Show the Fire (Signal Bend Series)

by Susan Fanetti

  “That’s not an answer, Doc. That’s a riddle.”

  “She’s transgender.”

  “Trans-what?” Badger was listening, too. Great.

  Would it kill these guys to notice the rest of the world once in awhile? “Transgender. She was born in a male body, but she identifies as female. Transgender.” All the men in the room stared at her. And this is why she hadn’t said anything. “She’s afraid that the look you’re giving me is best case scenario. She’s afraid that worst case scenario is that she could get hurt. Like she apparently did last night. I really need to go, so if you’re going to do the macho husband thing, then let’s just go.”

  “Hold on. What?” Show again. “Husband thing?”

  She’d been wearing a ring for almost three weeks. Isaac had been right—they’d all noticed immediately the ink on her wrist—the Viking symbol inguz, meaning ‘where there’s a will there’s a way,’ with Len’s name in the center—but not one of them had noticed the ring, even though it was on the same hand. Lilli and Shannon knew; they’d noticed her ring immediately. But they didn’t tell tales—not even to Show, apparently. Impressive.

  Len cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. We, uh, tied it up about a month or so ago. Just quiet. Wasn’t really the time to make a fuss about it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, brother. We need good news. We need some hope in this club. Bringing our girl home? That’s big. Tying her down? Even bigger.” The big man grabbed Len by the scruff of the neck and yanked him close for a hard, sincere hug. And then everybody was hugging Tasha and Len, and the whole scene was wonderful and bizarre, because she needed to get out of there and see to her friend.

  When the scrum of bro-hugs was finally over, Len turned to her, his brow wrinkling under his eye patch. “I’d never hurt Kerry. Even if she wasn’t your friend. We don’t do shit like that. That’s fucked up.”

  “I know. But…you know. The way you look is not that different from the way the people who do that shit look. The boots, and the leather, and the shaved head…she’s nervous. And she never got much of a chance to know you.”

  Badger stepped forward. “Your friend know who hurt her?”

  Tasha watched as Len studied Badger and then looked at Isaac and Show and Dom and Tommy. They were all doing that gut-check thing they did. She understood—and she realized that she was glad. What they were thinking could help Kerry and the Horde both. Her heart began to race as she anticipated what would come next. She looked past them to the doorway into the kitchen, where Lilli was standing. Seeing Tasha’s glance, she nodded. She got it, too.

  Isaac looked down at her. “We’re coming. Dom—you get to the clubhouse. I’ll call if we get something to go on.” Dom nodded. “Len will drive Tash. The rest of us’ll go in the club van.”

  Tasha didn’t bother to wonder what her friends would think when she came into the hospital leading a whole MC of men needing badly to get some justice on.

  ~oOo~

  Her friends were not impressed, as it turned out. They saw her coming—Len at her side, Isaac, Show, Badger, and Tommy in a loose row right behind them—and Carter, Chad, Greta, and Nadia all stood and clustered together. Nadia was out front. The littlest of them all, but by far the biggest attitude. And the biggest mouth.

  She put her hands on her hips and spread her legs, as if she were trying to make herself bigger. “You have got to be shitting me. You brought your own thugs? Seriously? That was a good idea, you thought?”

  “Chicklet, you are one spectacular pain in the ass, you know that?”

  Nadia stepped up and went nose-to-chest with Len. “Biker Dude, you and I aren’t buds anymore. And the last thing Kerry needs is to see your ugly mug. Cool patch, though. Pirate party?”

  Tasha ignored Nadia and went to Carter. “Talk to me.”

  Carter eyed the Horde and then turned a worried face to her. “They can’t see her. They’ll scare her.”

  “God, people. I’m not introducing her to the Horde tonight. They came to help.” She paused and looked at each of her friends—hopefully not former friends, but if they made her choose, they would be—and waited for them to catch on. When she saw that they did, she asked, “Anybody got a problem with that?”

  Nadia answered, her attitude turning one-hundred-eighty degrees. “Nope. No problem. They broke her face and cut her tits off. So I just saw the benefit to having pet bikers. Sic ‘em, boys. Whatever it is that you do, do it twice to these guys. Might I suggest splintery broomsticks?” Then she smiled a sweet, siren smile. “Hey, Uh Tommy.”

  From behind her, Tasha heard Tommy reply, “Hey, gorgeous.” Were they flirting? Now? She couldn’t deal with that. She was still getting her head around the information Nadia had just laid on them. She looked at Carter. “They…did they?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “My God. Does she know who—”

  Greta cut her off with the answer. “Those guys from the shop. Remember? It was them.”

  “Wait. She knew one of them. He was a neighbor or something, right?”

  Now Chad chimed in, still standing well away from the Horde. “Yeah. But she won’t tell the cops or anybody his name.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “You know why not. She’s afraid of what they’ll do if they catch her again. You know they’ll just get brought in and released. Nobody around here cares what happens to somebody like Kerry. Definitely not the cops.”

  “And thus the benefit of pet bikers,” asserted Nadia. “Go in and see her. She’s sleeping. Wake her up. Get her to tell you. She thinks you walk on fucking water. She’ll tell you.”

  Tasha turned to Len and grabbed his hands. “You guys sit tight, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Yeah, Doc. I’ll introduce the guys around. It’ll be like a party. A really shitty party.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her, and she hooked her hands over his shoulders and held him close.

  “Holy mother fuckface! Are you wearing a goddamn wedding ring??” So elegant, Nadia was. Such a lady. Tasha stepped out of Len’s embrace and headed down the hall without even a glance at her unmanageable friend.

  Kerry was alone in a semi-private room. Most of the lights were off, except one behind the bed. She lay nearly flat. Her face was a swollen horror of bruising and lacerations. She was receiving oxygen through a cannula in her nose, and IV fluids. Her chest—flat now—was thickly bandaged. She was wearing a hospital gown backwards so that it was open in the front; Tasha could see the bandaging where it showed above the covers.

  She went to her friend and took her hand. “Kerry? Babe?”

  Kerry’s eyes opened, and when she saw Tasha, she started to cry. “Oh, Tasha. Oh.” She spoke through closed teeth—her jaw was wired shut.

  “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I’m so sorry.”

  “They took my beautiful boobies. I saved for years and years. My boobies made me me.” It was hard to make out her words, but Tasha focused and worked it out.

  “Who was it? The same four guys from before?”

  Kerry shook her head. “Yes. But leave it. If they come for me again, they’ll take my cock, too. They said.”

  “They won’t come for you again. Not if you tell me his name. Kerry, listen. Len is here. My family is here. Those guys won’t ever hurt you again, but you need to tell me his name.”

  “I don’t…what?”

  “Yes, you do. I can fix it so you’re safe from him.”

  Kerry got it, her eyes widening as much as they could through the swelling. “No. No, Tasha. I’m a pacifist.”

  “That’s okay. I’m not. Neither are my guys. Just a name. We’re going to send him and his little friends a Christmas wish.

  “Tasha…”

  “Think of it as my Christmas gift.”

  After a few more moments of hesitation, Kerry, in a small, defeated voice, said, “Bob Caster. I don’t know his friends, but he’s Bob Caster. He hangs out a lot at the cowboy bar down the road fr
om my folks’—Horseshoe Ridge, it’s called. But it’s Christmas. Probably not even open.”

  Tasha had done enough Christmases in the ER to know that lots of bars were open on Christmas night. Lots of lonely people needed to drink that night especially. “Good girl. Now, did they do anything else to you than what I know?”

  She shook her head and started to cry again. Tasha bent over and kissed her forehead, gently, on a spot that didn’t look quite so sore. “I can’t make it better, babe. But I can get you some justice. You go ahead and sleep. We’re all just outside, and we’re not going anywhere. I love you.”

  “I know you do. What Nadia said that night—I know it’s not true. I love you, too.”

  Kerry closed her wet eyes, and Tasha went back to the waiting room. Len and Isaac met her at the entrance.

  “Bob Caster. He lives on Marigold Road, and he has three buddies. Hangs out at the Horseshoe Ridge Bar. That’s all I got. Last time we saw him, he was wearing a bright orange trucker hat, if that’s any help.”

  “I know that bar,” Tommy said. “it’s a lot like Tuck’s, only way bigger.”

  Isaac grinned. “Good. Let’s roll.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  On their way down to the parking lot, Isaac called Dom and put him on getting more intel on Bob Caster. Tommy knew where Horseshoe Ridge was, so they thought to start there. No big plan—just find some limp dick douchebags and put some justice on ‘em. Len hadn’t felt this good, this energized, this righteous in months. Months and months.

  The snow was coming down steadily, but so far, the roads were only wet and a little slick. Show drove carefully, though—no rush, and no need to wrap themselves around any tipsy morons not paying attention to the road conditions on Christmas night.

  Isaac turned in the front passenger seat. “That’s an interesting crowd your old lady runs with.”

  Len liked hearing Isaac refer to Tasha as his old lady, but he didn’t really have much of a response to his statement, so he only nodded.

  Then Tommy spoke up from the seat next to his. “That redhead—she’s not like the one who got hurt, is she?”

  He was talking about Greta. “No. She’s a born woman.” Len rolled his eye.

  “Cool. She’s”—he made the time-honored hourglass gesture with his hands—“nice. You and Tasha fuck her?”

  That got everybody’s attention—Isaac swiveled back fast. Show’s eyes went to the rearview mirror. Len could even feel Badger’s attention from the seat behind him. Fuck. He didn’t know what to say. It was none of Tommy’s goddamn business. So he just glared.

  “You think she’d fuck me and Nadia? Cuz that would be smokin’ hot.”

  “Shut up, asshole.”

  Show’s attention was back on the road, but Len saw his eyes returning again and again to the rearview. And Isaac was simply staring, his brow drawing in.

  Tommy continued to dig the hole. “What? What I say? Is it some kinda secret?”

  “Christ on a crutch. Shut. The fuck. Up.”

  He held Isaac’s black stare, trying to decide whether to say anything or what to say. Then Isaac shifted in his seat and pulled his phone out; it must have buzzed. “Talk to me, Dom….Good. Send it…Good work.” He ended the call and looked at his phone. “Got Caster’s make, model, and plate, and his driver’s license photo. Nothing on his pals, but this is enough. I bet he doesn’t go anywhere without his posse. Probably calls ‘em his posse, too.”

  Isaac turned then to face front, and they didn’t talk much more, other than Tommy directing Show to the bar. They pulled into the lot and drove slowly through it, checking out the vehicles. It wasn’t packed, but there was a fairly respectable crowd partying late on Christmas night.

  “There. Black Tundra. Bring us up, so I can see the plate—yeah, that’s Caster.”

  Show pulled up in the nearest available space, two down from Caster’s truck. “Wouldn’t think a shit-kickin’ country boy’d be driving an import truck.”

  “Probably his mama’s truck,” Len muttered, and the men all laughed. It had been a long time since that sound had filled the van. Or any other space. It was more than laughter. It was purpose. And excitement. “So what’s the play, boss?”

  “Why don’t you and I go in, take a turn, see who Caster’s got with him. But we take ‘em out here. This isn’t just a recreational brawl. We want to put hard hurt on these guys.”

  Badger put in his two bits. “Couldn’t fit more’n two in the back, so I don’t think we can take ‘em off site.”

  Len looked around, then pointed to an area about thirty feet off. “There—dark patch on the side of the building—off toward the field? Dark enough, and plenty of room. No cover for them to run to.”

  “A Christmas brawl in a snowstorm. Hav would’ve had a fuckin’ blast.”

  The van went instantly silent at Isaac’s words. Then Show said, “Yeah, he would’ve. So, we do this for Hav, too.” He looked up. “We’re kicking some shithead ass for you, brother.”

  He put his fist out into the middle of the van. Isaac turned and bumped it, holding it steady where it met Show’s. Then Len put his in. And Tommy. Badger leaned over the seat between Len and Tommy and added his. “For Hav.”

  Isaac and Len went into the bar, found Caster, wearing the aforementioned orange trucker hat and matching his license photo quite well, albeit now with a little bit of facial hair that made him look like his cheeks had gone moldy. He was with three friends—apparently he had a steady pack. Having scoped out their target, Isaac and Len went back to the van and waited with their brothers.

  The Caster posse came out about an hour later, near closing. The lot had emptied by about half or more in that time, which only made the conditions even more favorable. While they’d waited, the Horde had seen three separate physical altercations, all of which had been ignored by any bystanders and allowed to run their course. Tommy was right—this place was a lot like Tuck’s.

  Which meant they were about to have a real good night.

  As Caster and his friends approached the Tundra, the Horde got out of their van. Caster pulled up short as Isaac crossed into his path.

  “Hey,” Caster said. That one syllable came out a little slow. Asshole was drunk. Drunk and about to get into his truck and drive in a snowstorm in the middle of the night. Oh, yeah, he deserved what was coming. “’Scuse me. Tha’s my truck.”

  “Yeah. I’m aware, Bob. We’re here with a message from our friend.”

  “Huh? I know you?” His buddies behind him started to back up, but Tommy, Show, and Badger were flanking them already.

  “No. We know you. Our friend—our lady friend, Kerry—she knows you, too. You don’t know us yet, but you are never going to forget us.” Isaac’s hand shot out like lightning and hooked around Bob’s neck. He yanked him forward and slammed his head into the side of the Tundra’s bed. Caster’s orange hat flew off and landed on the slushy ground near the back tire. Dazed, Caster began to slide to his knees, but Len brought his arm around his neck and pulled him up.

  “C’mon, pal. Time for school.” He dragged Caster, whose struggles increased as understanding dawned, to the dark patch at the end of the lot, near the building. Show, Badger, and Tommy had his friends and were following along.

  “Wait! Wait! You got it all wrong! That’s no lady. That’s a he-she. Fuckin’ freak!”

  Len swung him around and put his fist into the asshole’s face. With that one punch, months of rage and hate and grief and pain flooded his head and heart and turned his fists into stone. His brain unleashed his body and he just let go, let the fury have him.

  ~oOo~

  “Easy, brother. Whoa, whoa, whoa.” When Tommy pulled him off, he had no sense of how much time had passed, but his hands were screaming and his mouth was full of blood—Caster had gotten at least one punch in at some point.

  Len honestly could not remember. All he knew was the feel and sound of fist meeting flesh again and again. And again. He looked around.
Caster and his friends were strewn on the snowy ground, moaning, all of them more pulp than men. The snow had turned to red slush.

  The Horde were all on their feet, panting, their hands dripping blood. In the dim light, Len detected a few cuts and scrapes, a blooming bruise or two. But this had not been a fight, or even a brawl. It had been a beat-down, pure and simple.

  Caster and his friends weren’t fighters. They were smaller and weaker, and they had no technique at all. They didn’t know how to fight; all they knew how to do was beat on someone weaker and outnumbered.

  And now they knew what it felt like to be on the opposite side of that equation.

  To emphasize that point, Tommy tossed his head back and howled into the snowing sky.

  The men who had been in Julio Santaveria’s company did not join him in his celebration.

  “They all breathing?” Len looked at Show, who was dragging one of Caster’s buddies up by the coat and setting him against the building.

  “Yeah. They won’t be so pretty ever again, but they’re all breathing.”

  When all four were lined up on the wall, Isaac squatted down, in his strange, kicked-out way, in front of Caster. He had his blade in his bloody hand, and he sliced open Caster’s shirt to expose his pale, flaccid, bare chest. With a quick flick of his hand, Isaac took his right nipple. It flipped onto the ground like a discarded bottle cap.

  As blood oozed down his chest from the nickel-size wound, Caster screamed weakly through a thick, mushy mouth.

  Standing near Len, Badger flinched and took a step back.

  Then Isaac fisted the hilt of his blade and drove it into Caster’s thigh, just above the knee. This time, Caster, who’d picked up a steady, monotonous moan, simply grunted hard and kept moaning. Isaac leaned in. “Kerry is a friend of ours. You or your buddies ever come anywhere near her again, and I will use this blade to geld you, I will fill your stupid mouth with your own junk, and I will let you bleed out where you lie.”