Then he spent the rest of the afternoon with Dom, making sure he was good to go as Intelligence Officer. He was. Dom was the only other Horde who knew code, and thus the only one who really could take over for Bart. But he’d never done much hacking. So Bart had spent the month teaching him how to get around in the dark spaces of the virtual world. Dom was a pretty quick study, and now his hacking skills were okay. He’d keep improving, though, and Bart would keep tabs on his progress and help as he could.
The party that night was pretty subdued, at least at first. Bart was going to leave early, put a hundred miles or so between him and Signal Bend before he bedded down for the night. He didn’t want to pass out and wake up in the morning with a rotted melon for a head and then have to climb over his unconscious brothers to leave town. That thought depressed him far more than the thought of leaving while the party was still cooking.
He was doing okay, drinking, playing pool with Havoc, and laughing with his brothers. Then Tony, the Horde’s tattoo guy, came in. He’d been invited to party, but he was there with a purpose, too, and the whole tone of the night changed. Bart knew that, for all intents and purposes, his farewell party had just become a wake. His life as a member of the Night Horde MC was over.
He swallowed the rest of his beer down, left the bottle on the pool table, and headed straight for Tony. Show grabbed his arm.
“No rush, brother.”
“No, Show. He’s here. Let’s just do it. Get it over with.”
Show stared hard at him, then nodded and let go of his arm. Bart walked up and held his hand out to Tony. “Hey, man. If you don’t mind, let’s take care of business first, party later?”
Tony, a short, heavy guy with ink on almost all of his visible skin, nodded. “Sure, Bart. Up to you. Where should we set up?”
“Right out here, Tony.” Show gestured at the ratty old recliner in a corner of the room. Len leaned over to Doogie, one of the new Prospects, and Doogie pulled the chair forward into the room. They were making this inking a kind of ritual. What Bart was doing had never been done before. He wasn’t being excommunicated. He’d offered himself up. But his ink and his kutte had to go. If he stepped foot in Scorpions territory with either, they’d kill him on sight.
The only ink he had that was specific to the Horde was the club name inked across his stomach. That was the mark they all shared. His steel horse, though to him it signified the club, was not a specific symbol, and so he could keep that, for which he was no end of glad.
So he took off his kutte—and then he realized that this was it. He’d just taken it off for the last time. He held it and stared down at it, feeling the pebbled leather in his hands. Seeing the fraying on the Flaming Mane, showing its years of daily wear. He turned it over and saw the smooth patches on the leather, from his habit of holding it at the bottom of the placket. The newest patch, brighter than the rest, over the left breast pocket, that read Never Say Die. They’d all gotten that patch after the end of Lawrence Ellis.
This kutte was like a road map of his life.
There was a loud, wet crash, and Bart looked up to see Havoc storming out of the room, and broken glass scattered at the base of a wall, beer running down the dark paneling.
He folded the leather reverently and handed it to Show, who took it from him with the same reverence. Then he pulled his t-shirt off and sat down in the recliner, circled by his brothers—most of them—and his friends. He pushed back so that he was stretched out and put his hands under his head.
Tony was a quality artist who’d worked with the club for years. He understood the life. He knew what ink meant. And he was serious as he began the somber work of eliminating Bart’s connection to the Horde.
It hurt like a son of a bitch—it hadn’t hurt anything like this to get the ink in the first place. But Bart was glad for the pain. It seemed right that his gut felt torn up on the outside like it felt torn up on the inside. He didn’t talk. No one talked. For as long as it took to remove the Horde from Bart’s life, the clubhouse was silent but for the hum and buzz of the tattoo machine.
When it was done, and Tony had finished wiping the ink and blood from Bart’s stomach, he finally looked down. Tony had done him a solid. What he’d left in place of the Horde’s name was a perfectly symmetrical, perfectly lined black arch. It didn’t look like an erasure. It looked like a work in progress.
~oOo~
After that, Bart was just ready to go. He was being sliced apart from the inside, and he had to get away. Within half an hour of Tony covering the fresh ink, Bart was in his dorm room, hoisting his backpack on his back. He was wearing a hoodie and a plain black leather jacket. He felt naked. No, worse. He felt skinless.
He walked out into the Hall—it was empty. That spun him for a minute, but he walked on through and went out the front door. Everybody was there, standing near his bike. Everybody but Havoc. Bart stopped and looked around. No. He wasn’t out here. Goddammit.
He turned, thinking he’d go hunt Havoc down, but then thought better of it. If he couldn’t deal, he couldn’t deal. Bart headed toward his bike.
“Hold up, asshole.”
Bart turned again and saw his friend coming through the front door. He walked up to Bart and held out his hand. “Here.” A pendant on a chain dropped and dangled from his closed fist.
Bart grinned. “Jewelry? Are we, like, going steady or something?”
“Fuck you. It’s St. Christopher. Patron saint of travelers. He got defrocked or unsainted or something, I guess, but anyway. It was my granddad’s. He wore it in the war.”
Bart stared down at the silver circle glinting in the lot lights as it swung from his friend’s hand.
Havoc pushed his fist at him. “Will you fuckin’ take it?”
Bart took it and clutched it tight in his own fist. “Thank you, brother.”
Havoc pulled him into a hard hug. “Always brothers.”
Stepping back, Bart pulled the medallion’s chain over his head. Then he turned to finish the walk to his bike. Each of his brothers hugged him hard in turn. Show was last. As they stepped back from each other, Show said, “We always got your back, brother. You remember that.”
He nodded and mounted his bike.
When he pulled out of the lot, the crowd of his friends and brothers—his roots—parted and made two straight lines, and he rode away through a corridor of family.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Riley was sitting around a large table with the rest of the cast. The director, Gerry Blakely, sat at the head of the table. Ensconced in armchairs around the perimeter of the space were Stan and the other producers, studio executives, and various other higher-ups, there to monitor the progress of the project.
The cast was dominated by men, most of them, especially those in secondary roles, quite rough-around-the-edges sorts. She figured the table looked a little bit like a super-size version of the Horde’s table. The thought made her feel melancholy, and that was a problem.
This was the second full table read for the film, which was still titled simply Signal Bend. They were scheduled to begin principal filming in just under a week, which was cutting it close. There really was no time for problems. There had been some fuss after the first read-through. The script had gone back for minor revision, and Riley had been called in to meet with Gerry and Stan—because she was the problem.
She knew she was the problem. She could feel it at the first read, and she was still feeling it today. She was reading Lilli far too soft. She knew it, she could feel it, but she couldn’t shake it. Her reading was throwing the whole table off, and she could feel that, too. The film wasn’t a romance, the focus was on the club and the town, but the Lilli and Isaac relationship was still its heart, and she was turning Lilli into a wilting flower.
Sitting at this table, living a story set in Signal Bend, trying to be Lilli, responding to Tanner as Isaac, and, worst of all, watching Peter be Bart, just made Riley so damn sad. It had been nearly a month now since she’d heard
from Bart. No word at all. He’d turned his back, leaving her to wonder until time made it obvious. She was hurt and angry and so damn sad. She had the absolute worst taste in men. Just the worst. And the worst part was how much time she’d been spending wondering how she’d screwed up and made him turn away. She’d played their last conversation over and over in her head, but she just couldn’t understand.
No, that was wrong. The worst part was that she loved him. Still. She’d only been with him for a week, but she’d fallen hard in that time, and she hadn’t been able to get back up.
She didn’t want to make this film anymore. She was under contract, and she had never been one to flake out on the job, but she could not get into Lilli’s head. She didn’t want to be in Lilli’s head. With everything Lilli and Isaac were dealing right now, it felt unconscionable to be playing make-believe with their real lives. It felt disloyal.
But she was trying. She really was. At the moment, she and Tanner were reading an emotional scene, where Lilli tells Isaac she’s pregnant. She had her lines down—she always had her lines down early—so she was barely looking at the script, mostly just to keep up with the page turns. Tanner seemed to have his lines down pretty well, too.
“It’s the wrong time, Isaac. There’s too much going on, too much at stake.” She tried to be Lilli saying the words.
Tanner leaned in close and grabbed Riley’s arms. His eyes were ablaze. He was totally in the zone. “It’s the right time. It’s the future, and we need that. We need to see it. I won’t let anything happen to my family. I promise you that. I love you, Sport.”
Riley jerked away. “Fuck! Tanner, will you stop with that crap?”
Everybody at the table reacted in frustration, collapsing back in their chairs or slamming their pages down. Gerry, the director, leaned forward. “What is it now, Riley?”
She brandished her script, waving it at Tanner, then at Gerry, and again at Tanner. “This ‘Sport’ crap. The script says, ‘Lilli.’ L-I-L-L-I. Read your fucking lines!”
Still speaking in the rural Missouri accent he’d taken on for the role—which was a pretty solid rendition of Isaac’s speech, if not quite his timbre—Tanner said, “I’m creatin’ a character, Riley. It’s how it works.”
“It’s a violation. It’s practically obscene.”
Gerry sighed and dropped his half-lens reading glasses to the table. “Okay, everybody. That’s lunch. Back here in an hour, please, and we’ll pick up where we left off.” He turned back to Riley and Tanner. “Except you two. You two come with me. Now.” He pushed away and stood, then walked to the door without a backward glance. Riley stood, and then Tanner, and they followed him.
He led them into a small, nondescript room with a round table surrounded by six chairs. A mini conference room, she guessed. When they were all in, Gerry closed the door and leaned back on it, his arms crossed. He was a slight guy, short and thin, about fifty or so, but the look he turned on Riley chilled her through.
“I don’t give a fiery fuck what is offending your delicate sensibilities, missy. I do not have time to play nursemaid to your fucking neurosis or whatever is wrong with that little fucking head. We start filming in six days, and I do not have the time or fucking money to find myself another Lilli. If I did, fucking security would be carrying your tiny ass out and I wouldn’t have to be having this fucking conversation at all. I didn’t want you. You are not the caliber of actress I wanted in this role. I was fucking overruled. But if you fuck this project up, then you and I will have the kind of long term trouble that could fuck your career up and good. Do you understand what I am fucking telling you?”
Riley had stood through that diatribe feeling smaller and smaller until she thought she’d just disappear. She wanted to disappear. In all her years in this business—her whole life—she’d never been berated like that. She was the consummate professional, always with her lines memorized, always happy to take a note, always willing to do another take, to give more. That was her reputation, and she’d worked hard to grow and maintain it. The upside to all that hard work was that people were nice to her.
She nodded meekly, afraid to speak, lest she cry in front of these men.
“Fuck. Okay. The two of you stay in this fucking room until you can fucking find some fucking chemistry. Understand?” Without waiting for an answer from either of them, Gerry turned, yanked the door open and stormed off, slamming the door behind him. They heard a muffled “FUCK!” as he apparently continued storming his way down the hall.
Riley stood where she was, staring at the door. Tanner rolled a chair to the side and sat on the edge of the table and crossed his arms.
He sighed. “You need to get out of your head, Riley. We have the connection. You know it and I know it. It was there for the screen test. These are deep waters you’re in now.” He was still speaking in his Isaac accent.
She was starting to really hate him, and that feeling shook off her shock. Spinning on her heel, she snapped, “God! Don’t talk to me like the only thing I’ve done is summer stock! I know the business! I know my job!”
“Yeah? Then why are you makin’ such a mess of it?”
“It’s you! You and the creepy way you keep trying to call me Sport. That’s just so fucked up.”
He stood straight, towering over her. “I’m not calling you Sport, Isaac is calling Lilli Sport. Those are the parts we’re playing—and that is what he calls her.”
“That’s why it’s so fucked up! That’s their thing, and they didn’t give it to us. It’s hard enough to do this knowing everything they’re going through without tramping all over their private stuff!”
“Riley, it’s a part. A job. That’s all. And they signed on for this. Why do you care so much what they think?”
“You are such an asshole. Why don’t you care?”
“P’rhaps because I didn’t spread my legs and turn biker bitch the moment we got to Signal Bend!” He’d dropped the accent all at once and shouted at her in his natural British lilt.
Shocked and enraged, Riley wound up and swung at him, her hand open, aiming to slap him as hard as she was able. But he caught her wrist as she swung, and then, before she could react or even fully understand what he was doing, he’d crushed her to his body and dropped his mouth hard onto hers, taking advantage of the shock that had left her gaping to push his tongue in.
She fought him, pushing at his chest, trying to turn her head, but he was much bigger and stronger than she was. She worked out, and she knew something about several different martial arts, but she was still only a hundred pounds—ninety-nine, actually—and had been taken unawares.
He didn’t let her up, and finally she stopped fighting. They would do a lot more than kiss soon, assuming Gerry didn’t decide to fire her after all. There was a pretty long love scene, in which they would be all but nude, and there were a few intensely romantic scenes. So she might as well get comfortable kissing him. It wasn’t like there was any reason she should be feeling as guilty as she was.
As soon as she relaxed, Tanner pulled back. He smiled a little. “There. Have you found your inner Debra Winger?”
Feeling a little dazed, she didn’t understand. “What?”
Still holding her, now with her hands at ease on his shoulders, he said, “Say the lines.”
She did, and she realized that she could feel Lilli in the words. “It’s the wrong time, Isaac. There’s too much going on, too much at stake.”
“It’s the right time. It’s the future, and we need that. We need to see it. I won’t let anything happen to my family. I promise you that. I love you, Lilli.”
She smiled when he said Lilli’s name. “And I love you. But don’t make a promise like that. A promise like that is a lie.”
Tanner moved closer, his mouth hovering over Riley’s. “It’s not, Lilli. We’re that promise—you and me and that little piece of us inside you. We’re the truth.”
Tanner’s—no, Isaac’s—mouth came down on Riley’s—no, Lilli’
s—mouth, and she hooked her arms around his neck and kissed him with abandon.
When the cast reconvened at the table, the rest of the read-through went off seamlessly, and everyone applauded as Tanner spoke the last line.
~oOo~
She came home near dusk to an empty house. She was hardly ever alone in her own house for more than a couple of hours before bedtime. Somebody was usually around—Marta or Trevor, her mother or Pru, and usually more than one. But Marta had taken a long weekend off to travel to Mexico for her nephew’s wedding. Pru had a date. Trevor was probably clubbing with Dante. And Eleanor had been staying away a lot more in the past week or so, since Riley had screamed at her.
She’d come back from Signal Bend intending to make a change, to be more active in her own life. Then she’d gotten home and had fallen quickly into her old patterns. But she hadn’t lost the new way those old patterns had chafed at her, and her mother’s attempts to get her into bed with Tanner had finally impelled Riley to stand up and build the boundary she wanted. She’d needed to literally scream to get her mother to shut up long enough to hear her. Then Eleanor had stomped off in a huff.
She was still pouting, but she had begun to back out and let Riley make her decisions. Riley knew her mother was waiting for her to fall on her face. And maybe she would—she was a novice at her own life, and she was scared out of her mind. Every time Pru showed her something about the way her life worked, every time she explained the process that went into something as simple as booking a dinner reservation, Riley got a little more scared. But she knew that she’d get the hang of it. She had to—now that she understood how naïve, how fucking child-like, she’d been all these years, she was humiliated. No wonder the world still thought of her as a teenager.
She’d been afraid that failing at this job would be the thing that would have her mother crowing in triumph, proving that Riley couldn’t handle things on her own. But today, she’d found her character. She could be Lilli. She could be the right Lilli. And she had Tanner to thank for it, even though she knew he’d had ulterior motives. He was still trying to get in her pants—he’d really laid it on trying to get her to go out with him after the read-through, to ‘celebrate’—and she had to admit she was beginning to consider having a little backlot fling with him, if only to get her head on straight about Bart being over. Even though it would prove her mother right, she was still turning the idea over in her head. But the truth was, he just didn’t really do it for her. Even when he wasn’t being a douche, he didn’t really appeal.
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