HAWK (Lords of Carnage MC)

by Daphne Loveling

  “Anyone else it could be?” Angel asks.

  “No one else really has the capacity to do this kind of a job,” Ghost growls. “It’s got to be one of them.”

  “Well, we’re to be at the drop in less than an hour,” Thorn mutters. “I think we’re gonna find out whether the Devils are playing us by what happens when we tell them we don’t have their inventory.”

  Grimly, I realize we may be headed for a war. The stony faces of the other brothers tell me they’re thinking the same thing.

  The meet-up is just outside our territory, at an old factory that looks like it’s been closed for many years. When we get there, we drive inside a huge open doorway that looks like it was made to accommodate large construction vehicles. Inside, a couple dozen Death Devils are there, with two vans to transport the guns we don’t have.

  All of the Lords, on the other hand, have come on bikes. There was no reason to bring trucks, having nothing to transport in them. And what trucks and vans offer in terms of protection, they lose by being slow. If there’s gonna be trouble, I’d rather be on a bike than in a cage any day.

  A large, deeply-tanned man with long dark hair and a thick beard stands in the middle of them, wearing a plaid shirt and a leather cut. I don’t even need to look at closely to know his lapel patch says “president.” I’ve never met Ozzy before, but he commands a respect among his men that’s immediately evident by the way they stand and wait for him to speak. It’s like he’s the center of gravity or something.

  If Ozzy and the Death Devils are behind the break-in and gun theft at our warehouse, then he’s the best goddamn actor I’ve ever seen in my life. The exact moment when he realizes we haven’t brought any vehicles large enough to transport product is obvious. He throws Rock a sharp and suspicious look of anger. The rest of the men come to stand in a disciplined half-circle around him. It’s pretty clear they’re getting ready for the possibility of violence.

  Ozzy’s face grows dark and steely when Rock tells him about the break-in. He is fucking pissed.

  “We had a deal, Rock.” His voice is cold, menacing. “You promised us guns. We promised our people guns. We now have a problem.” It’s not clear whether he believes us, or whether he thinks this is a set-up.

  Rock takes a step forward. “Ozzy. Our clubs have never had a problem with each other. I don’t plan to start one now.” He looks briefly over at Angel. “We think we have a pretty good idea who did this. They will pay. We will get the guns back. And we will deliver them to you as soon as we do. The deal is still on. It’s just been unfortunately delayed.”

  Ozzy seems to relax just slightly. The change in his face is hardly visible, but it’s there. “Spiders?” he asks.

  Rock nods once. “We think so.”

  Ozzy’s eyes narrow, his lip curling slightly. He says nothing, but it’s pretty clear what he thinks of them.

  “As I said, we promised our people a shipment of guns,” he says. “I am a man of my word. I don’t appreciate being made to go back on it.”

  Then he shouldn’t have made a promise until the guns were in his possession, I think.

  Rock’s voice grows hard. “Soon, Ozzy. We’ll have the guns back very soon. I’ll be in touch.”

  He nods once, not waiting for an answer from the other president. Then Rock turns and lifts his chin to us, the signal that it’s time to go. We walk out in silence, in a show of confidence, but I’m half-expecting a shout, or gunshots, to ring out behind us. The fact that Ozzy lets us leave without any problem is a good sign. But even so, this is not a great way to begin a solid future partnership if necessary against the Spiders.

  “Well,” Brick murmurs to me as we walk toward the bikes, “I guess we know what happens next. The Spiders just bought themselves a war.”

  15

  Samantha

  Saturday morning — the six-month anniversary of my arrival in Tanner Springs — starts out bright, sunny, and gorgeous. It’s a perfect day for what I’ve been told is one of the highlights of the year: the annual library fundraiser.

  The fundraiser was started over fifteen years ago by the Tanner Springs Public Library’s board of directors. I know this because my grandmother told me all about it at length two nights ago. She was on the board when the fundraiser was launched the first year, and naturally she credits herself with its continued success. Gram doesn’t serve on the board anymore, and apparently hasn’t even gone to the fundraiser for the past two years. But she still takes it very seriously, and contributes a hefty amount to the cause annually. As her granddaughter, it wasn’t even a question in her mind that I would be going.

  Truth be told, I’m sort of looking forward to it. This is exactly the sort of small-town event I’ve really never experienced before, having grown up in a city. On the morning of the fundraiser, about an hour after it’s supposed to start, I put on my favorite sundress, pull on some comfortable yet pretty sandals, and set out for the walk downtown.

  By the time I’m a little more than a block away, I can hear and see that the event is already in full swing. For the occasion, the main street has been blocked off with wooden barricades. As I get closer I see that four entire blocks have been taken over by tents and booths. Literally hundreds of people line the street — men, women, children of all ages. Music blares from somewhere over on the other end. There’s so much to see I’m a little overwhelmed. Gram told me this was a big deal, but I had no idea it was this big.

  As I get inside the barricade, I realize I need a plan in order to see everything. I’m going to start on one end and walk down one side of the street from beginning to end, and then loop back around and come back on the other side. I decided before I left that I wouldn’t bring my camera, not wanting to have to lug around a heavy bag all day, but now I’m regretting that decision. There will be so many opportunities for great shots here that I’m tempted to go back and grab it. You can always run home later and come back with it, I reason with myself. For once I’m going to try to just enjoy the occasion and be in the moment, instead of always being behind the camera trying to capture it for the future.

  The tempting scent of popcorn fills the air, and even though I had breakfast already, my stomach rumbles in appreciation. I resist the urge to get a bag, and instead start strolling down the right hand side of the street, weaving my way through the throngs of people. It’s a full-scale carnival without the rides. There are games, music, crafts, face painting, balloons… the whole works. I pass by a couple of high-school age kids doing an amazing juggling act with bowling pins, and a woman in a long, flowery dress playing guitar and singing folk music. A couple of older ladies are standing at a table selling pies and jars of homemade jams and jellies. Further on, there’s a ring-toss game manned by a very bored-looking teenager, and a middle-aged woman selling really pretty handmade jewelry.

  Eventually, I walk the entire four blocks and come to the end and the other barricade blocking the street. On this end, there’s even a raised stage with large speakers sitting on the ground on either side of it. There’s nothing happening on the stage right now, but it looks there will be some sort of band or other performance there later, judging from the microphone stands and chairs that are already set up on and around it.

  I cross to the other side of the street and start back in the other direction. About halfway back, I see a large booth with a big, colorful awning over it. The name of the library is emblazoned on the awning, and a handful of people are staffing it, handing out brochures about the library and pointing out a large box for donations. To the left of the booth, there’s a huge bookshelf full of all kinds of books. A sign on the shelf says the books are free to take, and suggests a donation in exchange.

  I slow down and scan the people under the awning. This is my one actual task of the day: I’ve promised Gram that I would stop by the library’s booth and talk to RuthEllen Hanson about a job. I’ve been putting it off as long as I can, but if I don’t do it today I’ll never hear the end of it from Gram. S
ighing, I approach the booth and ask a twenty-something woman in trendy horn-rims if Ms. Hanson is here. She gestures at a neat-as-a-pin woman who looks to be in her mid-sixties, with a short, roundish hair style and pale blue eyes.

  “Ms. Hanson?” I say when I’m just a couple of feet away. She turns and looks at me expectantly. “I’m Samantha Jennings. Phyllis Jennings’s granddaughter?”

  “Oh, yes,” she nods, sticking out a slightly bird-like hand for me to shake. “Phyllis told me you’d be getting in touch with me.” Ms. Hanson glances around for a second. “Why don’t we go over there in front of the pharmacy and talk, away from all this noise?”

  I follow her to the varnished wood and iron bench that sits in front of Krebs Pharmacy and sit down beside her. Ms. Hanson folds her hands in her lap and gives me a polite smile. “So, are you enjoying our little festival?” she asks, gesturing with her chin.

  “Yes, actually, I am,” I say truthfully. “It’s charming. It’s a lot bigger than I thought it would be.”

  “Well, we are very proud of this event,” she answers, obviously pleased. “It’s truly one of the events that the citizens of Tanner Springs look forward to every year. Of course,” she continues with a wink, “Your grandmother is convinced that she is single-handedly responsible for its success.”

  I laugh. “That does sound like Gram. Honestly, I’m surprised she doesn’t come to it anymore, to give everyone a chance to congratulate her.”

  “Yes, well.” Ms. Hanson’s eyes cloud over a little. “Your grandmother has retreated quite a bit from public life since Richard died. She took his death very hard, even though it wasn’t unexpected. He had been sick for a while.”

  “Excuse me… Richard?” I’m confused. My grandfather’s name was George, and he’s been dead for many years.

  “Yes. Richard was your grandmother’s… boyfriend, I guess you’d call him.” She wrinkles her nose. “Such an undignified word to use with adults, though, don’t you think? Your grandmother and he were together for a few years before he died of a lung disease.” A sweet half-smile flits across her lips. “He was the only one who could ever get your grandmother to change her mind about something once she’d made it up. She loved him very much.”

  I’m stunned. “I had no idea,” I admit. How could I not know my grandmother had had a boyfriend? How had she never talked about him with me? I had always just assumed that my grandfather was the last man she’d ever been with. And the few times she talked about him to me made it fairly clear they didn’t have much of a relationship.

  I’m both happy and sad about this news. I’m happy because it means that Gram did find love, after my grandfather’s death. But I’m sad because she’s probably still grieving for Richard. And she doesn’t feel like she can talk about him with me. I feel like a terrible granddaughter, all of a sudden. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk about him, I think. But then again, maybe it would make her happy to tell someone about him. Maybe it would make her feel like he’s not so far away, to talk about her memories, and what they had together.

  My throat tightens a little, thinking about all this. I resolve to try to be a little kinder to Gram, and to spend a little more time with her. And maybe, if I can figure out a way to bring it up without upsetting her, I can get her to talk about the man who sounds like he was the love of her life.

  “Now. I know why you’ve come to see me, Samantha, and of course I do want to do everything I can to help Phyllis’s granddaughter,” Ms. Hanson says then, changing the subject. “I would truly love to be able to hire you on at the library.” She frowns slightly. “But I’m afraid that I won’t have very many hours for you to start. The truth is, the staff we already have can easily cover all the shifts, and I already have a couple of part-timers who want to go full-time as soon as it’s possible.”

  I tip my head to the side in confusion. “You’re not looking to hire anyone? But Gram said…”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” she says apologetically. “But as I said, I certainly do want to help you in any way I can…”

  “Oh, but I’m not looking for a job,” I assure her, my face breaking into a grin. “I’ve got my own photography business that I’m setting up, and it’s actually going quite well.” I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Gram just doesn’t think photography is a real job, so she keeps trying to get me hired somewhere, even though I keep telling her I’m not interested.”

  RuthEllen bursts into laughter. “Of course she does! That’s classic Phyllis.” Relief floods her features. “Oh, I’m very happy to hear that. I wasn’t sure what I was going to tell my part-timers about why I was hiring a new person instead of giving them more hours.” She stops laughing then. “Oh, but what will we tell your grandmother?”

  “Well,” I begin, thinking for a moment, “I did actually just talk to someone who works at the community education office about teaching a photography course. I can tell Gram that I turned you down because the hours you were offering me clashed with the times the class was being offered.”

  Ms. Hanson seems delighted with this plan. “That’s perfect,” she says, clapping her hands. “Your grandmother can be a force of nature, you know. But I would hate to hurt her feelings.”

  The two of us get up from the bench and walk back toward the library booth. As we do, I happen to glance across the street, and see something I hadn’t noticed before. A group of tattooed, leather-clad men are setting up a massive black box on wheels made of thick metal, with a large grate welded on top. I recognize it instantly, because it’s the biggest grill I’ve ever seen.

  And the first time I saw it was at Cas and Jenna’s wedding.

  “Is that… the Lords of Carnage club?” I ask Ms. Hanson, stupefied.

  “Yes, that’s them,” she says mildly. “They do the grilling for the fundraiser. Have done for quite a few years.”

  I turn to her, expecting to see an expression of… I don’t know what. But she gives me an amused smile.

  “Say what you will about them,” she continues, “But they do cook one hell of a good hamburger.”

  As I stare in amazement, one of the men who had been bending down to put blocks under the grill’s wheels straightens. My stomach flips at the sight.

  It’s Hawk.

  And before I can run away and pretend I don’t see him, his head turns and his eyes lock on me like he knew I was there all along.

  16

  Samantha

  Hawk ambles over, closing the distance between us quickly with his long legs. I suppress the urge to flee, and try desperately to look nonchalant.

  “Hello,” he says simply. He nods at Ms. Hanson. “RuthEllen,” he says.

  “Hello, Hawk,” she replies. “Do you know Samantha Jennings?” she asks.

  “I do.”

  “Please thank the club for their generosity again this year, Hawk,” Ms. Hanson nods, gesturing toward the grill. Turning to me, she continues. “I really ought to get back to the booth, dear. So nice to have met you. Do come into the library sometime. We have quite a good selection of books on photography.”

  “I will,” I promise her. I watch as she walks away, and then reluctantly turn my eyes back to Hawk.

  “You look good,” he says gruffly, nodding at my dress.

  “Thank you,” I say, as heat flushes my cheeks. I suddenly feel very conspicuous and exposed. Hawk’s eyes grow dark as they slide over my figure. It feels almost like he’s touching me without even lifting a finger. I resist the urge to squirm. I’ve never been so instantly affected by a man just looking at me.

  “So, ah, the club is grilling the meat for the festival?” I manage to say, sure that I sound like a complete idiot. “That’s not exactly what I would have expected you guys to be doing on a Saturday afternoon.”

  He shrugs, but his eyes are still lingering on the curve of my breasts. “It’s good PR. Keeps the town from wanting to run us out.”

  As I look at his face, I notice that his handsome features seem tense. Preoccupied. He’
s not as cocky and flirtatious with me as he usually is. He’s less infuriating this way, but it’s strangely… disappointing.

  I find myself wanting to ask him what’s wrong.

  But I don’t. Because I don’t think he’d tell me anyway.

  When I saw him from across the street, the first thing I wanted to do was run. Or maybe throw something at him, and ask him why he just disappeared without a trace from the carriage house when I went to talk to Gram. I don’t know what I expected from my next encounter with Hawk, but it wasn’t this. He’s so serious, so completely unlike I’ve ever seen him. It’s much easier to know how to act around him when he’s being a jerk, I realize. I want him to say something completely inappropriate, so I can hide behind my righteous anger. But I can tell that’s not going to happen.

  So, because I don’t know how to act when he’s not being a cocky ass, for some reason I start acting flirtatious.

  “Who’s doing the grilling?” I say in a teasing way that sounds forced and artificial, even to me. “I’m imagining one of you guys in an apron and a chef’s hat.”

  But Hawk barely seems to hear me. “How’s the leak in your grandma’s kitchen?” he asks. The tone of his voice makes it clear he’s just phoning this conversation in. My heart sinks a little bit. I know I’m not the most interesting person in the world, but it seems pretty clear I’m boring him. I have no idea why he bothered to come over and talk to me in the first place.

  “Um, fine. Thanks again,” I stammer, and hope I’m not turning beet red as my thoughts turn to what happened after he fixed the sink.

  “That’s good,” Hawk says absently, running a hand through his dark blond hair.

  Just then, one of the other men calls to him. “Hawk!” He turns his head.

  “I need to go help them finish setting up,” he explains.