s not trafficking because he’s the kind of guy who knows he can get his best deal, he’s trafficking because the guy holding the heroin tells him to. It’s not right, sometimes, what happens to these boys, but this one!” Zachariah pointed his finger at Griffin, who tried to hide his embarrassment by focusing on the fire. “This guy, he knew what he was doing. He was a player from day one.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Griffin told Natasha. “Your father had to give me the guidance.”
Natasha couldn’t explain it, but every time Griffin mentioned how close he was to Natasha’s father, her stomach would turn in jealousy. She hated that about herself, but that’s where she was, wishing that the man she was sleeping with didn’t have a closer relationship to her dad than she had. How terrible was that? Griffin had never said it exactly, but she was pretty sure that he did not have a father, and there she was resenting him for finding a figure of his own. Who cared if it was supposed to be hers?
Supposed to be…as though her father hadn’t been there for her for all of those years. She felt embarrassed to even think that way, and the truth was that her father had actually been there for her, in spite of the distance and the difference between their worlds.
“Did you ever meet my mom, Zachariah?” Natasha asked before she even knew what she was saying. Zachariah nodded.
“She was some kind of woman, I’ll admit it,” he said, as he threw a crumpled wad of newspaper in the fire. “Never let your dad get away with anything, especially after you were born.”
Natasha’s eyes widen. “Did I know you when I was a baby?”
Zachariah shook his head. “No, your momma never let you around the likes of us, and she changed a bit once you came around. Not to say you made anything happen. She looked like she was headed in that direction for a couple of years leading up to it. If anything, you gave her the strength to get out.”
“You make it sound like she was trapped or something.”
“No, no, nothing like that. It just wasn’t her way. When she was young and happy, she was okay with it—because for the most part, a man’s old lady usually sits on the bike and looks nice. She loved doing that, but when things started to go deeper, she didn’t want any of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean that the deeper parts of being the old lady to the boss weren’t really her style. Not all women are cut out for it. Not all men either.”
It was then that she realized that Griffin was staring at her from across the fire, his eyes unreadable but intense all the same. It gave her a chill to see him look at her like that, and she could pretty much guess what he was thinking then and there. Her mother hadn’t been the kind of person who could hold her own when shit hit the fan with the Disciples, but Natasha was. She hated to admit it, but she could handle it just fine. There was a certain triumph in Griffin’s gaze, a certain “I told you so” that she could read perfectly. The only thing she could do was stare back at him, unafraid.
“We should figure out a plan,” Natasha said, wanting to change the subject for the time being. “Griffin’s gotten better and we need to finish this, don’t we?”
“We sure as hell do,” Griffin replied. “But what should we do?”
“Well, it’s good that they think you’re dead, or thought that you were. I don’t think that Damon is so arrogant that he won’t go back and check.”
“So he might be out there looking for me.”
Zachariah shrugged. “Yeah, or he has bigger fish to fry at the moment. You know…trying to get all the charters on his side.”
“Yeah, but that won’t be an issue. He can just say that the Los Diablos took everyone out,” Natasha chimed in. It was Griffin’s turn to shake his head.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Before he shot me, he told me that he was going to combine the two gangs under his leadership.”
Natasha rolled her eyes. “You really think so? I don’t. I bet he just said that in order to keep the Los Diablos on his side for the raid, and now he has the perfect scapegoat. Sure, the Los Diablos might protest, maybe even say that he had a hand in it, but who is going to believe a bunch of guys who have been openly declaring war on the Disciples lately? Worst case scenario is that the thought is rejected outright; best case scenario is that the idea that they would even try to mess with their leader will piss off the right guys, and then you have a united front.”
Griffin and Zachariah looked at Natasha with looks that were so surprised she wondered if she should be offended. What did they think? That every woman is some sort of dumb arm candy? She knew that Griffin knew better than to believe that, and instead, she just smiled sweetly at them.
“She’s right, you know,” Zachariah said finally.
“I know she is,” Griffin replied.
“Damon would be a damn hero to the guys who didn’t see it with their own eyes.”
“That’s because most of the guys who did are dead.”
“Exactly!” Natasha exclaimed. “But you lived and so did Julian, and if the two of you go and tell what happened, I bet you’ll be easier to believe than the Los Diablos, if that’s the angle he’s going to work, and if he’s not, they’ll still hear about how he’s a treacherous asshole, so why would they follow him?”
“Yeah, but then who would they follow?”
The looks on Zachariah and Natasha’s face told Griffin all he needed to know about who they thought the Disciples should follow next. Griffin wasn’t sure how he felt about that… it wasn’t as though he didn’t
ever think about running the Lost Disciples someday. Yet, “someday” was the key word. He figured that the Disciples would be run by someone at least in their forties, and Griffin had quite a few years before that sort of thing happened.
Yet, things were completely shaken up at this point. Most of the inner circle, the guys who would be able to take over, were in Damon’ pocket. Even if Damon didn’t survive what was to come—and Griffin desperately did not want Damon to survive—wouldn’t another one just like him rise to take his place?
“What about you?” Griffin asked Zachariah. The older medic just laughed.
“Shit, I have my position here. I know what I’m about. I fix people; I support. I’m not going to take center stage when I’m happy to be in the wings, helping people out.”
