by Sarah Osborn
For the first time, Fox looked scared, as the realization that, if he wasn't very careful, he was going to end up dead hit home. “Vince will kill us both, Samson.”
Bingo! “Then we take it to the club. I ain't making promises, but I'm guessing that if you throw yourself at their mercy, you'll walk away. It could cost you your patch, and I doubt, even if you keep it, the nomads will want to follow you. You made the wrong call, Fox, and you dragged the nomads into a shitstorm. There will be consequences, but it was Vince who was calling the shots.”
Jim (or maybe Pete, even after all those years, Samson couldn't tell them apart) stepped forward. “You're a good guy, Fox – stupid, but good – can't see you holding onto that president's flash, but you take this to the club, and there's still a place for you with the nomads.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“There's always a choice, brother. It's just time for you to make the right one.”
SIXTY-SEVEN
For the first time since the club had found out that Joe had been killed, Beth was alone. She looked over to where the kids were squabbling over what Halloween costumes to wear. No, not alone.
Already, Joe was fading into the background in their lives. Abi felt his loss the most. As the oldest, she understood what her dad being dead really meant, but she was back at school, and already the latest fad was taking precedence. Luke missed his dad and seemed to finally understand that he wasn't coming back, but after a few days of crying and raging, he'd put the pain somewhere, and continued with his life as though nothing had happened. The twins had no concept of 'forever' or 'never', so they still asked for their dad and, Imi in particular, would cry for him on occasion, but they were three, and easily distracted. And they were used to him not being around all the time.
For Beth, Joe was everywhere.
Her thoughts turned to Emma. There had been something very wrong with her friend. She'd said all the right things, but had been kind of distant and just... off. Beth knew she and Joe were close, and maybe it was grief, but it didn't feel like that. It was almost as if she felt guilty about something. Samson had obviously picked up on it, too—he'd watched her like a hawk and had seemed reluctant to leave them alone together. Certainly, he'd seemed more relaxed after she'd left, although, he too, had been distracted and had taken off a couple of days later. Pushing down the niggling little voice that was whispering that maybe Emma's odd behavior was guilt, and that she had been right all along about her and Joe having an affair, Beth turned and headed back into the kitchen. It didn't matter now. Nothing did. It was done, Joe was gone and the kids needed their lunch.
~ oOo ~
Deke's last words to her before she'd set of for the airport had been that he was going to make everything right. That was what he'd said to Tiny, too, but how could he? Unless he had a time machine and could transport her back to before she'd gone into the house and grabbed that gun, nothing he did would ever make any of this right again. Emma stared at her reflection. She'd killed Tiny, her best friend. Her rock. There was no going back, and for the life of her, she didn't know how she was supposed to move forward. Even if Deke could forgive her, she knew she'd never forgive herself, and she knew that she'd most probably destroyed their relationship.
Lottie touched her thigh and held up her blanky. “Lottie kiss it better.”
“Mommy's fine, love.” Emma brushed away her tears and smiled. “You gonna help me make lunch?”
SIXTY-EIGHT
There hadn't been a lot to smile about recently, but Samson couldn't help but grin at the look of fear that flashed across Vince's face as he, accompanied by Fox and the Twins, walked through the chapel door.
Instead of taking a seat, he stood, leaning against the viper on the wall. He looked around at the assembled officers and nodded. “My apologies for dropping off the grid, I know you were eager to talk to me, but I had a few things that needed to be taken care of first.”
Vince leaned forward. “You know why you're here?”
“How 'bout you tell me.” Samson folded his arms.
“We have information that you gave up the details of the coke runs to the Serpiente.” Spud, the VP glanced up at Fox then frowned and turned his attention back to Samson. “Did you?”
“Nope.” Samson pushed himself away from the wall. “Maybe you should all listen to what Fox has to say before you take a vote. I'll be downstairs.” Remembering that he no longer wore a President's patch, he looked over at the Twins. “Okay?”
They nodded, and Pete grinned. “It shouldn't take long.”
~ oOo ~
The barroom was empty, save for a lone prospect who was trying to look like he hadn't been eavesdropping. Samson scowled. “Fuck off.” There was the briefest flash of defiance, and he grinned. “I'm still wearing a patch, asshole.”
The prospect looked conflicted for a moment before reaching the right decision and scuttling off into the night. Samson shook his head and made for the bar, trying to ignore the raised voices from the upstairs room. Maybe he should have stayed, but he was tired. So fucking tired. None of it mattered anymore. He just wanted to lay down, close his eyes, and sleep.
It was all fucked up, and he couldn't make it right. His wife had killed his brother; the enormity of that was just overwhelming. Emma wasn't going to come back from this. He closed his eyes. She'd killed Tiny. Fuck.
Fuck! He actually staggered with the force of it. Emma had killed.
His little witch, the kooky little hippy who named her chickens and painted pictures of sunbeams. The girl with dirt under her fingernails and those fucking ugly boots. The girl who made him laugh. Samson sank into a nearby stool and put his head in his hands. She'd proven herself to be resilient, and tougher than she appeared. But this... killing... taking a life – Tiny's life – there was no fixing this.
He took a deep breath. He was an expert on living with the consequence of killing; he lived with it every fucking day. But Emma, oh shit, his girl wasn't equipped to deal with that. To survive, she was going to have to shut it away and lock it down tight, and to do that, a piece of her would be lost.
He became aware of the sound of footsteps, but didn't look up, even as one of the Twins pulled up a stool next to him. “Well?”
“You've stirred up one hell of a shitstorm, brother, but they're done with you. No case to answer.” Pete patted his shoulder. “Go home.”
“Fox?”
“Dunno, I can't see him keeping his patch. He pretty much threw himself onto his sword, said Moretti had approached him directly, and he thought you were on to him, so set you up as a rat. He denied the hit was an inside job—and I'm inclined to believe him. If I had to guess, I'd say it was the Rats. They've got a clubhouse close by. Probably just got lucky. Vince just saw it as a way of getting rid of you.” Pete chuckled. “He never did like you.”
“Vince?”
“Looks like he's gotten away with it. Fox covered for him, the dumb fuck. Sorry, bro. I don't think the chapter believes Fox was working alone, an' I reckon they'll be watching their Prez real close, but for now, he's hanging onto the gavel.” Pete sighed. “You gotta walk away from this, for your ol' lady's sake. Go home, Samson.”
SIXTY-NINE
They say time is a great healer, but Beth wasn't so sure. Maybe one morning she'd not wake up and, after the briefest, most wonderful moment of forgetfulness, remember. Maybe after moments of laughter, the guilt that she should feel happy wouldn't hit her like a hammer.
It had been just over four months, and her heart felt as heavy as ever.
Life had gone on, though. Because that was what life did. They'd survived Thanksgiving and Christmas and gradually, a little at a time, Joe's influence was fading. The house was messier; the kids no longer automatically put their toys away after playing with them. Meals were sometimes eaten on the sofa in front of the TV, and they now had a kitten.
Beth was changing, too. She was thinner, and the woman who'd been reluctant to leave the house without makeup
no longer cared. She was undecided as to whether this was a good thing, but on balance it probably was. The old Beth was always conscious of her appearance. It had been her shield against the world, but now she realized that no one really noticed, one way or the other.
Her plans to move back to Seattle had been put on hold. She still wasn't sure whether it was the right move for her and the kids, and the tenants were in no hurry to move out. She had no intention of staying in Bay View, though, and there was a sale sign in the front yard. Beth sighed and dropped the last of the toys into the toy box, then poured herself a glass of red. As long as they were living nowhere near a clubhouse, and out of earshot of Harleys, she didn't much care where they lived.
She was done with the Freaks. There had been the occasional phone call from Samson and Emma, but neither had much to say. It was clear that they'd never really been there for her. It had always been all about Joe. Spike came around a couple of times a week, ignoring her requests for him not to. He'd moved back to Bay View a couple of months ago, after Vince had given up the Presidency.
Beth wasn't sure what had gone down, and frankly, she didn't care. Spike hadn't said much about it, but it sounded as though the chapter had given Vince the chance to jump before he was pushed, and he'd taken it. He was still a Freak, but the tiny, clean strip of leather on his cut shouted louder than the patch that had covered it ever could. The swagger had gone, too. On the rare occasions Beth had seen him, the imposing man, who'd embodied everything biker, had been replaced by a smaller, sadder man, clinging by his fingertips to a life in which he no longer was of any relevance.
The club. She picked up her glass and took a huge swallow. A lifestyle, an attitude. A pathetic male idea of family, loyalty and brotherhood. Family. Ha! What a joke. She hurled the glass across the kitchen. They were just grubby little criminals, no better than a fucking street gang. All their talk about loyalty was just that: talk. Promises dripped easily from their tongues, and were broken without a second thought. And all the time their women and children tiptoed around them, swallowing their disappointment and fears, while grabbing greedily onto any scraps of affection their men deemed fit to throw their way.
For her whole life, she'd loved a man who was incapable of loving her back.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Spike walked through the back door and dropped a bag of groceries on the table.
“Yeah. I...” She pulled the dustpan and brush from the cupboard. “Yeah.”
“Why don't you go an' sit down. I've got this, Beth.”
“I don't need your help.”
He held up his hands and shook his head. “Jus' offering. I ain't staying, I just saw some of those cookies Alice likes when I was at the store,” he nodded to the laden bags. “I picked up some other stuff as well.”
“You didn't have to do that.” She knelt down and began sweeping the shards.
Spike ignored her. “I gotta go. Tell Luke I'll pick him up after school tomorrow.”
Beth listened as his truck pulled away. She knew why he came. He'd been tasked with taking care of them. She'd tried to tell him there was no need, but he came anyway. Usually, he pretty much ignored her, spending much of the time goofing around with the kids. She worried that they'd get too attached, but so far he hadn't let them down and they liked having him around, so she tolerated his presence. Not that he gave her any choice, of course.
SEVENTY
Some days, Emma forgot. Then, in the midst of playing with Lottie, or puttering around the house, something would remind her. On good days, she could push the memory away and continue with being a mom or just being Emma.
Then there were the bad days: Days filled with self-loathing, when she couldn't look at herself in the mirror, much less look Deke in the eye. On bad days, she wasn't Lottie's mommy and she sure as shit wasn't the Emma she remembered herself to be. She'd try to lock herself in the studio on days like that, pouring her pain and self-hatred onto the canvas. None of those paintings would ever see the light of day. They were too... incriminating. Deke would flip if he saw them.
Deke flipped at pretty much everything these days. Emma turned to better see the man lying next to her. He wasn't the same man anymore. His temper was shorter, and when he wasn't yelling, he was morose and brooding. And there were days when she couldn't stand to be near him. She wasn't afraid of him, even though his vitriol was aimed directly at her, but his words stung. They stung a lot. He frowned in his sleep, and she lay her hand on his cheek. She'd done this.
She'd killed Tiny. She'd made Beth a widow, left his kids fatherless. And she'd broken Deke.
He opened his eyes and blinked. “Go to sleep, baby girl.”
Wordlessly she closed her eyes and turned away. He didn't like to hold her anymore.
~ oOo ~
Samson rolled over, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. She didn't want him to hold her anymore, and he wasn't going to go back to sleep. It was his fault she was like this. His anger had pushed her away. Many years ago, she'd told him that he was her safe place. Not anymore.
With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and pulled on his jeans. He'd known, the moment Tiny had grabbed her hand, that nothing was ever going to be the same again. He didn't want to blame Emma, and he didn't, not really. But there was a part of him that raged against everything that had happened. Brother being set against brother. Loyalties being stretched and twisted. Greed and lust for power was destroying everything he held dear.
It had been happening for a long time, in different chapters. The nomads had been clearing up the fallout from that shit for years. Then Emma had killed Tiny, and the world had come down around his ears.
He'd been newly patched, the first time he'd met Tiny. He'd been hanging around the Bay View clubhouse for a while, but whenever the question of him prospecting came up, it was rejected. Tiny had been a loose cannon back then. Volatile and unstable. A liability. In the ring, he was ferocious. More often than not, he'd leave his opponents unconscious, and would have to be dragged out of the ring. He wouldn't stay down, either, even when he'd been beaten to a pulp. Samson had busted his hands on his face more than once.
It had been Vince who'd persuaded the club to give him a shot, and when the patches grew tired of pulling him off civilians and were on the brink of kicking him from the club, Samson had stepped in. After a year on the road, Tiny had returned to Bay View, calm, focused and one hundred percent Freak.
Samson made his way through the kitchen and, sitting on the back stoop, lit a cigarette. Nobody had embodied the Freaks more than Tiny. And Emma had killed him. She'd killed the club.
He didn't look up as she threw a blanket over his shoulders, but he did shuffle a little to one side so that she could sit next to him. She leaned against his arm and took the cigarette from him. “It isn't ever going to go away, is it?”
“No.” There was nothing else he could say.
She sighed and pulled the gold band from her finger. “I'll leave in the morning. I think it's best if Lottie stays with you, at least until I've found somewhere I want to be.”
Somewhere, deep inside him, Deke was screaming at him to pull her into his arms and beg her to stay, but Samson just retrieved his smoke and said nothing.
Emma had killed Tiny, and they were done.
SEVENTY-ONE
“I've left a list of numbers you'll need on the fridge door.” Emma pulled open a drawer and began removing her clothes. “You have a dentist appointment next Wednesday. If you give them a call, I'm sure they'll fit Lottie in as well.”
“Emma...”
“Genghis and the cats are due for their shots at the end of the month. The cat carriers are in the garage. Make sure you sneak them into the house, though. If they see them, they'll take off and you'll never catch them.”
“Emma...”
“If you need a sitter, ask Felix or Yaz first, but if they're busy, I've left Debbi's number. You know her, right? She comes to the club with Lola sometimes. She's a good girl and Lot
tie likes her, but hide the booze.” Emma stuffed the last of her clothes into her suitcase. “There are plenty of meals in the freezer, you just need to nuke them and I'll...”
“Emma! Just shut the fuck up. Please.” Deke grabbed her arm and spun her round. “Running won't help, baby girl.”
“I'm not running.” She tried to pull her arm away, but his hold on her tightened. “I'm not running, Deke.”
“Yes, you are.” He pulled her closer – too close. “It doesn't matter how far you go, this ain't going away. Trust me, I know.”
“So what do I do?” She felt herself sag against him.
“Learn to live with it. You've gotta put it away, Emma.”
Put it away. Just like Tiny would've done. “I'm not Tiny, Deke. My brain doesn't work like that.”
“Then make peace with yourself.”
His chest, against her forehead, was warm, and he smelled of home. Emma closed her eyes. “You really don't get it, do you? I'm not trying to escape from what I've done. I'm running from you.” She pushed herself away from him. “I live with what I've done, not because I've hit on a magical solution, but because I've got no choice. I have days when it's hard – really hard – but I get through them, because I have to. I fucked up, Deke. I fucked up big time, and there are times when I hate myself.” She sighed. “But it's not me who can't live with what I've done. It's you.”
He didn't deny it. “I don't know how to make this right.”
“Maybe you could just stop trying to.” She sat on the edge of the bed and absently started to pair up socks. “If it had been someone else who'd killed Tiny, what would you have done? How would it get made right, Deke?”
“I'd've hunted them down, and made them pay.”
“Retribution.”
He sat next to her and passed her a sock. “Yeah.”
