Otherwise, setting aside a few scrapes, the Horde were uninjured.
They were back, and they were whole.
Muse heard loud, unbridled laughter behind him and turned to see Nolan with his head thrown back, still holding his AK. “Whoo-HOO! All RIGHT!” He raised the gun above his head and gave it a triumphant shake.
And that right there was inexperience. Muse went up to him and punched him in the face.
Nolan yelled as he went down, landing on his ass. “What the FUCK, man?” He spat and wiped the blood from his mouth.
“We got a man down. Any one of us could have ended right here, not made it home to see our family. Show some respect.”
He held his hand out. Nolan glared and then took it, and Muse pulled him back up.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “But we won.”
“It’s not a fuckin’ game, kid. I feel the rush, too. We all do. But control yourself.”
“Muse.” Hoosier called from across the clearing. “We need you over here, brother.”
With a quick nod to Nolan, he turned and went to his President. “Yeah, Prez.”
“This here”—he kicked the extended leg of the wounded man at his feet—“is Diego Estevez. Top Castillo dog on this run. Take his head. We’ll send them a message of our own. Something more than a fucking metaphor straight out of high school.”
The man was still alive. Muse hadn’t killed dispassionately in years. Before today, he hadn’t killed at all in years. Except Green, but that was something else entirely and not, in fact, his kill. Even the asshole who’d helped him out and run Dinny down, Muse had only broken, not killed.
“You want me to take it while he’s breathing?”
With a hard look on his grizzled face, Hoosier nodded. “I do.”
That look, and those two words, told Muse everything. At that moment, Hoosier became again the President he’d once been. Though they wore a different patch now, Muse knew that his club would return to its former place as leaders among outlaws.
The Missouri charter of the Night Horde had always been accidental outlaws, men who’d done what they’d had to do for what they saw as a higher purpose, and they’d always been angling for a way to get quit of their work on the wrong side of the line. Thus, they had made grave mistakes along the way, never quite grasping the full depth of their situation until they were in over their heads. They’d had to make a devastating sacrifice to break the surface again. Muse understood why they now were legit and intended to stay so. It was better for Missouri to stay clean.
Most of the men who sat around the oak slab table of the SoCal charter of the Night Horde had first worn the patch of a different kind of club, one that had been comfortable on the wrong side of the line, that had always been there intentionally, that had had real power. A club that had understood how to wield and manage that power. A club that would never have sought to leave the outlaw life if it hadn’t gotten caught between men maddened by personal greed.
As a whole, their former club had not been a club like the Rats. They had had honor; they had respected their home communities and kept their activities on the field of play. Some charters had been rougher than others, but for all of them the outlaw life had been a business as well as a life, and they had treated their work as work.
A key exception at the Horde SoCal table was Bart. Though he, too, had worn the patch of their former club, he had done so under duress at first. He had first patched into the Missouri charter of the Horde. He was a good brother, and a good Vice President. But his most heartfelt loyalty sometimes seemed to have remained at that legendary, handmade table. He had described the Missouri Horde as Robin Hood outlaws, and he’d done so with a wistful tone.
But the men who sat at the table in Madrone knew how to be outlaws.
So Muse turned now to his VP and gave him a hard look. He was only a soldier, but he was a careful man, and observant. On this side of the line, a leadership divided would only get them all killed. Bart met his regard with calm intent. They stared at each other for only a few moments, but in that time, Muse understood that despite his strong reservations when they’d made this decision, Bart was now all in. No longer was he an accidental outlaw, and no longer was he Missouri Horde. He was SoCal Horde, and now, again, they were the real deal.
They were back, for good and ill. Muse took a breath, let the old ice fill his veins, and unsheathed his knife.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“We are just about out of the sugar cookies. Those babies are selling like crazy. Where’s Veda? I need to know if she’s got any left in her truck.”
Sid finished tying a bow around basket wrapped in red cellophane and looked over her shoulder. “She went to the restroom, I think.”
Bibi put her hands on her hips with a sigh. “She’s looking a little peaked today, don’t ya think? And that’s about her fourth trip to the john. You don’t suppose…?”
Sid handed the basket across the table to the woman who’d just bought it, then turned to Bibi with a shrug. She didn’t know Veda much yet. She was a kindergarten teacher and, of the old ladies Sid had met, she spent the least amount of time at the clubhouse. “Beats me. Could just be coming down with flu or something.”
“In that case, it’s good she’s not handling the food today. But Jesus, I hope that’s it. One pregnant woman at a time is enough. These idiots all turn into hens the minute there’s a bun in anybody’s oven. You’re not planning to get knocked up, too, are ya?”
Sid laughed and shook her head. “No, thank you.” She was pretty sure that was a permanent no, though she and Muse hadn’t had a serious talk about it. They’d played with fire a little, but had come through it unburned. She’d never really thought seriously about it herself. What she knew about the life she was choosing, though, made her think that just the two of them, and this whole crazy club, was probably enough family.
Most of the men were away today on some kind of job that had had Muse tense and nearly silent this morning. She’d woken to find him staring at her, and then he’d pulled her close and just held her, without speaking, for a long time.
But what she and the other old ladies were doing on this bright December day in Madrone was managing a booth at the Madrone Holiday Bazaar. It was part street fair, part carnival, part block party, and all charity. All booth holders were donating at least half of their proceeds to a pool of local charities, including the Foothills Women’s Center. There were artisans and crafters, food booths, psychics, games, and, of course, Santa.
The Night Horde SoCal booth was baked goods, and they were donating everything to the pool. Veda and Bibi were world-class bakers. Sid made pretty decent snickerdoodles and chocolate chip cookies, and would have said that she was a good baker, but these two women were of another league entirely. So Sid was making gift baskets and had left the baking to the pros.
Riley didn’t bake at all; she and Bart had a cook, and she hadn’t asked Marta to do this extra work. But Riley was the main celebrity attraction of the whole bazaar, and she’d been pulling in the customers like crazy. They were buying gorgeous frosted sugar cookies that belonged in art museums and teeny pecan pies, several different kinds of full-size pies and cakes, some kind of sparkly almond snowflakes, and all manner of sugary perfection. Sid was impressed. And by the afternoon, she was getting good at making the wrapped baskets she was putting together look festive and pretty.
There was one old lady who wasn’t helping out at all today—whom, in fact, Sid hadn’t even met yet: Ingrid, Diaz’s wife. She was a renowned model and had been away for most of the fall on a world tour of some sort. She was back now, but apparently Diaz didn’t like her doing things like this with only Prospects keeping an eye on her. So she was home with Peaches, and as far as Sid was concerned, she was still nothing but a rumor.
The other old ladies, Sid really liked. Every one of them. Even though they were all different from each other in essential ways, they fit together as a unit, and Sid felt like she belonged.
It was a good feeling.
Maria, one of the club girls, came by as Bibi and Sid were talking. She’d been in charge of Tucker, who leaned toward Bibi as soon as he saw her. “Bee!” he shouted with a grin. “Cookie!”
Sid smiled. He was adorable, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, with little black Converses and a grey beanie. He was chubby and happy, grinning hugely at his Granny Beebs and holding a sticky candy cane in one pudgy fist.
“Hey there, Tuck. Come to Granny.” Bibi took him from Maria and gave him a hug, not seeming to mind his sticky hands. “Did you see Santa?”
Tucker nodded seriously. “Santa. Candy.” He pushed the candy cane at her.
Wow, Sid thought. He was talking a lot more already. She’d known she’d done the right thing, even though she’d messed up her career to do it. Seeing Tucker now, loved the way he was, in the bosom of his real family, did her heart good.
“Wow. Tucker looks fantastic. That is great to see.”
Surprised to hear her own thoughts spoken by another, Sid spun around and saw Dina on the other side of the table. “Oh, hi.”
She hadn’t seen Dina since she’d quit. She’d seen Rex once, one of the other caseworkers, because Harry had given Tucker’s case to him, maybe thinking that a male caseworker would be an ally for him. He’d been wrong. Rex was a good guy.
Dina smiled. “Hi. I wondered if you’d be helping here. You’re really a part of all this now, aren’t you?” She waved up at the white vinyl sign with the club’s name and insignia in black, red, and silver.
“Yep. I am.”
“How are you doing since…everything?”
Sid assumed she meant Green’s attack. She was mostly healed, though some of the bruising had been deep, so under her makeup, the skin was still a little green around her left eye, and her left breast was discolored and a bit sore yet. It had been almost three weeks, and she hadn’t heard from anyone at DCFS, so she wasn’t exactly feeling forthcoming with Dina now.
“Fine. Thanks.” She gestured at the baked goods arrayed on the table. “Would you like some cookies? A pie, maybe?”
Dina got a look in her eye that told Sid she was hurt at the cool reception she was getting. “No, thanks. I’m trying not to gain my usual ten holiday pounds this year. It all looks wonderful, though.”
“Okay. Well, it was good to see you.”
Again, Dina looked hurt. Then she sort of glanced around and leaned in. “Can we talk a minute?”
Sid looked around the booth. Veda was back and talking to Bibi, who was handing Tucker to Maria. Riley was still gone; she and her kids, Lexi and Ian, were judging in some children’s competition elsewhere at the bazaar, so they wouldn’t be back for a while. But the sales were winding down, and Sid was not needed.
“Yeah, I guess. A minute.” She waved Dina to follow her and stepped out of the back of the booth. “We can get a coffee. Full o’ Beans has a booth down a ways.”
They walked side by side to the coffee booth, without speaking much. After they got their coffee, Sid turned and stopped. “What do you want to talk about?”
Dina sighed. “I feel like something happened. I thought we were getting to be friends, and then that just stopped.”
Sid considered her, then decided she had nothing to lose. “What did Harry do to you?”
“What do you mean?” Dina’s eyes were wide, but not with the kind of surprise that suggested Sid’s question was crazy. There was a tinge of guilt in that look.
“You know what I mean. You warned me off him, but with nothing but vague little hints that I couldn’t get my hands around. When I pushed, you wouldn’t elaborate. I spent weeks not sure if I was imagining things or what. What did he do?”
“You know what he did. Sounds like he did it to you.”
“You’re not going to be more specific than that?”
Dina shrugged. “What difference does it make? He’s not your problem anymore, and I solved mine. So it’s not your business.”
“We could have done something. Together, we could have done something. At least gotten him to change how he acted.” It was more than the inappropriate contact and the unsettling stares. It was the way he treated the women who worked for him, as if they were pretty young things with empty heads, who needed him to take care of them, and the way that he abused the power of his position to assert personal control over his subordinates—which meant putting children at risk.
Dina’s laugh was harsh and dry. “You really are naïve if you think that’s true.”
Sid threw her cup, still half-full, in a nearby bin. “I’m going to get back. I’ll see you.”
She’d taken three steps when Dina called out, “Sid, wait.” She stopped.
Dina walked up to her and around to face her. “I’m sorry. You’re right—I should have been more supportive. It’s tough with Harry. He crosses all sorts of lines, but only a step or two over. Just enough to make things uncomfortable, but never enough to really get anybody’s attention if you complain. That complaint you sent to Allison got some attention, though. He knows she’s watching. It’s better now. So thank you.”
“Yeah. Great.”
“Are you working again yet?”
Sid didn’t answer. She didn’t want to tell the truth and say no, and she had no idea when or how she would be, but she didn’t want to spin some dumb lie, either.
Dina dug into her handbag and came up with a business card. “Bettina Alvarez is the principal at the SBC Alternative School. You know it?”
“Of course.” It was the ‘warehouse’ school, where they shoved students who’d been expelled from other public high schools in San Bernardino County, usually for recidivist violence.
“She’s a friend of mine, and she just lost her third on-site social worker this year. It’s not an easy job, but if you’re looking, call her. Bettina will hire you. I’ll put a word in, and she’s desperate.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Dina huffed. “Sid, you know you’re not getting a rec from Harry, and you quit after only a few months. That looks like shit, like you can’t hack it.”
She knew; it was why she was so stuck. But it still sucked to hear it said. “Why would this Bettina think I could handle it there, then?”
“Like I said, she’s desperate, and you’re good at this work. Your connection to the Horde might actually help you in this job, and it’s about the only job it would. You’ll have cred with these kids, even looking like you do. Bettina will see that. Maybe it’s work you’ll even like.”
“‘Looking like I do’? How’s that?”
“Delicate. Don’t get your panties in a twist. You’re skinny. You don’t look strong, and you know it. But you’re brave, I’ve seen it.” She huffed again and waved the card. “Look, I’ll call and put in the word for you. Follow up if you want. Consider it my apology for not having your back better at the office, okay?”
Sid took the card. “Okay. Thanks.”
Dina nodded. “Good luck, Sid.” And then she walked off.
Sid watched her go, feeling conflicted—guilty and grateful and pissed.
“Who was that, and how do we feel about her?”
At Bibi’s voice, Sid smiled. “Dina. I used to work with her. She gave me a line on a job.”
“Oh! So we like her, then?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Bibi gave her that skeptical once-over that Sid was becoming quite familiar with and then draped her arm across her shoulders. “Hooj just called. The fellas are on their way back. We need to pack this shit up and head home.”
~oOo~
The men had been a few hours from Madrone when Hoosier called. By the time the roar of Harleys down Mariposa Avenue filled the air, the clubhouse was packed with club girls, hangarounds, the members who’d been elsewhere, the Prospects, and the old ladies. Even Cliff was there; he’d spent the day hanging out in the clubhouse, which was his little version of doggie heaven.
Everybody had been busy, getting food ready, making sure
the bar was stocked, whatever. Sid and Riley were working in the kitchen, managing some of the girls. Bibi had been back in the dorm with Veda and Ember, and there was a serious tone to what they were doing, but nobody was talking about it.
As the bikes neared, with Bibi in the lead, the old ladies went out and waited on the sidewalk while the Horde backed their bikes in at the curb. There was a sense of ritual to all this that Sid hadn’t seen before, almost as if they were military wives welcoming their men back from war, and it strengthened her sense that whatever job they’d been on, there had been real danger.
Strength & Courage (The Night Horde SoCal Book 1) Page 32
