Legacy - Night Horde SoCal 3

by Sarah Osborn

He unclipped his helmet and swung his leg over his bike, ignoring the twinge in his back as he did so. Backaches were just something he lived with now. Long rides didn't help, but it only really hurt when he stopped, and according to the doc, he was lucky to be walking at all. His shoulder ached, too, but he'd lived with that for so long now, he barely noticed it, and the intermittent, shooting pains down his thigh were just an inconvenience. He was going to miss Emma's massages, though. He grinned. No one fixed him up as well as his little witch. He pulled out his cell and pressed call, but as before, she just let it ring. Deke waited till it went to voicemail, and left the same message as he had on the previous occasions. “Hey, baby girl. Just checking in. Still pissed, huh? I love you.”

  ~ oOo ~

  Yes, she was still pissed. Emma deleted the message and dropped her phone onto the table. As each day passed, her resentment and anger had grown, and now she was at the boiling point. She didn't want to hear what he had to say. Or Beth, or Tiny, or Bugs. Even Spike had called. All spouting the same bullshit message: An ol' lady stands by her man. Samson needs you. He loves you. Blah blah blah. Over and over. Suck it up, Sunshine. Keep your lip buttoned and do as you're told.

  “Geggy”

  “What? She turned to her daughter, who was currently sitting on the rag rug on the kitchen floor, hitting Genghis on the head with a plastic hammer. “What did you say?”

  “Geggy.” Lottie beamed and kissed the hapless dog on the nose. “Geggy.”

  “Genghis!” He looked up at the sound of his name. “Dude, you're her first word!” Emma grabbed her cell and hit call.

  “Emma, baby...”

  “Lottie spoke! She said her first word.”

  “Wow. Shit! What did she say?”

  “Genghis – well Geggy, actually – but that's what she meant.”

  “Of course she did.”

  It was only when he laughed that Emma realized what she'd just done. Shit. “I just thought you'd like to know. I've got to go. Bye.”

  “Emma...”

  She hung up before he had the chance to speak. Shit, shit shit. The cell buzzed, and she dropped it as though she'd been burned. Then, of its own accord, her hand picked it up and pressed answer. “I really don't want to talk to you.”

  “I know. I really wanna talk to you, though.” She heard the intake of breath. “I really hate being away from you, baby girl. I missed Lottie's first word. I don't wanna miss anything else.”

  “So come home.” Shit, she was begging. Fuck it, so what? Why shouldn't she beg, if that was what it took for him to quit running around the country for the fucking Freaks? “Come home, Deke. Please.”

  “I can't, Emma. Not yet.”

  “When, then? And what's going to stop you from taking off again? How many times, huh? What else do you think you're going to miss, while you're off playing cowboy with your little outlaw friends?”

  “You're stepping onto dangerously thin ice, baby girl. You sure this is the way you want this conversation to go?”

  “Why the hell not? It won't make any difference either way. You told me nothing I said would change your mind, so you might as well hear what I have to say. Or hang up. I'm good with that, too.” She headed into the living room, keeping one eye on Lottie through the open door. “Do you have any idea how close I am to throwing all your stuff out onto the street right now? Or maybe you just don't care. Maybe you'll just find another silly little bitch with a perfectly nice life, uproot her, fill her full of false promises and create a need in her that was never there before. Maybe you'll have better luck next time. Maybe she'll understand what it will really mean to her when you say the club comes first. Is that how it works? Is that why you took off? Cuz you're tired of me, and want someone new?”

  “Not fair, Emma. This has nothing to with you.”

  “Ain't that the truth, big guy.” She sank onto the sofa. “I'm so far down on your list of priorities, I don't even figure. You know what? Just forget it. Me and Lottie don't need you. Have a nice life. Goodbye.”

  “Don't do this, baby girl.”

  “It's already done, Deke.” She let the phone fall from her hand and closed her eyes. Whoever said that love conquers all had obviously never been an old lady.

  ~ oOo ~

  It was barely three hours later when Felix let himself into her kitchen. Wordlessly Emma watched as he dropped his bag on the floor and put a bottle of white in her fridge; there was no need to ask why he was there. Deke would have called him – maybe Tiny, too. She'd broken a cardinal rule and switched off her cell, so they'd sent him over to check on her.

  She loved Felix. That delicate, beautiful exterior hid a backbone of steel. The Felix the world saw was flighty, superficial and irreverent, but there was so much more to him than that. His sculptures spoke of something dark, deep inside him – Emma understood that better than most – and he was fearless in his defense of those he loved; going toe to toe with Deke had proven that. He turned and, folding his arms, popped out a hip. “If I keep getting calls from bikers, James is going to think I'm having an affair.”

  Emma shrugged and examined a nail. “Deke told you to come?”

  Felix ignored her and picked Lottie up. “I guess Uncle Felix will have to take care of Mommy while Daddy is being a douche, huh, little bit?” He turned and gave Emma a half smile. “I'll give her a bath and put her to bed. You make a start on dinner.”

  Emma wasn't sure she was cool with Felix being around; she needed time alone. Everyone seemed to have an opinion, and while Felix's was the only voice telling her to finish things with Deke, she didn't need to hear that any more than she needed to hear Tiny telling her to stand by her man.

  Deke loved her. She knew that, and she loved him. Emma knew that she would never feel for anyone what she felt for Deke Samson. There was no part of him she didn't love, and no part of her that didn't love him. She was pissed, but was she pissed enough to throw what they had away? Emma stood and walked over to the fridge and stared inside. Fuck it. Felix could be designated parent for the evening. She was going to get shitfaced.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  No one in the Vegas chapter questioned Samson's decision to go nomad again; they didn't know Emma and most – if they thought about it at all – never believed he'd stay in one place for long. They didn't realize, as they pulled him into hugs and clapped him on the back, that he was trying, with all his might, to push down the urge to jump back on his bike and run home to his girls.

  He still believed he was doing the right thing. He needed to stop any war with the Serpiente in its tracks. These things had a habit of growing and sucking in other clubs, breaking alliances and creating new ones. He wasn't so arrogant to believe that he was the only man for the job. But over the decades, his diplomatic skills had been honed, and he was well known, not only among the Freaks, but other clubs as well. Samson knew that Vince was behind the nomad attacks on the Serpiente and that it was Moretti who was pulling his strings. He also knew that to kill a monster, you had to chop off its head.

  He may have told Emma that he was just going to talk to a few people, but the truth was somewhat different. Biker wars were messy, and innocent people got hurt. If Vince was acting unilaterally, then so would he. And if that meant putting himself in the firing line, to keep those he loved safe, he would. He just had to make sure that Jez hung fire for a while, because there was another reason he was in Vegas. Someone was pulling his strings as well.

  He was risking a lot – everything – because none of his brothers should ever have to see their loved ones hurt, and he would rather lose Emma and Lottie than have them put in danger again. Samson reached the bar and threw the Jack, that had mysteriously appeared in front of him, down his throat. And if he lost them, he wouldn't care if he lived or died.

  Tonight, though, he was just a Freak who had gone nomad. And Freaks loved to party. He planted a smile on his face and turned so his back was against the bar, a replenished glass in his hand. Across the room, a blonde with legs
that went on forever met his eye and smiled. He winked and raised his glass. Emma had told him they were done, and he wore a nomad patch. He was free and could do what the fuck he liked.

  ~ oOo ~

  Samson opened his eyes and waited a moment for the room to stop spinning before groping around in the dark for his buzzing cell. He squinted at the display and pressed answer. “Hey.”

  “I fuckin' hate you.”

  “No you don't.” He grinned. “Did Felix drop by?”

  “Yeah, he's taking care of Lottie while I get wasted. Don't worry Deke, I take my respon... Responsi... Fuck it, you know what I mean.”

  “I know. You're a good mom.”

  “Don't patronize me.”

  “I'm not.” He sat up and switched on the lamp. “Did you want something? Or did you just call to say you hated me?”

  “I dunno. I do hate you, though.” She fell silent for a beat. “Felix thinks I should kick you out.”

  “I know.”

  “So why'd'ya tell him to come?”

  “Figured you needed some company.”

  “But...”

  “Emma. Whatever you decide, will be your decision. Not Felix's or Tiny's – I've told him to back off you, by the way – or mine. It'll be yours.” He closed his eyes and ran his hand across his forehead. “I nearly cheated on you tonight.”

  “Oh. How nearly?”

  “Not very nearly at all. But I thought about it. Figured if we were done, there was nothing to stop me.”

  “Why're you telling me this?”

  He laughed. “Cuz you're drunk, or maybe cuz I am.”

  “You're not drunk. You never get drunk. You just drink a lot sometimes, an' then go to sleep. Tha's not real drunk. You don't dance or drunk text, you don't even fucking wobble. Wha' sort o' drunk is that? You just get more Samson. Is that why you nearly fucked some tart? Cuz you were drunk?”

  “Not really. In fact I was stone cold sober when I thought about it.”

  “So why didn't you?”

  “Because I love you. Don't matter whether you say we're done or not. As far as I'm concerned, we ain't.” He smiled. “Not even sure we can be done, baby girl. Even if we never lay eyes on each other again.”

  “Deke?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I really fuckin' love you.”

  “I know. I love you too. Now, go to sleep. I'll call tomorrow.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Samson knew he had no one to blame as he pulled up outside the ornate gates on the edge of town. It had been him who had opened this particular can of worms, and De Luca wasn't a man to miss the opportunity to turn a situation to his own advantage.

  The goons at the gate waved him through; they were expecting him, and when he reached the doors, he was patted down, then led to the office at the end of the hallway without a word.

  De Luca looked even smaller than Samson remembered. “Ah, Mr. Samson, please take a seat.” He nodded to the two men who'd accompanied him. “Leave us.”

  As soon as they were alone, De Luca leaned forward. “Thank you for coming.”

  “You didn't give me a lot of choice, Mr. De Luca.”

  The old man smiled. “There's always a choice, Mr. Samson. You know that.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Moretti's appointments for the next two weeks. If you need more time, let me know, but I want this matter settled as quickly as possible.”

  “Are you sure about this? If Moretti is skimming from your organization, wouldn't it be better to make an example of him? Send out a message, loud an' clear, what will happen if anyone fucks with you.”

  If De Luca was pissed that Samson was questioning him, he showed no sign. “Normally, I'd agree with you. But he's my son-in-law and – for reasons best known to herself – my daughter loves him. It also looks as though this has been going on for a long time. It's important, right now, that no one gets word of any cracks in this organization, and I wouldn't want it to look as though I'd taken my eye off the ball. No one must have reason to doubt my judgment.” As his hand reached for his coffee, Samson noticed a slight tremor. De Luca raised an eyebrow. “Do you miss anything, Mr. Samson?”

  “Not often. Was a nomad a lot of years. I ain't had the luxury of having my brothers watching my back.” He grinned. “An' in my kind of work, it's important to spot any weakness.”

  “I'm sure it is.” De Luca chuckled. “It's Parkinson's – early stages – I think you're the only one outside my immediate family to notice, but it's getting harder to hide. There a lot of people who will see this as an opportunity to further their careers, which is why I'm planning on handing over the reins to my nephew, and I want the transition to be smooth.”

  “An' you want it to be me who irons out any bumps.”

  “This benefits both of us. I don't want to see a biker war any more than you do. Dead bikers are bad for business. You arrange for Valentino to have a little accident – I'm sure that's not beyond your capabilities – and put a stop to Albert Lenka. Let me deal with the Serpiente.”

  “And the Freaks?”

  “The Freaks are your problem, Mr. Samson. I don't want news of any retaliation reaching my ears. Do I make myself clear?”

  “That's a lot to put on one man.”

  “Yes, it is.” De Luca sighed, and seemed to Samson to appear like the old, frail man he really was. “But I've been doing my homework. I don't doubt you can handle it. I'm ready to retire – truthfully, I should have done it a long time ago – and I want to do it knowing that this family is still united.”

  “Why didn't you – retire, I mean – I don't mean to speak out of turn, Mr. De Luca, but you're a rich man. You don't need to be doing this.”

  “That limp you try so hard to hide – does it get worse after long rides?”

  “I guess.”

  “And you have a family back home.” Samson opened his mouth, but De Luca silenced him with a wave of his hand. “Just an observation, is all.”

  “Yeah, I have a wife an' kid.” There seemed little point in denying it.

  “Have you ever considered hanging up that cut?”

  “No, never.”

  “Why not?”

  “Cuz I'm a Freak. The club's my family. Can't walk away from that.” He laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, sorry. Stupid question.”

  “I'm not interested in details, but you will provide me with evidence of Valentino's death.” De Luca reached into the drawer again and pulled out an envelope. “A down payment. If, by any chance, you manage to gain information about any other members of my family that are working with him, there will be a bonus.”

  “You think there are?”

  “If they are, they're cleverer than my son-in-law.” He smiled. “I think that will be all for now. Keep me informed.”

  Samson leaned forward. “I'm risking a lot here, Mr. De Luca. Not only is what you're asking dangerous, I'm doing this without the backing of my club. If Vince gets wind of this, I could lose more than my cut. If anything happens to me, I want your assurance that my ol' lady will be taken care of.”

  “You have it.” De Luca held out his hand. “Don't let me keep you.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Dispatching Moretti was the easy part. He was a creature of habit, and De Luca had obviously been watching him for a long time. He also helped Samson considerably by having an affair with a girl who had a a house on the outskirts of Vegas.

  Samson waited outside the house in the stolen truck. Moretti never stayed the night with his whore, and as a rule left in the early hours of the morning. This time, he was going to find a flat tire on returning to his car. And everyone knew how tired truckers got. It was almost too easy, and Moretti never knew what hit him.

  Lenka was trickier. He never seemed to be alone, and Samson balked at killing innocent women, especially ones as young as the girls Lenka kept company with. In the end he decided that the direct approach was his best option. Even wearing a ski mask, he knew he was a memorable figure,
but the girl Lenka had taken home spoke no English and was in the country illegally. She was also stoned out of her mind, and had barely reacted as he burst into Lenka's darkened bedroom and put a bullet through his skull. He'd thrown a couple of hundred bucks in her direction, and she'd taken the hint. Hell, she was out of the house quicker than he was.

  He would've like to have torched the club, but it never seemed to close, and he was pretty sure burning cars in the lot outside would deter future clientele.

  Now came the hard part. Both Vegas and Tucson had taken hits from Serpiente and, despite his best efforts, were becoming impatient. They wanted retribution, and it seemed that Vince agreed with them – of course he did.

  Then there was the small issue of the nomads. Samson knew that Fox was behind the attacks of the Serpiente clubhouse, and that if he was successful in getting the Freaks to hang fire, Vince would want to up the ante. He'd been in Vegas for two weeks, and it looked like he was going to have to show his hand. Reluctantly he left the cool of the clubhouse and pulled out his cell. “Fox? Where are you? We need a meet.”

  ~ oOo ~

  The truck stop was deserted. Samson dismounted as Fox pulled in, and he made his way to the diner. He'd made a point of getting rid of both his targets within hours of each other, and now he had to talk to Fox before Vince found out that his new partners were deceased.

  Fox followed him to a table in the corner and sat down. “Brother. It's been a while.”

  “Yeah.” Samson picked up the menu and made a show of looking at it. “Gonna be heading up north in a week or so, thought maybe you'd wanna join me.”

  “Why would I wanna do that?”

  Samson shrugged. “Change of scene from San Diego.”

  “Ain't been there, I told you.”

  “An' I don't suppose you met up with Vince an' Moretti a few months back, either.”

  “No. I dunno where you're getting your information from, Samson. But I haven't been to Bay View since last summer.” Fox frowned as his eyes fell on Samson's nomad patch. “Thought that was just gossip. You sure you're up to it, old man?”