Alone on Earth

by Susan Fanetti

  “Lotsa bad shit goes down in a Scorp clubhouse. Don’t know if you could deal.”

  Bart glared at Len. “We cut a girl in two in our clubhouse. While her father watched. I can deal with a lot.”

  At that, Show pulled up tall and glared down at him. “Not the same, brother. That was a debt being paid. That was owed.”

  “Not arguing that, Show. I know. I’m just saying shit gets deep here, too. I can deal.”

  Stepping back, Show asked, “Do we know Sam will agree to this?”

  Bart shook his head. “Rick seems pretty sure. But he wasn’t going to bring it up to Sam until we’d decided our play. Maybe Sam will just laugh and crush us. He’s definitely not acting like he’s been our friend all these years.”

  Len gestured to Badger. “You been quiet, Badge. Anything to add?”

  The kid shook his head, but then he shrugged and spoke up. “I don’t like Bart going. But I see the sense of it.”

  Show turned, walked back down the aisle, and sat at the top of the steps leading to the altar. The others sat down, too.

  “Let’s step back from that a minute. We need to think. While we do that, let’s move on. Talked to the Sheriff. The Scorps did a good job cleaning up Howler’s mess. Looks like C.J. will go down as the shooter for Wallace and the other guy—Grady—as well as Isaac. Lilli’s in the clear for killing C.J. So that’s off our plate, at least. C.J. will be cremated as soon as the investigation is closed. So his ink will be destroyed.”

  After taking a deep breath, Show was quiet for several seconds. Bart knew he was regrouping, making order in his head before he spoke. “We need to vote on Vic. Two votes: patch and Maker. Do we need a discussion?”

  Len shook his head. “He’s gotta die. But do we know what the fuck he was up to? Were he and Ceej stirring up shit together?”

  Havoc laughed viciously. “He says he just saw an opportunity and took it. That’s worse to me, that he flipped so fuckin’ fast. He barely even fuckin’ thought about it. I want to cut parts off until he bleeds out.”

  Show raised his voice at that. “No. If he meets his Maker, we take his ink and we kill him clean. Let’s vote it. Call it out.”

  Unanimous for both. Vic was losing his patch and meeting his Maker. No surprise.

  By the time the meeting was over, Vic was dying, Dom and Omen were patched in, and Bart was going over to the Scorpions. Eventually. If they would have him. He didn’t want to be going until they had a better sense of Isaac’s future, and until he had Dom trained to take over for him.

  But Jesus, his life—all their lives—had just been dumped into a blender and pureed.

  He, Len, Havoc, and Badge were heading back to Signal Bend and the clubhouse, to make arrangements for a meeting with Sam. Show would come back for that, but he was still loath to leave the hospital.

  Before they left, they went up to pay their respects to Isaac and Lilli. It was the ICU, and they weren’t supposed to be there at all, but the nurses turned a blind eye, insisting only that they go in one at a time and for no longer than five minutes each.

  Bart was the last in. He’d seen the pale, broken expressions on his brothers’ faces when they’d come out of Isaac’s room, so he’d thought he was prepared for what he’d see.

  He wasn’t.

  From the time Bart was in high school, Isaac had inspired him. Intimidated him. Awed him. He was big and strong, in body and personality, and he filled up a room—figuratively and nearly literally. He was really smart and, though he didn’t broadcast it, almost as much of a geek as Bart himself was. Truth be told, Bart had always wanted to be Isaac.

  Not now. It wasn’t his President he saw in the big, strange bed in the room, bolted into a monstrous metal apparatus and buried in wires and tubes. They’d shaved his beard. He didn’t know why. But that was almost worse than the tubing down his throat, and the bolts in his head, and the constant buzz and beep and pulse of the machines nearly surrounding him.

  “Hey, bud.”

  Bart tore his eyes from the horror in that bed and saw Lilli, sitting in a chair that looked something like a recliner. She had it pushed right up against the bed. Her hand rested on the mattress, her little finger linked with Isaac’s.

  She looked haggard, but she smiled.

  Bart went to her and kissed her cheek. “What can I do?”

  “Make Show go home. He has too much going on to be this tired. He needs to sleep.”

  “So do you, Lilli.”

  She just shook her head and turned back to watch Isaac.

  ~oOo~

  By impressing on him that they all needed to be sharp to sit down with the Scorpions, and suggesting that when he got back to the hospital he’d have a first-hand report for Lilli on Gia, who was with Shannon, they did manage to get Show to go home and sleep for a couple of hours. He didn’t look appreciably better when he came in to the clubhouse, but Bart supposed they all looked like shit. They sure all felt like it.

  At least the Scorpions had calmed down. Whether Sam had gotten a handle on his crew, or they were simply thrown by what had happened to Isaac, they now were acting like the guests they were. Len had called in some of the more resilient girls, and the Scorpions had apparently been something approaching civilized with them, because the girls looked okay and into what they had going on.

  So that was something.

  They dealt with Vic first, and the Scorpions stayed out of it. To his credit, Vic was stalwart at the end. He grunted and groaned mightily as Len sliced his ink away, but they didn’t have to hold him down. Then Havoc, in his first task as acting SAA, asked him how he wanted it. Havoc gritted the words out, and Bart knew he hated that Vic was being given the respect of the choice.

  Vic said, “Bullet.” When Havoc aimed at his head, Vic said, “I fucked up. Thing I was best at.” He said nothing more, and Havoc fired once, putting a bullet in the middle of Vic’s forehead.

  Vic had no one. No living blood family, no one but the Horde. They wrapped up his body and called their friend at the funeral home and crematorium in Worden. They burned his kutte in the trash barrel out back.

  Bart didn’t even feel a pang of regret. Vic had signed his death warrant two years ago. If it hadn’t been for C.J., they’d have carried it out then.

  With that task behind them, they brought Dom and Omen into the Keep and presented them with their top rockers. The celebration was subdued. Both were young—now almost half the Horde was under thirty—but they’d proven their mettle, and their loyalty.

  While their patches were still on the table in front of them, and they were still reeling from the briefing they’d just gotten, Show went out, intending to bring the Scorpions in and get the meeting started. He came back with only Sam, who, again, sat in what had been C.J.’s seat.

  Expecting all the Scorpions to come in, Bart, Len, Badger, and Havoc exchanged confused looks. They all turned to Show at once, and Show just tipped his head. In that gesture, Bart read an admonition to shut up and wait.

  Again, Show sat in his customary seat. The sight of Isaac’s empty chair at the head of the table made Bart feel nauseated. What was the Horde without Isaac?

  Maybe it was nothing. A lot depended on what Sam would say in this room. Rick had briefed him on their plan while the Horde dealt with Vic, so he should have had time to consider it.

  Show spoke first. “This reunion hasn’t been a smooth one, Sam. I’m hoping when we leave this table, we’ve found our balance again.”

  “I hope so, too, Show. That’s why I’m in here alone. Before we talk business, I want to offer my sincere hope that Isaac recovers completely. I consider him a great personal friend, and I’m truly sorry if I had any unintentional part in what C.J. did.”

  Show nodded, but none of the other Horde responded.

  “I’m also sorry for the disrespect my men showed you and your house yesterday. That’s on me. I came in hot, and I had no cause to. My men keyed off that. You have different rules than we do, but this is your
house. Shiv was way out of line. As restitution, I offer him to you for five minutes.”

  Bart and Havoc looked at each other. Show leaned forward. “Offer him?”

  “Three men of your choice. In the ring with Shiv. Five minutes. No weapons, but whatever damage you can do in five minutes is clear.”

  Len turned and looked down the table at Sam. “Whatever damage?”

  “Up to and including death. In those five minutes only. That goes for Shiv, too, of course. Whatever damage he can do.”

  That was some savage shit. Bart knew it would be him, Len, and Havoc. They could easily kill that asshole in five minutes. Shiv was Sam’s SAA, and he’d just offered him up, like nothing. Bart had some new insight into the workings of the Scorpions MC, and his resolve to follow through with their plan was suddenly a little shaky. No—he’d known these guys were bad news. He knew what he risked.

  Who he risked.

  Even if he went to L.A., could he and Riley be together? Was that too much risk for her? Or maybe her celebrity made a safe space for her. They couldn’t just make her disappear. Bart had to think about all that.

  Show nodded. “Thank you, Sam. Len, Havoc, and Bart. Tonight.” He looked at the men he’d named. “That work for you?” They all nodded.

  With his forearms on the table Isaac had made, Sam looked at each Horde in turn. There were empty chairs, and young, new patches, and the President’s seat was empty, but this was the Horde now. For now.

  “Now for the real business. You know I came here to force a patch-over. That’s no secret now. The Night Horde is too small an organization to handle so much attention. We have been friends for a long time, and despite the way things have been going down the last couple of days, I don’t want that friendship to end. I mean it when I say I love Isaac. I watched him become the President he is, and I’m proud to say I had a chance or two to advise him. But I can’t let that get in the way of our business. Right now, our alliance with you is a weakness. You make us vulnerable. That makes very powerful, very dangerous people vulnerable. I need to get you under control. I’m sorry for that.”

  Sam focused on Bart then, and Bart sat straight and met his eyes, waiting. “I was prepared to come in here with Scorpions patches. They are ready to go. Not support. Full charter. But Rick pulled me aside while you were handling your…personnel issue. And he laid out a very interesting plan. So interesting that I’m looking away from the fact there was talk going on behind my back.”

  He leaned back, rocking slightly in the chair. “I like the plan. I can see how it solves my problems. I can see how it makes it safe to trust my friends here in Signal Bend again. And it keeps my best hacker with me.” Again he focused on Bart. “I got one problem left. I can’t have divided loyalties in my house. Nobody touches what the Scorpions have without a Scorpion on his back. None of this ‘loan’ bullshit. I will put this deal to my men, and I will get it through. But only if Bart patches over. Intel officer for the L.A. charter.”

  Everybody in the room was looking at Bart now.

  He’d known it would go down this way. Rick’s idea of making it a loan had been pie in the sky, and Bart had known that as soon as he’d heard it. But now that the time had come to commit to the decision, he didn’t know how he’d get the words out without crying. He could feel the flood at the back of his throat.

  He took a breath and steadied himself. Show said, “Your call, brother. We got your back, either way.”

  Bart nodded and met Show’s eyes, but then he had to look away. Show’s steady support didn’t make this any easier. He looked at Sam. “I need time to get things straight here before I go.”

  Sam considered him for several seconds. The room was silent, except for the occasional squeak of a chair. “You got thirty days.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Give me five more.”

  “Fuck you. You said that five ago.”

  The look Trevor gave her very dramatically conveyed that he was unmoved by her discomfort. “Hey—I’m not the one who ate country cooking for a whole week. You play, you pay, cupcake. You’ve got a wardrobe fitting in three days.”

  Riley rolled her eyes and finished the lunges. When she stood straight, Trevor smacked her ass. “There! That’s the tight little fanny the camera loves. You came back all salty and mean, but you know the Trevor knows what’s best. And that’s enough for now. You’ve got Colin this afternoon.” He handed her a towel and her water bottle.

  As she took them, she rolled her eyes. She wiped her face with the cooled towel and swallowed a long drink of water.

  Almost three weeks home, and she still felt out of sync somehow. Her life didn’t feel quite like her life anymore. It was strange.

  Her first week back was barely more than a blur. She’d caused a real stir, staying behind, especially once the others got back and Stan found out about the reason for their mass exodus. That fracas had gotten the press jumping, and she was totally swamped, and totally on her own, at LAX. She’d been swamped at the baggage claim, and the driver they’d sent—not Joe, but someone she’d never met—had been slow to dig her out of the scrum.

  Once he finally got her to her limo and pulled away, she’d sat alone in the back and wept all the way home.

  She’d been hounded for about that first week, and then a bigger star got pulled over for DUI and punched the cop, and the vultures moved on. That week was hell, but she’d survived it. The worse of it was that one cable entertainment news show kept trying to get Riley to talk to the woman who’d had Devon’s baby. That chick was all over the place. No question that she was all about the payday. Now it looked like she planned to sue Devon’s parents for a share of his estate.

  Whatever. Not Riley’s problem. She kind of thought the woman had done her a favor. What Chrysta Ewing, Junkie Mom, had really done, after the dust had settled on the scandal, was give Riley a way finally to put her Devon keepsake box away. Her anger had given closure to her grief. She could think of Devon now as someone she had loved. Not someone she still loved.

  She hoped she wouldn’t be thinking of Bart in the same way, but it was beginning to look like that might be the case. She hadn’t heard from him in a week. Her texts and calls during that time had not been returned.

  He’d called daily—at least—the first week. He’d called three times the second week. And nothing this week. She knew a lot was going on in Signal Bend, but she didn’t know whether to be worried or pissed about him not calling. So she was both.

  The first calls had been the highlights of that unhappy week. He’d seemed to know when she was missing him most, because he’d always call at just that time. He’d asked tons of questions about what was going on in her life. And then he’d say unbelievably dirty things. She’d quickly gotten into the habit of dashing to her room and locking the door. Because he was very good at phone sex. Very, very, very good.

  She wasn’t, not at first. She blushed crazily when he asked her to talk to him the same way. But after a few calls, she’d figured it out. It was even hotter, she thought, to hear him get himself off than it was to take care of herself.

  He’d mentioned FaceTime once, but she’d shot that idea down. Absolutely no way was she going to video chat with him, especially since he went dirty at the drop of a hat. The last thing she needed was to have that out in the ether. She didn’t think Bart would capture it, but she figured it was possible that someone could hack in. Better not to risk it. The dirty talk was enough.

  Though he grilled her about her life (when he wasn’t talking about where he’d put his tongue if they were together), he hadn’t talked much about himself or the Horde, except to say that the Scorpions had moved on, and everything was smoothing out. Late in the second week, he’d called to let her know that Isaac had woken up. She’d been relieved and thrilled, but he hadn’t sounded happy. He wouldn’t go into much detail at first, but when Riley pressed him, he’d told her that Isaac was paralyzed from the chest down. They didn’t know yet whether it woul
d be permanent. Understanding that a man like Isaac would probably rather be dead than confined to a bed like that, she’d cried. Bart had been abrupt with her at that, ending the call while she was still wiping tears from her face.

  In fact, that had been the last time they’d spoken. She didn’t know if something about her crying over Isaac’s plight had pissed him off badly enough to turn away from her completely, or if there was something bad happening, or if he was just busy—or if he was just over her. She was beginning to fixate on the question.

  But she was not going to call or text him again. She had some pride. Unless he was hurt or something else bad was happening. Angry or worried; she didn’t know which to be. Oh, shit. This long distance thing was for the birds.

  She and Trevor came back into the house from the yard, and Riley rolled her eyes when she saw her mother rooting around in her pantry.

  “I swear I really am going to change the locks. We talked about new boundaries, Mother, remember?”

  Eleanor turned around, an empty canvas grocery sack in her hand. “Sorry, muffin. I know, I know. You want your ‘independence.’ But I was at the market and I picked up a couple of things for you.”

  That was weird. Marta did Riley’s grocery shopping, as Eleanor well knew. In fact, Eleanor didn’t buy her own groceries. Riley set aside her irritation at her mother’s continued use of audible quotation marks whenever she spoke of her intention to take control over her own life. She was more interested in the image of Eleanor Piedmont pushing a shopping cart.

  “What were you doing at the market?”

  Eleanor made a regally dismissive wave. “I needed to bring some flowers to a friend, and while I was there I snooped around. They had some really lovely things. And everything so bright and perky. There are people all around offering little tidbits to eat and drink—it was almost like a party! I might do my shopping more often.”

  Shaking her head, Riley sat at the island and propped her head in her hands. “Are you here for anything else, or are you just delivering food?”