Strength & Courage (The Night Horde SoCal Book 1)

by Fanetti, Susan

  “At first, I stayed local, taking care of business around SoCal, so I could take care of Carrie. But Hoosier saw something in me, a talent, I guess, and maybe a need to get free, and he suggested I go Nomad. I told him no, I had to stay close to my sister. He understood. Hoosier and Bibi actually know Carrie. Connor a little, too. They’re the only ones still around who know who she really is.”

  Sid interrupted. “Do you want to call them, tell them what’s going on?” Muse was so deep in memory, he had almost forgotten she was sitting here with him.

  “No. I only want you. I’ll call when…later.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry I stopped you.”

  Muse looked down at his sister’s face. Her skin was becoming dull and more orange, and her temperature was up to 105.5. Unwilling to stay in the present moment, he let himself fall back into memory, and he continued his story of his sister.

  “When Carrie was sixteen, she got her GED and got emancipated. Hoosier and Bibi helped her get set up with a job and a little place, and they said they’d keep an eye on her. Carrie told me I was in her way, cramping her style. So I went Nomad. And things were good for a long time. Or good enough. She has fucking awful taste in men, and I had to take care of some things for her a few times, but she had friends, and she had her place, and our old man was out of the picture. I loved being on the road. God, I loved it. Carrie and I fought some, because I didn’t get home as much as she wanted, and she was really pissed when I went inside a couple times, but things were mostly good.

  “Then when she was about twenty-six, she decided she wanted to fix things up with our old man. She reached out, and then she starting taking care of him, lending him money she couldn’t afford, dealing with his shit, and I could see that he was going to take her back down with him. I tried to get in the middle of it, but she saw him as a sad, broken thing, and I couldn’t get her to turn her back. I knew he was gonna be her ruin. I just didn’t think it would happen so fast, or the way it did.”

  Before he could say more, Carrie began to seize. The hand he was holding, which had been both rigid and slack, went hard as iron, and her body became an assembly of flailing boards. Her blue eyes rolled back and her mouth clamped down. The machines still attached to her began to beep crazily.

  Blood oozed from her lips. She’d bitten her tongue.

  “RACHEL!” he shouted, but she was already in the room, pulling him out of the way. Other nurses and the doctor followed, and Muse got shoved back against a wall. Sid was already there, and she took his hand. He looked down at it, not understanding.

  He couldn’t see what they were doing. All he could see was a wall of backs clad in scrubs. But then the beeping became a solid tone, and the flurry of activity stopped.

  She was gone.

  Sid’s hand clamped around his, but he barely noticed. He watched as the doctor and nurses did what they did, disconnecting her, tidying her cover and tucking it under her chin. One nurse wiped the blood from her mouth and face. Then they left, each of them giving him a look of sympathy.

  Rachel was last. She put her hand on his arm and said, “She’s at peace. Now is when she can truly rest. Take your time. Let me know when you’re ready for me to make the calls.” She squeezed his arm and smiled sadly at Sid, and then she left, closing the door behind her.

  When they were alone in the room, Muse shook himself free of Sid’s grip and walked to the end of the bed. He clutched the footboard and stared down at his sister. She looked almost like she always had these past three years. Just paler; the feverish flush had left with her breath. He could almost convince himself that nothing had changed.

  But everything had changed.

  “You weren’t done, Spud. I’m so fucking sorry.” His legs were shaking and didn’t want to hold him up. Still clasping the foot of her bed, he dropped to a squat and leaned his head against the footboard. “You weren’t done. You weren’t fucking done.”

  He wept. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, but all those tears that had gone unshed for all those years came now.

  And then Sid was on her knees at his side, her arms around him, her head on his back, and he wept harder.

  As his river of tears dried finally to a trickle, he realized that she was whispering something against his back, her mouth near his shoulder.

  “I love you enough. I love you enough. I love you enough.”

  Muse let go of the footboard and sat hard on the floor of his dead sister’s room. He pulled Sid into his lap and held her close, tucking his wet face against her neck.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sid sat on her bed with Cliff on the floor at her feet. Muse was in the shower and had been for a long time. He hadn’t wanted company. She’d been sitting here listening to the water running, feeling sad and alone.

  They were burying his sister today. There had been no viewing and there would be nothing but the most basic graveside service. Muse wasn’t religious, and neither had Carrie been. But Bibi was, and she had taken charge where Muse could not, so there would be a preacher there to say a few words. He let Bibi handle everything, even the ordering of the headstone. The only input he offered was a quote he wanted on it: She burned too bright for this world. From Wuthering Heights, of course.

  Sid felt like she had learned more about Muse in those hours spent in vigil with him at his sister’s deathbed than she would probably have ever known otherwise. He had a reputation in the clubhouse for being quiet and thoughtful, not much of a talker. Although he was quiet, she’d been surprised at that rep, because they talked a lot. But she’d realized, listening to his long story about his sister, and about himself, that until that day, he’d said very little about himself.

  On that day, though, surrounded by mementos of his love for his sister, and hers for him, he’d opened wide and let Sid see. It was all she’d needed to be sure that she wouldn’t turn her back on this man. She would find a way to be his partner; she would find a place at his side. Because she loved him. Completely. And he was a good man. Whatever it was he’d done, whatever he might do, she knew for a certainty that he was a good man.

  But in the four days since Carrie had died, from the time he’d finally stood up and led Sid out of that room, he’d been distant and nearly silent. He was with her—he’d hardly left her side—but he was closed. They hadn’t had sex; they’d barely touched, even sleeping in the same bed. He’d become his sister’s ghost.

  She didn’t know what to do, how to help. So she did what he seemed to want. She let him have his space.

  Sid got up and started to dress for the day, choosing a pair of black dress slacks and a light grey silk blouse. There wasn’t much planned, just the burial service and then a wake at the clubhouse. The Missouri Horde had extended their stay to be here and support their brother. None of them had known Carrie; Sid had the impression that few of them even knew Muse well. But he was their brother, and they stayed. He’d told her, sitting next to his sister, that the club was a different kind of family from what he’d been used to. She was understanding that the same was true for her.

  She was understanding that she didn’t understand what family was at all, despite parents who loved her, and despite an education, and now a career, in social work.

  As she picked up a pair of dressy black pumps to wear, Muse came into the room. He was naked, his towel thrown over his shoulder. His beard was coming in dense and full, less grey than she’d expected. He looked amazing. She missed him.

  He glanced at her standing at the closet. “Hey. I’ll be ready in five.”

  She went to him and picked up his hand. He let her, but didn’t close his fingers around hers. “Okay. You need me to do anything?”

  “No.” He looked down at the shoes in her other hand. “I’m riding. If you want to ride with me, you need to wear boots.”

  “Do you want me to ride with you?”

  He finally met her eyes. God, there was nothing but pain and sorrow in them. “Up to you.” He shook his hand out o
f hers and went to the closet.

  Sid stood where she was, sad and unsure. Finally, deciding to do what she wanted and not try to decode the sudden mystery that Muse had become, she set the pumps on the top of her dresser and pulled a pair of socks out of a drawer. She’d wear boots.

  ~oOo~

  Although Bibi had sent an obituary to the papers, no one attended the burial except the Horde family. Sid didn’t know if that was because Carrie hadn’t had many friends, but Bibi had looked out over the cemetery grounds toward the road several times and sucked her teeth, so it seemed like she’d been expecting more people. Sid wasn’t about to ask Muse and risk causing him more pain.

  Even without Carrie’s friends, her grave was surrounded by men in black leather and the women who loved them. Not only Horde leather, but a few from other clubs, too. About forty bikes had met them at the mortuary, where Carrie’s body had been prepared and put in a casket, and escorted the hearse to the cemetery, not much more than a mile away. Even for that short distance, it had made an impressive sight.

  Sid had ridden with the old ladies, in Riley’s Mercedes SUV. Sitting in front with Riley, Bibi had explained that it didn’t matter whether the men in attendance knew Carrie, or even if they were close to Muse. They didn’t leave brothers to bury loved ones alone. And had a member died, the procession would have been much longer; allied clubs from all over would have attended. The family extended far beyond the clubhouse.

  But Sid didn’t think Muse was capable of being supported, or appreciating the support offered. He’d stood at the graveside, silent, eschewing the row of seats the cemetery people had set out. Sid and Bibi stood on either side of him, holding his hands. When the preacher had said his words, Muse was the first person to leave, before the pearly-white casket was settled into the ground. He shook off both Bibi and Sid and walked away, straight toward his bike. When Sid started to go after him, Bibi grabbed her hand and pulled her back.

  “Give him space, honey. He’s got some shit to work out.”

  She turned to the older woman, whom Muse, and all the men, called ‘Mama.’ “I want to help him. He shouldn’t be alone.”

  “He’s not. He knows that. Let him ride. That’s how these boys get their heads straight. They ride. So let him go. He’ll be back when he’s ready.” She hooked her arm with Sid’s. “In the meantime, we’ll take care of the men who’re here.”

  She thanked the preacher and led Sid and the other women toward the road.

  ~oOo~

  Muse never showed at the clubhouse. He hadn’t returned her calls or texts. She’d expressed some worries, and Hoosier had told her that he’d been in touch with him, and he was okay. Demon assured her that if he wasn’t back by morning, he’d go looking.

  The clubhouse was full of people, and the women laid out a good meal. When enough alcohol and weed had been consumed that the atmosphere started to change from a wake to something a little more like a party, Keanu took Sid back to her house. It was hours past dark, but there was still no sign of Muse.

  She and Keanu took Cliff for a walk. The November night had a sharp chill, so when they got back, she fed the dog and turned on her gas fireplace. After she changed into flannel pajama bottoms, a t-shirt, and a comfy old sweater, she fixed hot chocolate with Kahlua for her and Keanu, and they sat on the loveseat together and watched television.

  Keanu wasn’t much of a talker. His given name was Jared, but Sid had an idea about why he’d gotten his road name, because the word he said more than any other was ‘Whoa.’ She had an image of his brain perpetually floating on a fluffy cloud of weed smoke. He looked much more like a Malibu surfer dude than a biker, with long, dark blonde dreads he wore in a thick ponytail, and a slim, sleek surfer’s body. Whenever she tried to make conversation, in all the hours they’d lately spent together, mostly she got nervous snickering as a response. He would answer questions, but not elaborate. He was terrified to talk to her, or even make eye contact, and she wasn’t sure why.

  He wasn’t the only one who served as her bodyguard, but he was the most consistent. Sometimes Peaches or, rarely, Fargo took a shift, and once, all the Prospects had been needed and one of the guys Muse called ‘hangarounds’ had taken a shift. Sid didn’t like being minded all the time, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to stand it much longer without losing her gourd. But the Greens’ case was coming up soon, and maybe after that things would get back to normal.

  When Keanu fell asleep, she turned off the television she hadn’t been watching, shut off the fire, and let Cliff out on the way to rinse the mugs. Muse still wasn’t home. She told herself not to worry, that he was working things out.

  ~oOo~

  She woke when Cliff left the room, the tags on his collar jingling, and then she heard Muse and Keanu talking. He was okay. Then the front door opened and closed, and she heard Muse talking to his dog, making the tags jingle more loudly when he ruffled the dog’s fur.

  She lay quietly, waiting, her eyes closed, and man and dog came back to the bedroom. He stood there, looking down at her; she could feel him, even as she kept her eyes closed. Then he sat on the bed.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw his back as he pulled his beater off. He must have already taken off the button-down shirt he’d been wearing. He tossed his beater into the corner and then just sat there.

  Finally, she sat up and moved to him until she could put her hands on his shoulders. He was so taut, so tense, and he flinched at her touch. She kissed his back, and he curved away.

  “I’m gonna take Cliff in the morning and go back to my place.”

  What he said hurt, but she wasn’t surprised. He’d been moving in that direction since he’d taken her hand and led her out of Carrie’s room. She was trying to decide whether to ask why, or just say ‘okay,’ when another alternative occurred to her.

  She’d always thought that being in a so-called ‘successful’ relationship was about one person giving up control that the other person demanded. She didn’t want that, not ever. But maybe being in a partnership wasn’t about always or never taking control but about knowing when to take it and when to give it up.

  So she took control now. “No.”

  That made him react. He looked over his shoulder. “What?”

  “You’re not leaving. You’re trying to run, and I’m not going to let you.”

  He almost smiled, but it wasn’t a happy look. “You think you can stop me? Maybe use your little self-defense moves on me?”

  She let his dig slide. “I can stop you. And I don’t need to use force. Because you don’t really want to go.”

  He blinked and turned back to stare at his lap again. Sid went on. “I love you. I know you love me. I know you feel responsible for what happened to Carrie—” He started to stand, and she pushed gently down on his shoulders. When he let that light touch keep him in place, she knew she was right. “You feel responsible, and you’re trying to run from the responsibility you feel for me. I’m not letting you.”

  “I don’t fucking run from my responsibilities,” he growled.

  “I know. That’s not what I meant. You’re worried something you do will get me hurt. Whatever’s going on right now with the club that has all the women under guard. Right? This ‘situation’ you were talking about last week. It’s dangerous. Right?”

  “Yeah. But I’m not gonna talk about it with you.”

  “I don’t think you should. I think because of what I do, it’s best if I stay on a need-to-know basis. But fuck you if you think you’re leaving because of any of it. I told you that I love you enough. I do. Seeing you with your sister made it all clear to me.” He flinched again at the mention of his sister, and she kissed his back, between his shoulder blades. “My job is dangerous, too. Obviously. I think I’m safer with a bunch of badass bikers at my back.”

  He laughed a little, one quiet chuckle. Then his head sagged. “I let her down. I don’t want to let you down, too.”

  “Then don’t leave.”

&n
bsp; She kissed his shoulder, then moved along the curve to his neck, leaving a trail of feathery kisses, all the way across his other shoulder. The muscles under her lips were hard and knotted with tension and grief. She began to knead, digging her fingers into his muscles until he groaned and rolled his neck.

  She worked her way down his spine. When her fingers moved over the raised, ruched skin of that long scar, going in a line from the small of his back to a couple of inches below his left armpit, he pulled away slightly.

  Ignoring that sign of his discomfort, she traced the scar with her fingertips. She’d never asked about it. Now was as good a time as any. “How’d you get this? It must have been a terrible wound.”

  “Outlaw shit. Didn’t kill me, doesn’t matter.”

  “Same with the scars on your leg?”