Cory blurted out a laugh that was half gasp. The idea of taking her son into the Horde clubhouse was some distance past insane. “Thanks, but I think we’ll pass.”
Havoc shrugged. “Suit yourself. You’re missin’ out, though—most of the town moves over there. It’s more a town party than a club thing. For a while, anyway. Hey—can I get you beers”—he looked at Nolan—“or, I guess, a soda?”
Confused and a bit overwhelmed, Cory stuttered, “Um, uh, sure. A beer and a soda.”
He turned to Nolan. “What’s your poison, kid?”
“Orange. Or just Coke.”
“You got it.” He walked around their table and over to the drink booth. Cory watched, bemused.
Before she could turn back around, Nolan said, “Please, Mom! Please let’s go to the clubhouse after. Please?”
“Nolan, no. That’s not a place for a kid.” She had not changed her opinion about the idea of taking her son into that place. It was more than insane.
“I’m not a kid!”
“Yeah, you are. And you’re definitely acting like it now.”
He tried a different tack and modulated his voice. “But he said it was a town party, not a club party.”
“Nolan, come on. I don’t say no often. This is no.”
He pushed his burger away in a snit. She let him; she was not budging on this point. Her parenting style was pretty lax; for the most part, she let Nolan tell her what he needed, and she tried to be there to help him through the brambles without just hacking the brambles away. She picked her battles. And here was a place to take a stand. He was a sensitive, shy, inexperienced kid, and she knew full well—or she thought she had a decent idea—what went on in that clubhouse. Even if the whole town was invited.
When Havoc came back with beers for him and Cory and an Orange Crush for Nolan, her moody kid brightened right up. He even pulled his burger back and dug in again. Havoc sat down next to her, and the three of them chatted until she had to go get her guitar and do her set. She left Nolan and Havoc talking video games.
It was dusk, and the air had cooled considerably, as if a front might be moving in. Cory had dressed for the event, in which she was working and performing, and for the heat of the late-July day—in a short denim skirt and a red bandana-print halter top, with her battered old red cowboy boots that she’d gotten at the Goodwill years before. She’d been comfortable all day in the heat. But she’d forgotten a jacket, and now the humid air was cooling off. She’d be freezing by fireworks time.
She grabbed her guitar and found a place to make sure it was tuned and ready to go, running through her set list—for a gig like this, it was a short one, about eight country and folk ballads. But she was nervous. She usually played wine bars and coffeehouses. A crowd for her was fifty people. There were hundreds here, and she was the second-to-last act, so people were quieting and gathering for the fireworks that would go off over the pond behind the stage. She wanted to be her best. Maybe this would lead to better gigs overall.
The set went fine. She wasn’t sure she was her best, but she didn’t screw anything up. People were paying attention, and she saw, in the zone nearest the stage, where she could see, people she recognized, couples arm in arm together, listening to her sing—Show and Shannon. Isaac and Lilli, both of their kids sleeping in their stroller, the little blue bracelet around Gia’s wrist, catching glimmers of the lights strung around the stage. She looked for Nolan but didn’t see him.
When she was finished, ending to enthusiastic applause that made her blush with pride, she hopped down from the stage and went looking for her kid. She found him still with Havoc, still at the same picnic table. It looked like they’d been talking the whole time.
She was starting to get worried. The last thing Nolan needed was to get attached to a guy like Havoc and then get his heart ripped apart when Havoc got bored, and yet another man bailed on her kid.
Thinking all that, she came at them both hotter than she’d intended. “What are you doing back here? I was doing my set!”
Nolan shrugged. “Yeah, we could hear you. You sounded great.”
“Whatever. Let’s go. Time to go home.”
“What? No—there’s fireworks, remember?”
“Probably some Roman candles and a couple of sparklers. Let’s just go.”
Havoc stood up. “No, it’s a pretty good show. We know a guy.”
Jesus. The Horde had their fingers in everybody’s business. “I’m sure you do. Let’s go, Nolan. Now.”
She reached for his arm, angrier than she understood, and he yanked away from her. “What’s your fucking damage?”
“Hey, kid. Don’t talk to your ma that way.”
At that, Cory turned on Havoc, fury spinning in her head. “Back off, asshole. Don’t come between me and my kid. Nolan. Up. NOW.”
Throwing his hands up in front of his chest, in a signal of disgusted surrender, Havoc stepped back, then turned and marched off, without a word to either of them.
When she looked back at Nolan, he was glaring at her with a mixture of rage and disappointment. Then she saw his eyes swimming, and understood how deep that disappointment ran. She knew she’d overreacted, but all at once a real, deep-seated fear had come over her, a fear for her boy’s heart. There was only so much more heartbreak and disappointment he could take.
He shook his head at her and then walked past, toward the part of the field serving as a parking lot. She followed, her guitar in its gig bag on her back. They drove to the RV in silence, and when they got inside, Nolan climbed straight up into the loft and closed the curtains. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet, but Cory was exhausted, depressed, and guilty. She went back to the tiny little bedroom, closed the door, and went to bed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Fuck, he was pissed. The way Cory tore into him? Fuck that noise. Goddamn emotional, unpredictable chick. Probably on the rag or some shit. He stalked through the fairway, against the flow toward the fireworks, forcing fairgoers to make way. He’d tried to stick up for her when her kid mouthed off, and what did he get? Yelled at. Fucking chicks, man.
He was in such a temper, not paying any attention to where he was going—without even any idea where he was going—he almost mowed Bonnie right down. He reached out and grabbed her before she fell, then let her go the second she had her feet steady.
“Ouch, Hav. What’s your rush?”
“Fuck you, Bonnie.”
Her look turned stormy, but she stepped around him and continued on her way.
He’d almost managed to get to the end of the fair—which was the wrong end to get anything done; his bike was in the lot at the other side, and the fireworks were down at that end, too. Down here, everything was empty and over. He kicked the wood side of an empty booth and then stood there, not sure what he wanted to do. Hit something. Or fuck something. One or the other. Or both.
His burner went off, and he pulled it free of his pocket.
“Yeah.”
It was Len. “We need another set of hands up here, brother. Sophie wants Mabel and the colt trailered and out of here before the fireworks start.”
“On my way.” He shoved the phone back in his pocket and headed back down the fairway.
~oOo~
He was in no better mood when he got to the clubhouse. He’d caught his hand on a bolt in the horse trailer and had opened a gash across the back, just under his knuckles. His dominant hand, too. What a suck. The day had been really great, but it was ending like shit.
He went back to the kitchen for the first aid box and waved Debbie off sharply when she tried to help him. Once he got his hand cleaned up and bandaged, he went out to the bar. Wrench was already working behind it. He was the only Prospect these days. They needed one or two more, Havoc thought, but he wasn’t about to sponsor anybody. He’d sponsored two men: Bart and Doogie. Bart had patched out. Doogie had just bailed. His track record sucked.
Wrench took one look at him and handed him a full bottle of Jack. May
be the guy wasn’t a moron after all.
Why had he invited Cory and Nolan here? Wait—why not? The Hall was already filling with people from town, those not quite ready for a good day to end. The girls were around in force, making sure there were chips and nuts out, the taps were full, and the cheap booze was stocked. The place would be mellow and practically family-friendly until probably midnight.
And he’d wanted to hang out with them, Nolan and Cory both. He was starting to understand that Nolan reminded him a little of Bart, back when Bart had started hanging around the clubhouse. He’d been about Nolan’s age when they’d started building that old shovelhead Electra Glide, which was still stored here in the bays. Bart had been quiet and on the geeky side, too, constantly talking about computers and gadgets and shit. And Bart liked the fantasy shit like dragons. The only reason Havoc started playing Xbox is because Bart had turned him on to gaming. Fucking assholes up in games was not quite as much fun as doing it live, but it was a lot less messy.
Havoc had been the youngest Horde for several years, until Bart. And, when he was a kid, he’d worked the farm when he wasn’t in school, so he never got a chance to spend time with anybody his own age. Bart had been his first and only actual friend. Havoc loved his brothers. The Horde were his family as much as his parents and sister were—more, in some ways, important ways—but Bart had been the only of his brothers he’d connected with on a level beyond the club. They’d had a blast together.
Nolan was too young to be his friend; he knew that. But he saw a kid who needed something in his life, and Havoc understood that well. It probably looked creepy, him taking an interest in a fifteen-year-old kid. Wait—was that what Cory was flipping over? Did she think he was some kind of perv or something? Fuck! That was so wrong on so many levels. Fuck!
He sat there at the bar, stewing, sucking on his bottle of Jack, until his hand stopped hurting. The Hall filled with townspeople and got loud, and then, finally, it started to thin out a little, leaving the usual partiers behind. Debbie walked past him, probably headed to the kitchen, and Havoc turned on his stool and grabbed her arm. “Let’s party.”
He got up and pulled her down the dorm hallway. He wasn’t opposed to pushing a chick to her knees in the Hall, but the place was still too crowded for it, and there wasn’t a comfortable place to be. So back to his room it was.
Debbie had been around awhile, so she knew what to do as soon as they were in his room. She stripped and got up on his bed on her hands and knees. He’d say she was average in the looks department, and her rack was on the saggy side, but she had a great ass. Before he even opened his jeans, he brought his hand down hard on one of those round globes. His palm stung, and she flinched. When he brought his hand away, the red print was bright and complete. He watched it fade before he did it again. And again.
She was breathing heavily, but she hadn’t said anything. He didn’t like chicks to talk, and she knew it. After the third strike, as he was opening his jeans, though, she looked over her shoulder at him.
“Use lube this time, if you’re going in the wrong end, okay?”
He gave her another swat, grinning as her back arched like a cat, bringing her ass away from him a bit. “No need, sweets. Going in the front door tonight.” He rolled the condom on and grabbed her hips, pulling her back to the edge of the bed.
She was wet and ready, and she squeezed around him as he went in. Debbie’s pussy wasn’t what he’d call tight—it got a lot of use—but she had great muscle tone, so she could and did make it as tight as she wanted. He liked the way she relaxed every time his hand made contact with her ass or her legs, and then squeezed right back up tight. He could almost feel her pussy muscles rolling up his cock, like she was milking him. That was cool.
But the best part about Debbie was she kept her yap shut until she came.
Knowing Debbie was game for whatever, he stopped paying much attention to her, once he got his rhythm established, and let the sting in his palms roll up through his arms and down to his cock. The extra twinge from the cut on his hand only made it better. When he was getting close, feeling the familiar knot deep in his gut, he refocused and was surprised at what he saw. He had her beet red from her waist almost to her knees, and she was starting to flinch and jerk when he swung, before he made contact. As far as he knew, though, she hadn’t uttered more than a gasp.
Thinking he should wind things up, he stopped slapping and grabbed her hips—wow, her skin was hot—and drove into her, hard and fast.
When he was through, he pulled out and dealt with the condom, tossing it in the trash after he tied it off. Debbie usually came, or at least faked it. This time, she hadn’t. Now, she was easing herself off the bed and standing slowly up.
He must have hurt her. He wasn’t into hurting women. He wasn’t sure where his head had gone that he’d been paying so little attention to what he’d been doing. Feeling like he should say something, but not sure what, he finally struck on, “There’s lotion in the john.”
She gingerly pulled her jeans up over her legs and ass. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”
He closed his jeans and watched her finish dressing. When she headed to the door, she turned and smiled. “You need anything?”
He shook his head, and she left. He felt weird. Guilty and pissed all at once.
~oOo~
After a quick shower, to clear his head more than anything else, Havoc went back out to the Hall. Well after midnight, the party had hit its usual state of down and dirty quiet, with most of the still-conscious people neck deep in somebody else’s personal space. Looked like Debbie had gone home.
Not everybody left was passed out or getting it on. The TV was going, with a Resident Evil game up and running, and as Havoc ambled to the bar for another bottle, he heard Omen and Dom trash talking.
As he pulled a fresh bottle of Jack from the shelf behind the bar, Havoc froze. He could have sworn he’d just heard…no way. He turned and looked over at the back of the couch facing the TV. Omen’s head. Dom’s head. And between them, a little shorter, a dark head topped with a shaggy mess of curls. Fucking fuck on a fuckstick.
He’d just heard Nolan laugh.
Around the bar and across the room in about five strides, Havoc faced the couch and saw a clearly soused fifteen-year-old slouching between Omen and Havoc, grinning spacily, a half-empty bottle of Jose Cuervo between his legs. Havoc looked around. No Cory. What the fuck? And how was he already drunk? Havoc had been back with Debbie for twenty minutes. Thirty, tops, with the shower.
Then Omen took a hit on a fat doob and passed it to Nolan.
Havoc lunged forward and snatched it out of Nolan’s fingers. “What the fuck, you morons? The kid is fifteen!” He handed the joint to Dom and grabbed a fistful of Nolan’s t-shirt, dragging him to his feet. Omen and Dom looked surprised but unbothered by Havoc’s outburst, and he knew why. It wasn’t all that unusual for fifteen-year-olds to hang around.
But this fifteen-year-old was different. And he was wasted out of his head. Havoc wrapped his hands over Nolan’s shoulders and gave him a little shake.
“Your ma know you’re here?”
He smiled up at Havoc, his eyes heavy and red. “Nah. But it’s cool.” His speech was running at about half speed. “I go out at night all the time. She won’t stress.”
Havoc didn’t believe that shit, but he wasn’t going to argue with the little wastoid, who looked green around the edges. “You okay, kid?”
“Yeah, I’m cool. Gonna hurl.”
“Not on me, you’re not. C’mon. John’s this way.” Turning him so that his hurling hole was pointed away, Havoc pushed him to the john and then pointed him at the toilet.
He waited for him outside the door. When he came out, looking pale and damp, Havoc said, “I’m gonna get the van keys and take you home, kid. Your ma’s gonna kick both our asses.”
Nolan, looking slightly less ill and very slightly less wasted, nodded.
“This your first time, kid?”
Again, he nodded.
“Great. Just great. Let’s go.” He dropped his hand around Nolan’s neck and led him back to the Hall.
He pulled up short as they rounded the bar. Cory was standing about six feet inside the front door. She was wearing a short, snug t-shirt, faded and ratty, a little pair of gym shorts, and some cheap plastic flip-flops. They looked like pajamas; Havoc realized that they probably were. He saw her before she saw them, and he watched her expression evolve from worry to fury when she took in the sight of her son, all but dangling from his fist.
She turned her eyes on Havoc. “Oh, no way. No fucking way. You son of a bitch. You got him wasted? Did you get him laid, too?”
She stormed up and grabbed Nolan’s arm, yanking him out of Havoc’s grip. The kid lost his footing and reeled hard to port, landing with his hands on a barstool. Wearing that stupid, vacant grin again, he shifted and managed to get himself up on the stool.
And then Cory flew at Havoc. It was a night of firsts, because he’d never had a chick go quite so thoroughly apeshit on him before. He’d pissed off plenty of women in his time, but usually they just yelled or flipped him off. He’d never even been slapped by any woman other than his mother. And this one was full-on gonzo, fists flying, pushing and hitting, screaming, “SON OF A BITCH! PIECE OF SHIT! ASSHOLE! MOTHERFUCKER!”
She seemed a little pissed off.
He had a lot of height and weight on her, but for a few seconds he was too shocked by the display of loco rage to do more than duck. Then she caught him on the chin, and his teeth knocked together. He missed his tongue, but the impact made his head ring, and he grabbed her wrists. Even in this completely wasted crowd, they were drawing an audience. From the corner of his eye, he saw Len unburying himself from his pile of pussy. Havoc did not want to have to deal with the endless shit that would come with being rescued from a crazy chick.
All the Sky Page 8
