Outcast (Southern Rebels MC Book 2)

by Kristin Coley

  “Like what?” I growled, not bothering to turn around. “I came home. It is still my home, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. Is it?” His fist thumped against the back window of the old SUV. “You sure as fuck don’t act like it.”

  “Don’t tell me how I’m supposed to act,” I snarled, twisting my torso. “You don’t fucking get that privilege.”

  “Nah,” Clutch shook his head. “No, I’m just the guy that picked your sorry fucked up ass off the floor that night.” He stared at me unflinchingly. “You remember that night? Any of it?”

  My jaw worked as I fought the black void threatening to pull me under. “I remember every second,” I gritted out, clenching my teeth so hard I was surprised one didn’t crack. Fur brushed my fisted hand and I glanced down to see Maisy standing by my side. I relaxed my hand enough to rub her head and she leaned against me.

  “I’ve been anticipating this day for over eight years. Thinking about the beating I owed you,” he snorted, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Of course, you gotta one up a bastard and come home wounded.”

  “Come on,” I said, easing my leg around so I could face him fully. “Give it to me. We both know I deserve it.”

  “You do, but I won’t.”

  “Why not?” I snapped, suddenly eager for the showdown, the promise of pain, and the chance to repay some of my debt to him.

  “That’s why,” he shouted, flinging his arm at me. “Because you’re still as fucked up as the day I put you on the goddamn bus. It’s been eight years, Cord. I thought….” He didn’t finish and my own temper flared.

  “You thought I’d be all better?” I took a step toward him. “Hmmm? Thought I’d be the old Cord? The one who didn’t lose everything in one night?”

  Clutch’s eyes burned as he slammed his hand against the back window of the old ’78 Blazer. “You didn’t lose everything, Cord. Not by a long shot.” He swallowed hard. “You lost a lot. You did. I know that. I was there.” He met my gaze. “But, fuck you, you threw the rest of it away.”

  Maisy whined giving me an excuse to glance away from the accusation in his eyes. “It’s alright, girl,” I soothed, patting her head. I blanked my face and glanced back at him. “You done?”

  “Not by a long shot,” he swore, his jaw locking at my dismissal. “Your bike is at the garage.”

  I scoffed at that news. “In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t ride. Why you think I’m trying to trying to get this old thing out the garage?”

  “Because you can appreciate a classic,” Clutch muttered, ignoring the other part of my statement as he ran his hand along the back. “They don’t make them like this anymore.”

  “No, they don’t,” I agreed, shoving another box aside. “Course, I don’t even know if it runs.”

  “Of course it runs,” Clutch grumbled in offense. “You know how many hours I put into this thing?”

  “Too many to count,” I answered. “Which makes me wonder why it’s here and not at your house?”

  “It was your Dad’s,” he answered quickly, too quickly as he walked around the other side. “It belongs to you.”

  I shook my head. “He would have wanted you to have it.” I eyed the orange body fondly. “I remember you and Dad working on it late at night, and your mom shouting down the street that you had school in the morning.”

  He chuckled, thumping the hood. “She’d be so mad cause I’d come home with grease on my clothes and hadn’t done my homework.”

  “I swear Dad lived to piss your momma off.”

  “It did seem that way,” Clutch agreed, his eyes tracing the square lines of the stocky vehicle. “Those memories are some of the best I have of him.”

  “You loved cars like he did,” I responded. “Its not something the rest of us shared with him.”

  “Crew’s pretty good,” he told me. “He reminds me of your dad.”

  “I haven’t seen him,” I admitted, something that felt like regret twinging inside me. “He’s not a pesky ten year old anymore, I hear.”

  Clutch whistled through his teeth, “No, more like a heartbreaker.” He paused. “He grew up fast, too fast maybe.”

  “He’s alright though?” I questioned, not liking his tone.

  “It’s good you’re back,” he replied instead. “You staying, right?” He phrased the statement as a question, clearly expecting a quick agreement.

  “Six months,” I answered and his head jerked toward me. “They tell me I need six months of physical therapy for this leg. Better if I stay in one place.”

  “Then you’re gone. Again.”

  I ignored the reprimand in his voice as I nodded. “It’s better for everybody if I leave.”

  His mouth twisted. “Don’t assume you know what’s best for everyone.”

  “You agreed eight years ago,” I reminded him.

  “Eight years ago I pried a gun out of your hands. Leaving was the only to save you. I just didn’t expect it would take you so long to come back. Or that you’d forget your family while you were gone.”

  “I didn’t forget,” I denied harshly. “I never forgot.”

  “No calls, no letters, no visits. You could have been dead for all we knew.” He shot me an accusing stare. “You even been to the cemetery?”

  “Watch yourself, Clutch,” I warned, my lip curling. “We might have been friends our whole lives, but don’t –”

  “Don’t what? Poke the bear? Whatcha gonna do, brother? You’re in no condition to fight me.” I exhaled, knowing he was right and he shook his head. “You weren’t here for the funeral. You weren’t the only one grieving, Cord, and when you left,” he hesitated, leaning forward, as he pushed against the hood, “It was just another person to miss.”

  “I went by the…the baby’s grave.” Clutch nodded, staring at the dull orange paint of the hood like it was the fucking Sistine Chapel. “Thank you,”I added. He looked up at me then, his eyebrows stretching to his hairline. “For doing what I couldn’t. You saved me. I can’t repay that.”

  “You don’t need to repay it,” he answered, licking his lip as he shook his head slightly. “Just….just don’t be so ready to leave again.”

  I made a sharp noise in my throat. “I’m outcast, Clutch. I burned a lot of bridges.”

  “He’ll let you back in the club.”

  My Adam’s apple bobbed as I acknowledged something I’d been avoiding. “I don’t know if I want back in the club.”

  He squinted at me. “Don’t ever say that again,” he warned and I closed my eyes. “Brothers by choice if not by blood, you remember?”

  I nodded, squeezing my hand into a fist as I recalled the promise we’d made each other. “We were going to be the next Johnny and Cash.”

  “Nothing’s changed,” Clutch swore and I smiled bitterly.

  “Nothing’s the same,” I told him, hating my next words. “Cash is dead and Johnny’s alone. Do we really want to be them anymore?”

  He glanced away, silent so long I thought that was the end of it. “Yeah, I do,” he finally replied, straightening. “Now, let’s get this bitch out and crank her up.”

  Chapter Six

  Tori

  Two days later, I was walking down the hall of the tattoo shop, ready to start cleaning the equipment when the bell over the door echoed loudly. I slowed my steps as I waited for Jacob to tell them the shop was closed for the day, but he never did.

  “Hello? Anybody here?” A male voice called and my hand instinctively reached for the crowbar I’d left in my closet. “Jean?” My head tilted, wondering who this guy was that knew Jean. The sound of steps told me he was coming closer and I debated hiding until he left. I didn’t know where Jacob had gone and had no desire to deal with some late customer.

  “Hello?”

  My gaze came up to meet his as he stared at me curiously and recognition jolted though me. He was the one who stood over the tiny grave. I’d seen him the last three mornings and there was no mistaking the ramrod straight p
osture. A close cropped beard did nothing to hide the scar bisecting his right cheek and it was all I could do to not stare.

  “Do you work here?” I heard the question in his voice, the one that asked if I was all there since I hadn’t uttered a word.

  “Not really,” I answered brusquely, seeing his nostrils flare at my rough voice. “We’re closed.”

  He didn’t budge, as his eyes narrowed on me and I tugged at my sleeves self-consciously. Something in his stare made me think he could see all of my secrets and he wasn’t impressed.

  “Where’s Jean?” He asked, his gaze telling me he wasn’t leaving until he was satisfied.

  “Out of town,” I answered briefly, not willing to give this stranger any more information. I might have recognized him as the grief stricken man from the cemetery, but this guy, the solider that now stood in front of me, was not lost in his pain and therefore a kindred spirit. This man was cold, his gaze calculating as he measured my worth and found me lacking.

  “Jacob.” It should have been a question but the heavy weight of his expectation made it a statement, one I was clearly supposed to answer.

  “Look around,” I smirked insolently. “Let me know if you find him.” I went to go around him and he shifted his weight, blocking me. My tongue darted out, dampening my lips, as I raised my gaze barely an inch to meet his own eyes. I was grateful for my six foot height since it brought me to almost eye level with the asshole, but I missed the feel of steel in my hand as I stepped forward, the toe of my boot bumping his own. “I’m not his keeper or your secretary, so move out of my way.”

  “Who are you? And why are you here if you don’t work here?”

  “None…of…your….business,” I answered, my gaze challenging, as each softly uttered word hardened his expression further. I stepped to the side, intending to go around him, when he grabbed my arm. His grip wasn’t tight, and he wasn’t trying to hurt me, I registered, but it didn’t stop my instinctive reaction to being restrained.

  My hand lashed out, intending to break his hold with a karate chop, but he just lowered his arm as he tightened his hold on me. My nose flared as I twisted my arm, but now he wasn’t letting go.

  “Are you a thief?” He asked, growing more determined to hold me as he assumed I must be there for illegal reasons. “What did you do to Jacob?”

  I would have laughed at his presumption but my need to escape overrode everything else as I struggled against his iron grip. I wished once again for my crowbar, swearing I’d keep it on me all the time once I got out of this. I couldn’t break his grip so I kicked out, hitting his leg and he crumpled.

  “Son of a bitch,” he roared as we both went down. I tried to catch myself but he refused to let go, dragging me down with him.

  “Oomph,” I gasped as my breath whooshed from me.

  “Jesus Almighty, you’re heavy,” he grunted as I landed on his chest. I scrambled off him, pushing against his leg and he snarled. I sprawled next to him as he panted, but couldn’t go any further since he still hadn’t let go of my arm.

  “I don’t weight that much,” I muttered, slightly offended by the fact that he seemed so out of breath. “You can let go,” I gave an experimental tug on my arm, but his grip didn’t loosen.

  “You hit my leg,” he growled, glaring at me like this was somehow my fault.

  “You wouldn’t let go,” I retorted, shaking the arm he still held. “This is your fault.” I eyed his legs, realizing one of them must be injured, and tried to remember which one I’d kicked.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he warned right before using my arm to twist me around and locking me in bear hold, his legs holding my own down. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but you’re not going anywhere until I figure it out.”

  “Bastard,” I growled, “You’re in for a long wait.” I snapped my head back, but he was prepared and I didn’t get the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking.

  “What the fuck?”

  I lifted my head at Jacob’s yell, any embarrassment I felt at being trapped overridden by satisfaction that this guy was about to get thrown out on his ass.

  “NO drugs, NO GUYS, Tori. Those are the only rules,” Jacob shouted, and all the rage I felt at the guy holding me found a new target.

  “Fucking bastard,” I screeched, trying to catch his eye. “Does it look like I’m having a good time here? I didn’t invite him over, you stupid son of an asshole.”

  “Drugs?” The guy holding me muttered and I craned my neck around right as he shoved me away, as if the touch of my skin repulsed him. I rolled, grunting as I hit the wall, and bounced into a crouch. The other guy pushed himself into a sitting position, his mouth curled in disgust as he watched me. “You’re an addict,” he declared, the contempt in which he said it piercing me, but I nodded defiantly. I wasn’t proud of my past, but I sure as hell wasn’t about to let some muscled solider shame me for it either.

  I yanked up my sleeves, revealing the track marks on my arms, all of them old, mostly scar tissue, but still visible to anyone who knew what to look for. His stare blistered me, scraping open wounds I’d long thought healed.

  “Cord? Cord Hayes?” Jacob’s hesitant question interrupted our stare down, snapping me back to the present as the guy glanced over at Jacob. “You’re back.”

  “For now,” he muttered under his breath, low enough I was sure Jacob hadn’t heard, but my proximity had, a fact I was sure he would hate. “You know her?” His finger pointed at me arrogantly and I was tempted to break it, but Jacob hastily stepped forward.

  “This is –” Jacob faltered, clearly unsure how to introduce me.

  “Tori. I’m Tori. Not that it’s any of your business,” I snapped as I hauled myself up, taking satisfaction in looming over him. “And you, dickwad, don’t matter.” I stomped past him, barely resisting the urge to step on his injured leg, only the memory of that tiny grave stopping me.

  “Tori,” Jacob called, a healthy dose of exasperation mixed with a hint of remorse in his tone. “Wait.”

  “Let me know when the shop’s closed,” I said tightly, refusing to turn around. The stranger’s judgement stung, but Jacob’s immediate assumption that I had broken the rules burned and I wasn’t ready to face either of them.

  At least not until I’d gotten my crowbar.

  Chapter Seven

  Cord

  Jacob stared down the corridor after the disappearing Amazon warrior, regret on his face. I steeled myself, bracing against the wall as I used my good leg to propel me up.

  “Can I help?” Jacob rushed over, seeing my difficulty, but my glare stopped him in his tracks. “It’s been awhile,” he said instead, standing back awkwardly. “What brings you here?”

  “Who is she?” I asked, undeterred. Jacob looked away, unwilling to answer, and my temper snapped. “I’m not asking again.”

  He swallowed, shooting an apologetic glance down the hall where she’d disappeared. “Tori. Victoria Malcolm. She worked here for a few years.”

  “You fucked her,” I stated and he glared at me. “What happened?”

  “She had a drug problem,” he responded slowly.

  “Had or has?”

  “Had,” he spat, looking like he wanted to say more. “Jean has a soft spot for her.”

  “And you’ve got a hard on for her,” I finished.

  “It’s not like that,” he insisted and I arched an eyebrow. “We broke up a long time ago.”

  “Yet, she’s here.”

  “Because she needed a place –” he stopped himself, biting his lower lip. “Look, she’s not a concern for the club.”

  “I’ll make that decision,” I replied, disregarding the fact that I wasn’t welcome in the club at the moment. “When’s Jean coming back?”

  He let out a sigh. “Not sure. She’s supposed to come back tonight, but I don’t know when she’ll be back at the shop.”

  “Tell her I’ll be back tomorrow. Same time. I need a touch-up.”

 
“Look, I don’t know if she’ll –”

  “She will,” I said confidently, overriding him. The sound of a door closing caught my attention, but I didn’t see the girl. “It was good seeing you, Jacob.” I slapped him on the back, ignoring when he muttered, “Wish I could say the same.” The door slammed behind me, the bell clanging loudly, as I limped toward the Blazer, cursing under my breath when my muscles protested. She’d barely made contact with her kick, but my damn leg had folded faster than a house of cards and it hadn’t helped when she’d landed on top of me.

  The Blazer started with a rumble and I let her idle for a minute. A long legged stride caught my eye and my foot eased off the brake, allowing the Blazer to roll forward before I’d made a conscious decision to follow her. A backpack was slung over one shoulder and she was swinging a…I squinted, my lips twitching when I recognized it was a crowbar.

  “What are you up to?” I whispered, checking traffic as I proceeded to tail her. Luckily, the speed limit in downtown Friendly was 25 miles per hour so my creeping speed wasn’t conspicuous.

  She made an abrupt turn down a one way street and I cursed as I was forced to continue straight. If my memory was right, there was an alley that cut through to another side street and my gut told me that’s where she was headed. I made the block and parked, hopping out with a wince as my leg protested the abuse. I gripped my thigh, moving slower than I liked as I crossed the street, scanning for her distinctive build.

  She appeared down the street, creeping toward the entrance to the alley where I thought she’d go, and I watched as she glanced around. My suspicion increased at her skulking behavior and I followed her as she went down the alley. I hesitated at the entrance, searching for her in the dim light of the street lamps. I crept further down the alley, hearing the soft scuff of footsteps.

  “You got it?”

  I scowled, ready to charge forward, and interrupt her in what was no doubt a drug buy, when I was yanked sideways. My leg couldn’t handle the sudden change and I crashed into a leanly muscled body, a surprisingly soft hand covering my mouth as I grunted.