Legacy - Night Horde SoCal 3

by Sarah Osborn

  ONE HUNDRED

  Lottie swung her leg over her bike and watched Luke as he backed his Bobber alongside her Ninja. Despite his initial reluctance, he had taken to riding like a duck to water, and he and her dad had taken to riding together at every opportunity. If she was completely honest with herself, Lottie was kinda jealous of these bonding sessions. She was never invited to join them, and now, instead of spending her spare time helping her dad with his Indian, she spent it with her mom, puttering around the vegetable garden, or alone, with her camera.

  Luke had been spending more time at the clubhouse, as well—although, as he worked on Friday and Saturday evenings, this would be his first party—and had joined them on a couple of charity runs. Lottie was cool with that, the club was still a big part of her dad's life, and she loved her big, dysfunctional, biker family. And at least now, her dad had stopped growling.

  They had been married for six months and, so far, things were great. She grinned as their eyes met. They were so broke that church mice held collections for them, were working all the hours God sent, and living in a tiny, one room apartment. But they were happy and had their whole life in front of them.

  Luke took her hand and kissed her. “Okay, then. Let's pop my party cherry.”

  ~ oOo ~

  Samson leaned back on the bar and downed his Jack. Already the smoke and noise were giving him a headache, and he was fighting the urge to slap the next fucker who jostled him. He was getting too old for this shit, and he now avoided parties whenever he thought he could get away with it.

  There was no avoiding this one, though.

  Across the crowded room, Emma was in deep discussion with one of the club girls, completely oblivious to the death glares from the gaggle of ol' ladies in the corner. Samson, like most of his brothers, stayed out of bitch shit, but he knew that his ol' lady was going against some weird protocol. He grinned and turned back for a refill. Not that Emma gave a shit, of course.

  The little girl behind the bar gave him a dimpled grin as she topped up his glass, and Samson felt about about a hundred years old. Had the girls always been that young? As she returned the bottle to its shelf, she turned. “You might want to pace yourself. Emma said you could only have three.”

  “Emma can go fuck herself.”

  The little bartender laughed. “She said you'd say that.”

  Of course she had. He resumed his position, and raised his glass to his wife.

  Emma whispered something in her friend's ear, then stalked towards him. She slid her hands inside his beater, and he felt a growl grow in his throat as her nails dragged across his skin. Her breath brushed across his neck and his jeans grew tighter. “No woman's gonna tell you what to do, huh?”

  “Damned straight.” He lifted her chin and kissed her.

  “Thought so.” Emma nipped his bottom lip. “Which is why I've hidden your keys and cleaned one of the dorm rooms. Just don't come crying to me when you have a hangover and can't walk after a night on one of those mattresses.”

  ~ oOo ~

  “You gotta understand, son. Nomads ain't like the rest of us.” Spike leaned back and took a long pull on his joint. “An' your ol' man was one of the best. Ain't a chapter in the country that ain't heard of him, an' you'll hear nothing but good shit from his brothers. Things have changed now—the club ain't what it used to be—but back in the day, it was the nomads who ensured that no one fucked with the Freaks. No one wanted to hear that Tiny Taylor and Deke Samson were onto your ass.”

  “Did they...”

  “Best not ask. Ain't gonna answer in any case.” That grin was as crazy as ever. “They weren't the most notorious, though. That honor goes to Disco.”

  “Disco?”

  “Yeah. He was a lone wolf—he wasn't associated with any club—but there wasn't a club that'd close its doors to him.” He laughed. “Not if they wanted their clubhouse still standing in the morning. He'd work for anyone, an' there wasn't a job that he'd flinch from. It's said that he could make a rat confess without breaking a sweat an' that he could kill a man in his bed without waking his ol' lady. He was like a fucking spandex ninja. Don't reckon there's a club he ain't done a job for, or a club that ain't put out a hit on him.” He nodded to Samson who was leaning on the bar, instructing a young patch on club etiquette, and explaining what would happen to him if he ever looked at his daughter again. “That motherfucker, over there, must've hunted for him for years. Never even got close.” Spike shook his head. “It shoulda been easy, what with the disco ball tank an' helmet. An' white leathers are hard to hide. But no one was slipperier than Disco. His targets never saw him coming, an' no one ever knew where he went.”

  Luke laughed and shook his head. He was pretty sure that ninety percent of Spike's stories were bullshit, but every so often something would slip and Luke would prick up his ears. Little wonder his mom had wanted to keep him away from the club.

  He scanned the crowd. A few of the younger patches were unfamiliar; Luke guessed that they only really went to the clubhouse at the weekends. He would join Lottie and Samson on a Sunday afternoon if he wasn't working, and would play poker with Spike and some of the old timers on a Monday night. They seemed to enjoy having him around, and would regale him with stories about his dad, and reminisce about their glory days. And he had grown fond of these old men who, with a good deal of reluctance, were stepping back and letting the new blood take the reins.

  Over the last few months, the overriding theme had been how much the club had changed. Certainly, on the surface at least, all their business interests seemed legit, and apart from the cuts, a lot of the patches looked pretty clean cut and respectable. But as he looked closer, he spotted others. The ones standing alone, or in small groups, quietly talking in the corner. All of them watchful, and all seemed to have an invisible exclusion zone. He knew that respect of one's brother was paramount, but these men were treated with deference, and no one invaded their space.

  A nudge brought him from his reverie and Luke turned his attention back to Spike. “If bullshit was music, you'd be a brass band.”

  Spike's face was a picture of innocence. “Bullshit? I swear on my Harley, every word is true.”

  “Do you swear on your patch?”

  Spike shook his head and stood up. “You got me, son. I'm gonna go an' hit on Samson's ol' lady. Gotta keep that ugly fuck on his toes.”

  As soon as Spike had disappeared into the crowd, seemingly from nowhere, Lottie appeared and sat next to him with her leg curled under her. Unlike any of the other women in his life, she paid no more than scant attention to her appearance. Her locks, she'd told him, meant that she never had to style her hair, and she rarely wore makeup. Clothes, too, were just a necessary evil, and when they were alone, the most she wore was a tee shirt and panties.

  Tonight, though, she'd made more of an effort, although her jeans weren't as tight as the club girls' and the sleeveless black polo-neck top would've been modest in any setting. Luke had been surprised by her choice—It wasn't Lottie's usual style—but now he understood her need to cover up. The Freaks may have had a good reputation when it came to women, but the bar had been set pretty low, and not everyone there knew she was Samson's kid.

  With his forefinger, he traced her latest ink: A lover's knot on her left wrist. “It's not too late to change your mind. If you have any doubts, you have to tell me.”

  Her brow wrinkled and she shuffled a little closer. “We've talked about this, Luke. Are you sure it's not you who's having second thoughts?”

  Luke shook his head. Across the room, Samson was scowling at Spike who was, none too subtly, trying to look down Emma's top. Aware that he was being watched, the big biker looked over and pushed himself away from the bar. He was just an old guy who walked with a limp and held his paper at arm's length because he insisted he didn't need glasses, but as Samson threaded his way through the crowd, people stepped aside. Then one guy deliberately blocked his path. He was at least two decades younger than his fath
er in law, and was nearly as big. Luke braced himself as the two men glared at each other and the air around them crackled, then relaxed as the younger man looked away and took a step back.

  Lottie followed his gaze and grinned. “You have that.”

  “So I've been told.” He laughed and stood up to make room for her dad.

  ~ oOo ~

  “You don't have to do this.”

  Beth stared up at the viper on the big, black doors and slipped her hand into Henry's. “Yes, I do.” She smiled. “I understand if you don't want to come in with me, though.”

  Henry bent and kissed her. “Luke is my kid, too. Of course I want to come in.”

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door. “Okay, then. Lets get this done.”

  Even when Joe was alive, Beth had avoided parties at the clubhouse. The smell, noise and low light made for an oppressive atmosphere, and she had to steel herself as she stepped across the threshold. With Joe had been at her side, it had been difficult to relax, and now she wasn't entirely sure how she would be received. Her eyes scanned the room, as they became accustomed to the dim light, until they fell on a familiar figure. She smiled nervously as their eyes met, and felt some of the tension leave her body as he grinned and strode towards her.

  Beth let go of Henry's hand and allowed Samson to pull her into a hug. She hadn't completely forgotten just how his hugs had felt and allowed the feeling of warmth and safety wash over her. Samson pulled away and, lifting her chin with his forefinger, kissed her on the lips. “You took your sweet time, Beth.”

  She hadn't realized she was crying until he wiped her cheek with his thumb. “I had to take it to the wire, Samson. You must understand.”

  He grinned and glanced over to their kids, who were watching closely. “I know.” With another kiss, he released her and turned his attention to Henry. “There's gonna be a few people wanting to talk to your ol' lady. How about we go get a beer.” Henry frowned and Samson laughed. “Don't worry, she'll be fine. She's family.”

  There were an awful lot of strangers, but Beth was pretty sure most of them knew who she was, and she didn't hesitate or drop her gaze as she crossed the barroom, not towards Luke and Lottie—they were going to have to wait—or Emma, who she was really looking forward to spending some time with, but towards Spike, who was glaring at her from the kitchen door.

  His expression didn't soften as she got closer; Beth smiled and pulled open the kitchen door. “Shall we take this somewhere more private?”

  Spike followed her and closed the door behind him. “I need to know you ain't here to stir up shit, Beth.” He tapped his patch. “I still keep order around here.”

  “I'm here because Samson invited me.” She sighed. “I'm not here to make things difficult for anyone. Luke is my son, Spike. I haven't exactly been gracious over the last few months, and if I don't make things right, I could lose him forever.”

  He nodded, clearly satisfied with her answer. “He's a good kid.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Tiny would've been proud of him.”

  “Yeah.” Beth wasn't there to talk about Joe. “I'm sorry for the things I said. You were always good to me and the kids, it was wrong of me.”

  Spike shrugged. “Was a long time ago, an' you were right. Henry was always gonna take care of you all better'n I could.” He laughed. “I kinda got carried away with the idea of having a family again. Which, given my track record, was a pretty stupid idea.”

  Beth grinned. “The sex was pretty good, though.”

  He grinned wolfishly. Now that was the Spike she'd always known and loved. “I don't suppose...”

  “Absolutely not.” She opened the door. “C'mon, you can buy me a drink.”

  ~ oOo ~

  “You planning on doing something about that, son?” Luke followed Samson's gaze to where Lottie was standing talking to a small group of younger patches and a couple of their wives. Every so often, one, who, according to his patch, came from Vegas, moved closer to Lottie and touched her ass. Lottie would frown and step away a little, and he would, after a few seconds, move in again.

  “I'm not sure Lottie will thank me if I go busting things up.” Luke had a very clear image of his wife's reaction if he stepped in. He laughed. “Is that what you'd do if it was Emma?” He couldn't imagine her appreciating it, either.

  Samson's expression darkened. “If any man touches my wife without her consent, I will feed him his own balls.”

  Luke got the distinct impression that he'd opened up an old wound. “Lottie's fine. She knows we're here. She'll let me know if she needs me.”

  “Not her call, son. Not in here.” Samson picked up his glass. “In this building, respect is everything. Ain't gonna get that letting some asshole lay hands on your woman.”

  With a sigh, Luke pushed himself away from the bar and crossed the room to assert his manhood and avoid a lecture from his father in law.

  He was well aware, as was Samson, that the asshole who was touching Lottie was trying to goad him. While he'd been welcomed into the fold by the older patches, the young members were less accommodating. And some were downright hostile. So far, he'd managed to avoid any confrontation; Luke didn't feel he had anything to prove, and the old guard still held some sway. He reached his girl and glared at the fat fuck with the roving hands.

  Fat Fuck held his gaze for a moment, then looked away.

  Lottie laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Has Dad been giving you caveman lessons?”

  Luke grinned and kissed her. “He seems to think my education in that particular subject has been lacking.”

  “Meh. You don't need schooling. You're a natural.”

  “Yeah, so I've been told.” He pulled her closer and began to nuzzle her neck. “Let's get outta here.”

  “I'd love to, but...”

  “We'll be back before anyone misses us. It's a beautiful night, Lottie. Wanna take a ride?”

  ~ oOo ~

  It was a beautiful night. Lottie took the lead and led them through the nearly deserted streets, past long abandoned industrial units and discount stores. She wasn't really thinking about where she was heading, but gradually the traffic grew heavier and the lights brighter. Luke drew level at a stop sign and pointed to his left. Lottie nodded and followed him. He obviously had a destination in mind.

  It was less than half an hour later when he pulled up outside the cemetery where his dad and cousin were buried. Lottie killed the engine and dismounted. “The gates will be locked.”

  Luke shrugged. “So we climb over the wall.”

  It took a while to find the grave. Lottie had been with her mom sometimes as a kid, but it had been a while, and although there were ornamental lamps along the pathways, they didn't give out much light. After a few false starts, they found it, and Lottie headed for a nearby bench while Luke crouched down in front of the headstone.

  He hadn't given an explanation as to why, after all this time, he wanted to visit his dad's final resting place, and Lottie hadn't asked. She figured he'd tell her if he wanted to, but she was cool if he wanted to keep his reasons to himself.

  There had been plenty of accusations that running to Vegas and getting married had been impulsive and reckless. And the decision had been made over a bottle of vodka—although it had still seemed like a great idea when they'd sobered up—but they hadn't jumped in with their eyes closed.

  They had plans, a life to live. And they wanted to live it together.

  Lottie didn't believe in fairy stories about knights on white horses rescuing damsels in distress. She didn't think that love solved everything and happily ever afters existed. But this didn't mean she didn't believe in love at first sight—or first fuck, at least—it just meant that she was a realist. Sometimes relationships were hard work, and sometimes things sailed along smoothly. And they wouldn't live happily ever after, because life wasn't like that. But they could could grab the happy times with both hands, and help each other through the rough times
.

  And sometimes, when one was at a crossroads in their life, the other would just wait patiently until they chose their path.

  Even if that meant sitting on a damp bench in a cemetery on a chilly Friday night.

  Luke didn't spend long at his dad's grave, but when he joined her on the bench, he seemed a little more focused, a little more calm. Lottie linked her fingers with his. “You okay?”

  He shrugged. “Kinda thought I might feel something.”

  Lottie kissed his cheek and stood. “We're going to have to get back.”

  “I know.” Luke sighed and threw his arm around her shoulder. “Samson said church was at nine.”

  ~ oOo ~

  Samson grinned as Spike glanced at the clock behind the bar. “He knows to be here, brother.” He didn't add that he was pretty sure that Spike was going to be disappointed.

  His brother was one of life's rule breakers, but he was a stickler when it came to club protocol. Especially when it came to prospects. The reality was, though, that when it came to recruiting, the club was pretty relaxed. The potential prospects didn't know this, of course, and they would be jumping through burning hoops for months. As far as they were concerned, they were invited to put their case to the officers and senior patches, then after a short probation period, the sponsor would call a vote, and if all were in agreement, they would be offered the prospect patch. In actuality, the decision had already been made, and the only time a unanimous vote was required was to award the top rocker when, or if, the time came.

  There had been no question that Luke would be asked. As soon as he'd bought his bike, Samson had been taking rides with him, making sure he had enough miles under his belt and knew his way around a bike. They'd talked, too, and although he'd offered to sponsor him, Samson still wasn't convinced that his son-in-law was ready to wear a cut.

  “Finally.” Spike pushed himself away from the bar as Luke and Lottie approached. “Thought you'd run out on us.”