Fugitive (The Houston Defiance MC Series Book 3)

by K E Osborn

  The Baron’s claiming a cop was working with our then president, and Zero’s father, Frenzy. When Frenzy was killed by the Militia, the Baron worked his way in and made a deal with that same cop.

  Which is utter bullshit!

  Frenzy would never rat on the club.

  Not when his entire family is a part of it.

  Bringing the club down when your entire family is involved just doesn’t make any fucking sense.

  With Frenzy dead and out of the way, the Baron said he would take Frenzy’s place as the informant and give the cop all the dirt on the club for a lesser sentence. Whoever this cop is, fell for the Baron’s bullshit. Because the Baron stole a brick of cocaine—or Snow White, as the club refers to it—from us, and he gave it straight to the heat, then he proceeded to tell them it was mine.

  Why me? We have no fucking clue.

  I’m not aware of the full ins and outs of what the Baron told the cops about my involvement with the cocaine, but I do know it’s not good and has pushed me into a corner.

  An ex-cop dealing drugs? Yeah, that’s not going to go down well.

  So, Zero, my president, gave me a burner, a fake identity, ten grand, and told me to get the fuck out of Houston until we can deal with tornado Tilman. I could have gone anywhere my two wheels wanted me to go, but they headed east toward New Orleans.

  To feel closer to Emma.

  When shit gets rough, somehow her memory always helps me through.

  I know I need to let her go. But how the hell do I move on with life if I’m clinging so tightly to her? It’s difficult to see sense when you love someone so goddamn much, and they’re taken for no fucking good reason.

  All I know is, I need to try to find a way to deal with losing Em because bottling my emotions isn’t doing me any good, especially not in situations like this.

  Gulping down a long draw of beer, my eyes focus on the Mississippi. The street is alive and buzzing with the typical NOLA madness which descends during the evening and into the night. I want to crawl up on the bed and sleep. But Em wouldn’t want that for me. She’d want me to go out, take in the vibe of the nightlife, mingle with the New Orleanians in all their fantastical, jazzy, whimsical, yet eccentric ways. She’d want me to go to Pat O’Brien’s and drink too much while listening to some awesome music. Spend my morning lining up at Café du Monde to get the best beignets I’ve ever had in my life. I know damn well Em would not want me moping.

  So, I’m not going to.

  I’m going to try not to worry about the shitstorm back home and enjoy my time here because who knows how long I have.

  Necking the rest of my beer, I throw the bottle into the trash, then pull my shirt up for a quick sniff. I smell half-human after the long ride, so I grab a jacket and head for the door with no shower.

  Time to make new memories.

  Walking out of the hotel, I head for Bourbon Street. Even though I’m trying to keep myself positive, the crap back home swirls through my mind. If the cops come searching for me, who knows what the fuck they’re going to do.

  I need to let the president of NOLA Defiance know I’m in town, just in case I need to call on them for anything. Plus, it would be fucking rude of me to come all this way and not stop by.

  Pulling out my burner, I dial Grudge’s number. He won’t know it’s me calling, so I expect him to be grumpy on the other end as I continue my walk to Bourbon Street.

  “Who the fuck’s this?” Grudge grumbles down the line, his deep voice making me smile.

  “Grudge, it’s Kevlar, from Houston. I’m on a burner.”

  He lets out a chuckle. “Fuck me, it’s been a while. On a burner, hey? You deep in shit?”

  Tilting my head, I watch as a drag queen walks past me with a pig on a leash. The things you see in New Orleans. Can’t even say I’m surprised.

  “Yeah, brother. Won’t go into details, but I’m laying low. Just thought, as a courtesy, I’d let NOLA know I’m in town.”

  “You bring your shit with you?”

  Exhaling, I turn onto Bourbon Street making it a little harder to hear. “Hopefully not.”

  “Good! Have fun while you’re in town, kid. Let loose. But just so you’re aware, I’ve stepped down as president. My damn bones aren’t what they used to be. I’m too fucking old.”

  My eyes widen as I come to a halt. Leaning back against the side wall of one of the numerous pubs, I prop my foot back against the wall. “Who’s the new pres?”

  “Hurricane… he’s good. Reminds me of me when I was younger. Razor’s the new VP… I’ve stepped into the Wise One position.”

  I can definitely picture that.

  “Grudge?”

  “Yeah, brother?”

  “Thanks for everything you did for me and Em.”

  He snorts. “Don’t even mention it. She was special…” he pauses, taking a deep breath, “… but you gotta get on with your life, Kevlar. You have to find a way to keep her in your heart, but also find room for someone else.”

  That thought terrifies me.

  “Yeah, maybe one day. Will you tell Hurricane I’m here?”

  “Yeah, I’ll let him know. Expect a call. He’ll probably wanna come see you.”

  “Yeah, I might be here a while. Happy to catch up.”

  “All right, have a good night on Bourbon Street.”

  “How did you—” He ends the call before I finish my sentence. I guess the old guy knows the sounds of his hometown well enough to guess where I am.

  Turning around, I look down Bourbon Street. The long stretch of road is alight with neon colors. The buildings stretch up in their ornate architectural design giving this whole place an old-worldly vibe. The street is alive and buzzing with people from all walks of life. Laughter and music fill the air as drunken revelers stand on balconies throwing beads down to even drunker women below who are flashing their tits freely. The party atmosphere is definitely alive, and somehow, it’s lifting my mood. A crowd of people circle a kid who must be all of ten-years-old as he sits banging on some upturned buckets like they’re the best drum kit in town. Thing is, he’s holding a tune, and he sounds pretty damn good.

  Smiling as I keep walking, I pass a life-sized Chewbacca, and nobody bats an eyelid. I chuckle to myself as I make my way to Pat O’Brien’s. I forgot just how animated this town is. How bright and effervescent these people are.

  I fucking love this place.

  Even with the tainted memories.

  As I walk up to Pat O’Brien’s, there’s a small wait. So, I line up, pulling my cell back out to make sure there’s nothing from Zero.

  Just as I thought.

  Nothing.

  Zero told me not to contact him, and I need to adhere to that. They have this number, so they’ll call when they know the way forward. So, for now, I need to bide my time.

  Half an hour later, I’m walking inside the famous bar. It’s much the same as when I was here last with Em, and she drank so many hurricane cocktails that we got fucking wasted. Fox had to call an Uber to take us back to the NOLA clubhouse. Those were the days when you could celebrate without fear of shit raining down on us, without fear of death and damn chaos.

  I chuckle fondly at the memory. Walking up to the bar, my instinct is to order a beer. But I want to celebrate Em, so I get a drink for her and order a fucking huge-ass hurricane. It might be a bitch drink, but a couple of these will knock me on my ass quicker than I can say gumbo.

  Grabbing the tall glass with the world-renowned cherry-red liquid, I walk outside, the oversized fountain changing colors in the darkened night. People laugh, drink, and generally be merry as the music plays loudly. I make my way to a table at the very back of the patio. Sitting on the metal chair, it scrapes along the pavers as I pull it in. I place my hurricane on the glass-topped table and sit back, people watching. The other three chairs at my table are empty as I sit under a green umbrella, near the giant palm fronds out of sight of most people—just the way I like it. Being incognito is the r
ight move for me at this point in time.

  I must keep a low profile.

  Tossing the straw, I bring the drink to my lips and take a sip. The hit of alcohol invades my senses like a brick hitting a wall. It’s no wonder Em and I got so fucking wasted last time we were here. My eyes shift around the patio, observing all the people flirting, drinking, happy as fucking Larry. I sit back, a fugitive from the law, desolate from my kids, a fucking widower, wishing I could be back home in Houston dealing with this shit.

  Suddenly, a chair pulls out to my right, and a guy slumps down wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap at nine-thirty at night. “You don’t mind, do you? You’re here all on your own, and honestly, I need a place kind of out of the way. This is the only seat in the area that’s… well, hidden.”

  I assess him—black tee, leather jacket, that scruffy brown hair women love, a bit of light stubble—he appears to be a fucking rebel to me. “Look man, I don’t want any trouble. I’m trying to lay low myself.”

  He smiles, all toothy and wide. “You in trouble with the law, big man?”

  I furrow my brows. “That’s none of your fucking business. You’re the douche coming to me searching for a hiding place.”

  The ass slumps back in his seat, getting comfortable. “I ditched my security team. I need a moment away from it all.”

  “From what?” I scrunch up my face.

  “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck who you are.”

  “I like you… even if you are drinking a bitch drink.” He cocks his head to the side.

  “I’m drinking this to honor someone, so fuck off.”

  “It’s still a bitch drink, whether you’re honoring someone or not.”

  A slow smile crosses my face. “Yeah… yeah, it is. So, who the fuck are you?”

  He rolls his shoulders, then takes a sip of his beer. “That’s a loaded question.”

  I shrug. “I have all night.”

  He turns to face me. “To everyone in here, I’m Rush Dayley, music’s latest IT guy. A fucking mega superstar. To me, I’m just a guy from Detroit who wants to relax a little.”

  “So, you’re famous then?”

  He exhales, his body slumping further. “Yeah. I wish sometimes I wasn’t, though. Don’t get me wrong, I love my fans and the biz. I just wish I could come out on a night like tonight and drink a beer in fucking peace.”

  I grip his shoulder. “Well, brother, I’m not gonna say anything to draw attention to you. So, let’s have a fucking beer.”

  Rush’s boyish grin lights his face, turning his back to everyone in the patio. “Yeah, man, I appreciate that.”

  I lift my glass, he lifts his beer and we clink them together in cheers. I take a large mouthful, the alcohol running through my veins, warming me from the inside out. My goal was to have a good time while in NOLA to celebrate Em and enjoy her memory.

  What better way to do that than to party with a rock star?

  JOVIE

  “Do you honestly believe spending the night partying on Bourbon Street is a good idea?”

  Savanah rolls her eyes as she applies her lipstick. “Babe, we’re eight hours away from San Antonio and what happened to you at The Lone Wolf.” She smiles. “Eight. Hours! That’s a lot of mileage between them and us, don’t you think?”

  I slump on the bed in our hotel room, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t know… I’m just worried that with the time we’ve taken to travel, he’ll be right behind us.”

  Savanah presses her lips together, then smacks them with a pop. “Look, if they are right behind us, they’re inevitably going to catch up to us anyway, right?”

  My eyes widen in shock. “That doesn’t help me, Sav!”

  “My point is… if they’re going to catch us, we may as well go out having a night of fun.”

  Groaning, I flop back on the bed in a huff. Staring up at the ceiling, I shake my head. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  Savanah moves in over the top of me, staring right into my eyes. “Babe, you’re not taking this seriously. We’re two hot-as-sin women out in the big wide world on our own for the first time. We have no limitations. No one, like my father, holding me back, no one holding you back trying to tell us what we can and can’t do. Aren’t you excited by that?” She leans down pressing her bright red lips to my forehead, then disappears from my view.

  The white ceiling is all I can see as I stare at it, contemplating what she’s said.

  “You know I’m right!”

  She is.

  That’s the problem.

  Grumbling under my breath, I sit up. “Fine, one night. That’s all. One night in New Orleans, then we keep driving.”

  Savanah rolls her shoulders with the brightest smirk on her face. “Fine by me as long as you put on that sexy black dress I bought you.”

  Huffing, I stand from the bed, then walk over to my suitcase. “You win! We go out. We look hot. We drink and have fun. But tomorrow—”

  “Yeah, yeah, Miss Serious, I hear you.”

  Yanking my suitcase up onto the bed, I zip it open, pulling out my little black dress. It’s like a corset around the bust and waist, then flows out to a see-through lace skirt, only covering just enough to hide my black lace panties. The dress is sexiness personified.

  I’m no stranger to revealing clothing, but this, this is something else. Savanah is desperate for me to wear it, and what better place for me to wear something like this than on Bourbon Street, where anything goes? Grabbing my black leather jacket, I put on my ensemble, then walk to the bathroom to deal with my blonde hair and makeup.

  Savanah stands next to me admiring herself. Her short, wavy dark brown hair is styled perfectly to suit her look. The tight, form-fitting, bright yellow short dress glows against her olive skin and is exactly her. Her breasts are pushed up to maximum capacity. She’s a real stunner, everything her father would be so utterly ashamed about. He’s the whole reason Savanah is here in this mess with me. Honestly, I’m not sure if I could be doing this without her.

  “You’re thinking too much. You need to stop dwelling and enjoy tonight. We’re freaking bangin’. Bourbon Street won’t know what’s hit it,” Savanah chimes.

  I let out a small giggle, wrapping my arm around her short stature. “You’re right. I’m going to unwind tonight. Let my hair down and just enjoy everything. I mean I’ve always wanted to get out of San Antonio. Now I have, and I’m not embracing it. I’m in fucking N’awlins.”

  “Yeah, you are!” Savanah wraps her other arm around my waist, pulling me into an embrace. “And we’re going to have the best night.”

  “Okay, let’s go to that bar and have a tornado.”

  Savanah bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, you’re adorable. It’s called a hurricane, and girl, it’s going to blow your damn mind.” She grabs my hand, pulling me toward the door. I struggle to keep up with her frantic pace in my heels, but I smile the entire time as we exit the hotel, then walk toward Bourbon Street. As the noise of the crowd surrounds us, the tension in my shoulders evaporates. Savanah takes pictures with her camera as we walk—she’s gotten really good on that thing.

  Bourbon Street is alive and buzzing, the atmosphere utterly electric. It’s been on my bucket list for as long as I remember, so I’m soaking up every little thing. After a short wait to get into Pat O’Brien’s, we head through to the patio to find a seat, but it’s freaking packed out here. The crowd is pulsing with the music, and it’s really fucking busy.

  “You wanna grab our drinks and move to the back somewhere?” I yell in Savanah’s ear.

  She nods her head as we squeeze through a crowd of people, too busy making out to notice us making our way past them. We place our orders at the outside bar.

  Grabbing two hurricanes, we then start the mission to find somewhere to sit. My feet are already killing me from the walk to Bourbon Street. I should’ve worn more comfortable heels. Savanah grabs my hand, leading me through th
e sea of people. We’re doing the rounds as music blasts from the speakers, but we’re having no luck finding somewhere to sit. She takes off to do another round of the patio again, when she suddenly darts toward the back of the area. I struggle to keep up with her as she rushes toward the table right in the corner.

  “Sav, slow down.”

  “We have to get there before other people grab the seats.”

  I let out a small laugh as she races to a table where two men are sitting. One is wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, while the other peeks up at me.

  Savanah slides down onto one of the free seats making herself at home. “Finally! These seats aren’t taken, are they, boys?” she asks.

  The guy with the hat tries to cover himself more, but the other, his hazel eyes lock onto mine, and my breath catches. His strong arms, bulging from his white tee make my insides shudder. The way his tattoos peek out from beneath his shirt on his chest shows me a hint of bad boy, but his face tells me he has good in him, a kindness. His hair is short with small, tight black curls on top and shaved at the sides. But those muscles, shit! I can tell he works out, just from the way his biceps swell as he holds the same drink as mine. He’s sexy as sin, even holding a girly drink. I lick my lips inadvertently as he eyes me up and down, a pained expression crossing his features. I’m not sure what that’s about.

  Savanah grips my hand. “You gonna sit, or stand there all night, staring at the hot guy?”

  My eyes widen when he chuckles and says, “Sit! Just don’t make a scene.”

  “Why would we make a scene?” Savanah asks, then her eyes widen as they focus in on the guy wearing the baseball cap. “Hoooly shit.”

  “Don’t make a scene,” hot guy reiterates.

  “Look, please don’t say anything. I’m just here trying to enjoy my night,” Baseball cap begs.

  I’m lost.

  “Sure, yeah, I totally get it. But fuck, it’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Dayley,” Savanah gushes.

  My ears prick up, and I turn to study the masked man a little further.

  “Rush is fine, but honestly, this isn’t a big deal.”

  Not a big deal?