Still Standing

by Kristen Ashley

  No, it wasn’t.

  “Thought those boys were neutralized,” Sylvie noted.

  “I am not here for this part of the discussion,” Scott said, but he didn’t move.

  Shit.

  Buck might have to start liking this guy.

  “Don’t know if they reported in. Don’t know if the threat of her havin’ that shit was passed up the chain. Don’t know if Enrique talked before they axed him,” Damian put in, still unhappy. “So Tia is a ghost come December twenty-sixth.”

  Fuck.

  Damian looked at Buck. “And the men who went down, they’re middle management. Important, but not too important. Though, they know the drill. They’ll keep their mouths shut. And if they do, and it ends with them, this will blow over. If they don’t, and other dominoes fall, she may be a ghost forever, man.”

  Fuck.

  Buck shook that off and asked Scott, “You got anything on Babić?”

  “Keep your shit sharp with that nutjob,” Scott advised.

  “That doesn’t help, Rayne,” Buck noted.

  “If you gave me the choice of taking one person off the street and incapacitating him forever, I’d pick Imran Babić,” Scott declared. “The problem is, we got nothin’. We know he’s fucked in the head. We know he’s dirty. But he’s like a criminal savant. Crazy as fuck. But genius at keeping his shit under wraps.”

  Buck sat back in his chair.

  “You want, I’m on Eleanor,” Sylvie offered. “Got a colleague named Sixx, she and I’ll have all sorts of girlie fun handling her. Usual fees apply, of course.”

  Tucker turned his eyes to the ceiling.

  Tucker’s response meant, if they gave the go-ahead to that, Nails was fucked.

  Buck looked through the room and tallied unanimous chin lifts.

  “Do it,” he said to Sylvie.

  Sylvie grinned.

  Oh yeah.

  Nails was fucked.

  He then turned his attention to Damian.

  “I want a brother on you at all times.”

  “I got it,” Damian said.

  “You also got Clara’s best friend in your care. She had one person her whole life who didn’t fuck her over in some way before she had me, and that was Tia. So I want a brother on you at all times.”

  Damian didn’t like it. Buck sensed he worked alone, always.

  But he nodded.

  “The rest, brothers only,” Buck declared.

  He didn’t have to explain that, and it didn’t take long for Sylvie, Tucker, Scott and Damian to clear out.

  He waited until the door was closed and then he waited longer.

  Then he said to the table, “Resurrection.”

  “Damn straight,” Chap grunted.

  “You want me on the line with Beck?” Slate asked.

  “Vote,” Buck said. “All in favor we contact the Resurrection MC to help us handle Babić?”

  “Yea,” Ink said.

  “Yea,” Cruise said.

  “Yea,” Chap unnecessarily.

  “Fuckin’ yea,” Lynch said.

  The rest of the men voted unanimous, and Buck looked to Slate.

  “Call Beck.”

  Beck being the president of the Resurrection Motorcycle Club.

  There was general talk about a variety of things, and men moved out.

  In the end, it was Buck, Chap, Ink, Cruise, Gash, Riot, Lynch and Slate.

  Ink, the voice of reason, spoke.

  “I voted yea, but Resurrection is some serious shit, brother.”

  “Babić is gonna play with us and do it through our women,” Buck reminded him.

  “They’re the angels of death, Buck.” Ink did some reminding of his own.

  “I give them the words ‘former foster kid’ and ‘woman,’ they’ll tear Phoenix up before they let any more hurt fall on Clara,” Slate remarked.

  “This is what I’m saying,” Ink replied.

  “No more hurt is gonna fall on Clara,” Buck said.

  “Buck, brother—”

  “No. More. Hurt. Is. Gonna. Fall. On. Clara,” Buck decreed. “He picked her girls. Only her girls. He did that for a reason. He’s not fuckin’ with me, or you, Ink, or Cruise, or the Club. He’s usin’ us to fuck with her. And she’s not gonna feel that. I don’t give a fuck what we gotta do, she’s ours. She’s family. And she’s not gonna feel that.”

  Ink sat back.

  He was on board with that.

  “I got a call to make,” Slate said, rising while pulling out his phone and leaving the room.

  It didn’t take long for the rest of the room to empty.

  Leaving him with Chap.

  “Proud a’ you, bud,” Chap said.

  Buck said nothing.

  “Your dad would be proud of you too.”

  Buck looked his friend in the eye.

  He felt his words in his chest.

  But said nothing.

  “I’ll tell him that, I visit him. You takin’ Clara and the kids to see him for the holidays?”

  “We’re goin’ tomorrow.”

  “He thinks Clara is the shit.”

  “I know, that’s ’cause Clara is the shit. I also know ’cause he’s told me.”

  “He hated Kristy.”

  Buck fell silent again.

  He knew that too.

  “You done good, bud,” Chap said quietly.

  And he knew that too.

  Fuck, yeah.

  He knew that too.

  Epilogue

  Howl at the Moon

  An hour and a half after the meet, Buck navigated the various cars in his drive to park, exit his vehicle and climb the stairs to his front door.

  Gear, Damian, Ink and Raymundo were sitting out on the deck under a space heater.

  “Take my wise advice, Dad,” Gear said. “Do not go in there.”

  Buck looked through the windows into his house.

  There was the hugest-ass Christmas tree he’d ever seen in the corner covered in so many ornaments, you could only just make out there was a tree under there somewhere.

  It was lit bright.

  There was a fire in the fireplace.

  Tia was on the floor in front of the fire with some little kids, putting together a puzzle.

  He moved his eyes left.

  Clara was in the kitchen with Tatie, Mrs. Jimenez, Minnie, Lorie, Raymundo’s wife Griselle and some other kids, and it looked like a red and green icing bomb had exploded in it, detonating some little silver and gold balls along with it.

  Though, it was mostly icing.

  Icing was everywhere.

  Including in Clara’s hair.

  “Gingerbread men decoration,” Gear informed him. “She wants to make sure Mrs. J can take a tin full of ’em to all her kids.”

  “I have one brother and two sisters,” Raymundo shared, grinning. “And a warning, hermano, Ma’s got all the grandkids in there.”

  He’d already seen that.

  “Correction, Clara wants to make sure they each have a huge-ass tin,” Gear amended.

  “You go in there, tell them you gotta come right back out with fresh beers,” Damian suggested a way out.

  Though it was more an order because Buck could see he was almost dry.

  “I’m making you all hamburgers,” Buck reminded them of the reason they were all there.

  “You got ’em formed yet?” Ink asked.

  “No,” Buck answered.

  “Good luck with that,” Ink muttered, belting back another slug of beer.

  Buck let out a deep breath and headed to the door.

  “Buck,” Damian called.

  He stopped and looked at Damian.

  “Tia and Clara, never in their lives, surrounded by people and little kids, made gingerbread men,” he stated.

  He didn’t have to be reminded.

  But the reminder still served its purpose.

  This had been, from the minute Rogan Kirk bit it, a situation.

  Because Buck had
only wanted to make certain Clara knew she had her people and they had her back.

  What he’d done in actuality was show her she had a big family, and she’d made it her meaning in life to take care of it.

  Pure Clara.

  This was the first icing bomb that had exploded.

  But he’d formed a fuckuva lot of hamburgers since that day.

  He walked into his house.

  “Daddy!” Tatie cried and raced to him.

  She had icing in her hair too.

  She’d also never made gingerbread men in her kitchen with her family.

  “Hey, Buck!” Tia greeted.

  “Hola, West,” Mrs. J called.

  “Yo, bro,” Minnie said.

  “Hiya, Buck,” Lorie called.

  But Clara just looked at him, her gorgeous face soft and sweet and happy her man was home.

  Tatie hit him, and he put his arms around his girl.

  “We’re making gingerbread men. Doesn’t it smell awesome?”

  It totally did.

  “Yeah, honey,” he murmured, grinning down at her and giving her a squeeze.

  She glowed up at him, squeezed him back, then let him go and dashed off, grabbing a little kid and throwing him in the air, the kid squealing as she did.

  And she went right back to Clara.

  Jesus, not five months ago she was on the floor of the bathroom, beat to shit, having managed by a miracle to escape three assholes intent on altering her life for the extent of it in ways she’d never completely recover from.

  This escape happening after they’d altered her life in a way he knew, and it tore him apart every time he thought about it, she’d never completely recover from.

  Now, she didn’t go out and party and get drunk. She dated that guy. Hung with her friends. Stayed home and did her homework when she had homework to do.

  And worshiped at the altar of Clara.

  She was getting a car for Christmas, Clara’s idea, but Buck agreed completely.

  Cruise had found it. A vintage, drop-top Mustang.

  It was parked down at the warehouse. Driver and Gash had agreed to get it up to the house sometime late Christmas Eve, early Christmas morning.

  She’d love it.

  He had no idea if she had dark times. He just knew from Clara, “Debbie has that covered.”

  He also knew, if Clara hadn’t been around, the girl he had would not be the same girl.

  He would hope he’d find the means to be what she needed him to be and give her what she needed in order to push through.

  But it could not be denied, he was lucky in more than the countless ways he was already that Clara was around when that shit went down.

  He said hey to Griselle, got attacked by a couple of kids, and finally made it to his woman.

  He got a lip touch then a sober, “Talk to you a minute?”

  Oh shit.

  He nodded.

  She didn’t delay and took him to their bedroom.

  When she closed the door, he informed her, “You have icing in your hair.”

  Her hands flew up.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Babe, do not touch your hair with those hands.”

  She dropped her green-and-red-stained hands that still had bits of liquid-sugar encrusted on them, and looked at them.

  Then she giggled to herself.

  Christ.

  Christ.

  She was happy.

  He gave her that.

  Icing in her hair and a huge-ass Christmas tree she and Tatie kept coming home from wherever they went with more and more new ornaments for, and that giggle.

  He gave her all of that.

  The very idea of something happening to him and his kids going into the system made him feel the need to hurl.

  Her story wasn’t the worst, but it was not good from the moment of birth to the moment she’d walked into the Dive.

  And now he could hear Christmas music, chatter, and smell even their bedroom reeked of cookies.

  And his woman was giggling.

  No matter he felt that down deep in his gut, and it was the best feeling he’d had except the moment he’d learned both his kids had come safe and healthy into the world, he wanted to get this over with.

  Clara’s “talk to you a minutes” came often these days.

  That was because the woman was loaded, and Christmas was coming.

  He’d already nixed her paying for Tatie’s car, but barely.

  He’d nixed her renting some luxury house in Mexico for Gear and all his buds—from there and from Flag—for their senior spring break, but barely.

  He’d nixed her footing the bill for a top-of-the-line family whale watching cruise in Alaska (of all fucking things), but barely.

  It came to the point he’d had to throw her a bone, so they were going skiing in Vail after Christmas. That said, they were splitting the cost of it.

  He was a biker. He didn’t ski.

  But the kids boarded.

  So the kids could board, and he and Clara could fuck.

  In other words, that worked.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered.

  “Sorry?” she asked.

  “Whatever you got in your head to give to one of the kids, ask me. I’ll say no, since it’s probably diamonds for Tatie or a world tour for Gear, then I can start forming burgers. I got mouths to feed.”

  “I’m done Christmas shopping,” she shared.

  Thank fuck for that.

  They’d run out of room under the tree a week ago, so that shit had started spreading all over the floor.

  “Kristy called.”

  He felt his body jerk.

  “Come again?” he asked.

  “Kristy called,” she repeated.

  “Tatie?”

  “No.”

  “Gear?”

  She shook her head.

  He heard a hissing in his head and whispered, “You?”

  “Yes. But—”

  “She called you.”

  “Yes. And—”

  “Personally. Your phone.”

  She nodded. “Yes, West. But, listen—”

  “How’d she get your number?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. Now—”

  He pulled his phone out and engaged it.

  He didn’t get further because her hand was around his wrist.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Calling her ass and making it clear you are off fuckin’ limits for her.”

  “Buck, she asked what the kids wanted for Christmas,” she said softly.

  Jesus.

  “Seriously?”

  “And she wanted to know, since they both dissed her for Christmas stuff, if we could do a day-after-Christmas thing. Like a lunch or something.”

  Buck stared at her.

  “I told her we were going to Vail the day after—”

  “Babe, that’s a surprise and she’s gonna share that shit,” he growled.

  “No. I told her it was their present and she promised she wouldn’t.”

  She got closer and dropped his wrist but fitted her tits to his chest.

  He could smell her.

  See the bright in her eyes.

  And feel her.

  So he suddenly felt a whole lot better about just about everything.

  “She wasn’t exactly nice, but she was polite. I think she was a little embarrassed she had to ask. But she did. And she said she’d be cool to wait to do an after-New-Years thing.”

  “Right,” he muttered, sliding his hands along her waist.

  “And I told her it’d be cool for her to come down and deliver her gifts. Not tomorrow. We’re visiting Locke tomorrow. So I said the day after. If you agreed. And she agreed if you agree. So…do you agree?”

  “She wants the kids here when she drops them?”

  “That’d be optimal.”

  “It’s up to them, Toots.”

  She nodded.

 
“The after-New-Years thing is up to them too.”

  She nodded again.

  “I’ll tell Kristy that. I don’t want her to think she has a line to you.”

  “It wasn’t a terrible conversation, West. And it was for good reasons.”

  “I’ll talk to Kristy. I don’t want her to think she has a line to you,” he mostly repeated.

  Again, she nodded, but this time, she put her hands on his shoulders when she did.

  “You’re gonna get icing on me,” he murmured, having lost interest in the conversation with her mouth that close.

  “Do you care?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “I didn’t think so. Are we gonna make out?’

  “Fuck yes.”

  “I thought so. But, West, we can’t do it for ages. We have comp—”

  He kissed her quiet.

  He didn’t do it for ages.

  And when he was done, they both had to go to the bathroom and brush icing out of their hair.

  She giggled through doing this.

  Buck enjoyed listening to her giggle through it.

  After, they rejoined their company.

  He formed burgers.

  He grilled them.

  The women cleared away the cookie shit and got down to frying tots, slicing tomato and onion and sorting other hamburger stuff.

  He fed their family.

  And it was Buck’s estimation they overstayed their welcome.

  But seeing Clara, ass on the floor in front of the tree, leaning against Gear, who had his arms around her, both of them talking and laughing…

  He couldn’t find it in him to give much of a shit.

  “You want an early Christmas present?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure you’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you certain you’re sure you’re sure?”

  Buck rolled his woman off him onto her back and looked at her through the moonlight.

  Everyone was gone.

  The kids were out.

  They’d just finished fucking.

  They didn’t have a long drive tomorrow to see his dad.

  But it was late, he’d come hard, he’d made her do the same, and he needed sleep.

  And now she was giving him this.