Sanctuary (Freaks MC Book 2) (14 page)

“
Nope. Just telling you how it is.” Samson shrugged. “I've brought this to you out of respect. Fox could easily take the presidency of a southern chapter. He's a good guy an' spends most of his time here and in Vegas.”

“
Fox is unreliable. Too much of a loose cannon.”

“
You've got a short memory, boss. You accused me of the same thing.”

Vince chuckled. “You've always been a crazy fucker, you just slowed down in your old age. This business out east. You committed?”

“No, I sounded out Charlie, he's always in need of extra bodies for the coke runs over the border and I need to earn. There's a lotta shit going down in Seattle right now, but as soon as we've cleaned up I'll head out.”

“
I've got a job, was gonna put it Fox's way but if you want it, it's yours.”

“
Go on.”

“
There's a bar opened just outta town. The owner seems to think he don't need the Freaks’ protection. He can't be allowed to get away with that. Send a message loud and clear to the other businesses in town.”

“
Ain't that more Spike's line of work?”

“
Usually, yeah. But this little fuck's got the sheriff in his pocket. I need a face he ain't gonna recognize.”

Samson sat in the corner of the bar, minus his cut, his hair tied back and a button-down shirt covering his ink. There was no love lost between him and the Bay View President, and his instincts were telling him that there was more to this than just a bar owner standing up to the Freaks. This was a small town, and even a stranger would quickly realize that they practically ran the place.

He leaned back further into the shadows as a couple walked in and sat at the bar. Shit. Feds. He could smell them from a mile off. Quietly, nursing his beer, he watched as they and the bartender chatted like old friends. This fucker had more than the local PD in his pocket. Samson would lay odds that he was an ex-cop himself. Little wonder he felt in no need for the Freaks’ protection, and little wonder Vince wasn't prepared to risk one of his own guys in driving him out of town – he'd always considered the nomads expendable.

He waited until the couple had left and the bartender was distracted, then, as discreetly as six-foot-four and 270 pounds of limping biker could, walked outside and headed back to his bike, parked just out of sight around the corner.

~ oOo ~

“I'm a builder, not an architect, sweetheart.” Bugs looked at the floor plan and sketches laid out on Beth's expansive kitchen table.

“
I know, but can it be done?” Emma sipped her wine. “I figure if we use the existing footprint we'll save a lot of cash on digging new foundations.”

“
It can, I guess, but you are going to lose a lot of space building a staircase going into the loft.” He studied the plans again. “Seems you're missing the obvious solution. “There's a detached garage there with a pitched roof. I'll need to have another look, but I reckon there'd be space for a studio. It'll be small but it could work.”

Yaz smirked. “Hope you've got plenty of spare cash. I can't see Samson helping out.”

Bugs frowned. “If I want your opinion, I'll ask. If you ain't got anything constructive to say, shut the fuck up.” He turned to Emma and smiled. “Apologies for my ol' lady, sweetheart. She don't know when to shut her mouth.” Yaz scowled and, turning on her heel, flounced outside. “She has got a point, though. This ain't gonna come cheap.”

“
I know.” Emma sighed. “Deke has some cash put by, and he's offered to sell one of his bikes, but that's not going to go far. Pretty much all my money went on buying the place. There's enough to buy a trailer, and if the canvases sell, we'll have enough to get the project off the ground. But, yeah it's going to be tight.”

“
As soon as you get the keys, we'll head over. If we can get the studio up an' running first, at least you can earn, an' I reckon I'll be able to get at least some of the materials at cost.” Bugs patted her hand. “We'll figure out a way.”

Tiny looked up from spooning goo into Luke. “You can use our study if you need somewhere quiet to paint till then. Samson said it was too noisy at your place.”

“Thank you.” Touched by his kindness, she swallowed a lump in her throat. “That will be perfect.”

~ oOo ~

Samson stuffed the coverall into a garbage bag and dropped it into the dumpster. In the distance, the flames from the burning bar flickered against the night sky. He checked that the brown envelope containing his payment was secure in his inside pocket and, as the sound of sirens grew closer, he fired up his bike and headed north along the back roads.

The motel just outside Sacramento was little more than a flea pit, but it had a bed, and it provided a welcome respite from the driving rain. Samson hung his soaking jeans on the back of a chair and put the wall heater on full. His cut and hoodie hung from hooks on the back of the door and were creating a puddle on the floor. He didn't relish putting on damp clothes in the morning, but there was no way he was prepared to ride any farther. It was 2 AM and he needed to sleep.

Sitting on the bed, he pulled out his cell. One text.
I love you. Ride safe.

He hated texting, but he didn't want to wake her.
I love u 2 c u tomorrow.

He'd barely hit send, when it rang. “Hey, baby girl. I thought you'd be asleep.”

“I should be.” Emma laughed. “I didn't realize how late it was. I've been working on redesigning the house. Bugs came up with some great ideas and I think I've found a trailer at a really good price, although I'd really like you to come and check it out with me. You know far more about these things than I do.”

“
Emma, I don't know shit about trailers.”

“
Me, either. But I figure, the guy selling it will be less inclined to try to rip you off.”

“
Well, I am a big scary motherfucker.” He lay back and closed his eyes as she told him all about her day.

His day had been somewhat different. It had taken all his powers of persuasion to convince Vince that going in all guns blazing would just bring more heat onto the club. Better to send the clear message, fuck with the Freaks and the Freaks will fuck with you, without actually incriminating themselves. The whole town would know who was responsible for razing the bar to the ground, but the cops would never be able to prove a thing.

“Are you still there, Deke?”

“
Yeah, I'm here. Listen, I need to catch some sleep. I'll be with you tomorrow. Sleep well, baby girl.”

FIFTEEN

“
It's pink.”

“
I can see that, Deke. Look it's cheap, it's roadworthy and it's habitable.” Emma pulled open the door of the Airstream. “At least let’s look inside.”

“
I ain't living in a pink trailer.” He stood with his legs apart and folded his arms.

“
You'll be away most of the time.” She winced at the chintz interior. “I can manly it up for you, if you like.”

“
Nope. Ain't happening. You buy that an' I ain't even visiting you. And you can get someone else to tow it.”

“
Deeeke.”

“
Nope, whining ain't gonna help. C'mon, let's go.”

“
I can knock another five hundred off the asking price.” The salesman gave what he clearly thought was a winning smile. “It's in very good condition, and it's very sought after.”

“
Buddy, if you were giving it away, the answer would still be no. Emma, we're leaving. Now.”

“
We'll think about it.” She smiled at the salesman and hurried after her old man. “Why are you being such an ass?”

He thrust her helmet into her hand. “Told you. Ain't living in a pink trailer. Get on.”

“Scared you'll lose some man points?” She stuck out her chin and remained firmly were she was.

“
I'll lose my fucking patch. I ain't telling you again, Emma. Get on the fucking bike.”

“
I can paint it.”

“
You've got ten seconds. If you ain't sitting behind me by then, I'm leaving without you.”

“
Fine. But I think you're being a jerk. This is the cheapest trailer I've found that doesn't leak and can be towed.”

The diner was warm but the atmosphere in the little booth next to the steamed-up window was decidedly frosty. “You hungry, baby?” Deke looked over the menu.

“
I'll eat when we get home. Can't afford to waste money if I've got to spend more on a trailer.” It was petty, she knew, but Deke had pissed her off.

“
Starve then.” He laid the menu down and looked over to the waitress, who scuttled over, a smile fixed to her face. “I'll have the steak. Rare, with all the trimmings. She don't want nothing.”

Ignoring her growling stomach, Emma scowled and looked out of the window. “You sure you want salad? Isn't that a little gay for your macho tastes?”

“Subject's closed, Emma.”

Oh no, it wasn't. She wasn't particularly enamored with the Barbie pink trailer, either, but after days of trawling the internet, she knew that she wasn't going to find anything at the same price and they were going to need every penny they got. She looked up and her eyes met his – God, he was gorgeous. “So the mighty Samson has spoken.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Just admit defeat, baby girl.”

“
I can't afford to. Money's going to be tight, Deke. Really tight. Right now, the only cash I've got coming in is from whatever the paintings in Boise sell for. I don't want to cut corners on the build, so I'm going to be in a trailer for at least six months, and that's if I can keep the money rolling in. I know it's pink and the interior is hideous, but it's all I can afford.”

“
We.”

“
What?”

“
You keep saying 'I.' We're in this together, Emma.” He reached over and took her hand. “You're not doing this on your own.”

~ oOo ~

Hidden behind his Aviators with his hood pulled over his head, Deke thanked whatever it was up there for tinted windows. Behind the black van, the bright pink Airstream bounced merrily along the road.

It had taken a month of searching before he'd conceded that they weren't going to find anything cheaper and had finally admitted defeat. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Emma's smirk. He may have been the President of a notorious chapter of an outlaw motorcycle club, but he just couldn't say no to this tiny scrap of a girl. “I fucking hate you.”

“You love me.” She reached over and touched his thigh. “I promise once I've finished with it, you won't recognize it. It will be a haven of manliness.”

“
Kinda defeats the object of buying a cheap trailer if you're gonna spend money on it, baby.”

“
I won’t be spending much, and I don't have much else to do until the 'dozers move in. It'll be fun.”

“
Still be pink, though.”

“
Only on the outside.” She grinned.

“
I am never gonna live this down.”

“
No, you probably won’t.”

“
I really do hate you.”

Well, shit. An entire welcoming committee. “That's right, fellas. Laugh it up. Get it outta your systems.” Deke climbed out of the van and began to level the pink monstrosity.

“
You said you wanted it all plumbed in, brother.” Bugs pushed himself away from the wall and, once satisfied it was level, unhitched it. “It's very...”

“
It was cheap.”

“
I can see why.” Tiny lit a cigarette and grinned. “You gonna be taking it to Mardi Gras?”

“
Fuck you. And why exactly are you here? Your ol' lady has got better DIY skills than you.” Deke glared at Emma who was sniggering behind him. “You fucking told Beth didn't you?”

“
I might have mentioned it.”

Wolf walked up and opened the door. “Jesus! It's even worse on the inside. My balls are shrinking just looking at it. You live in this too long an' we'll be calling you Samantha.”

“I hate you all.” He turned at the sound of a car pulling onto the driveway and scowled as Beth climbed out. “Really, Beth? You too?”

“
Abi wanted to see the princess house, didn't you darling?” She lifted her daughter out of the car seat and set her on the ground.

“
Samsam got a princess house.”

Glaring at Tiny's old lady, he picked up the little girl. “Yep, I got a princess house. Wanna have a look inside?” Ignoring the guffaws from his, so called, brothers, he carried Abi inside, sat her on the hideous sofa, and slammed the door closed behind him. He really did hate them all.

~ oOo ~

Emma stood back and admired her handiwork. The pink ruched curtains had been removed, and in their place were black Venetian blinds. She'd covered the tea rose festooned upholstery with some cream fabric she'd found in a thrift store, and all the woodwork and cladding was now also cream.

The horrendous carpeting had proven to be problematic; she didn't want to spend too much and was a little afraid to pull it up. Beth had come to her rescue with an offcut of bedroom carpet that was a little too pale to be practical, but she figured that as a temporary fix it would be fine, and had found a deep red runner that covered much of it.

It wasn't really to her tastes, but it was a massive improvement and Deke would be less sulky every time he walked through the door. She smiled. He would be coming home today after a over a week on the road, and she couldn't wait to see him.

~ oOo ~

It had been a straightforward protection run from Edmonton up to Anchorage – easy money – and as he headed home, his bike hugging the bends as he rode, he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading over his face. By the evening he'd be back with Emma and even the thought of sleeping in a pink tin can couldn't dampen his mood.

Barney’s bike had started misfiring just as they had crossed the border, and he had to stop. Samson had offered to stay with him, but he'd insisted he was fine and could fix it himself, and that he should get back to his girl. Samson hadn't argued. If he was honest, he was still pissed at the former SAA and wasn't entirely convinced he was clean.

As he exited a long sweeping right hand bend, he was forced to brake hard by a slow moving truck struggling up the steep incline. As Samson pulled out and started to pass the truck, it started to speed up and veered sharply to the left, clipping his front wheel and preventing him from getting past. He had no time to react as he was forced closer to the edge of the gorge. The truck swerved again and he was forced off the road and into oblivion.

~ oOo ~

Samson groaned and tried to open his eyes. He’d heard the expression ‘world of pain’ but until now had never really known what it meant. He had no idea how long he’d been lying there, or where ‘there’ was. He couldn’t have fallen all the way to the bottom of the ravine, that would have surely killed him, so he must be on a ledge.

He tried to do an inventory of his injuries and quickly realized it would be easier to list what didn’t hurt. He’d obviously landed on his left side, with his head and shoulder taking most of the impact, although it felt like he’d bounced off a whole bunch of rocks on the way down. He forced open his right eye, his left didn’t seem to work, and rolled onto his back, shortening the list of parts that didn’t hurt considerably.

He had to move; if he stayed there he’d die. Gritting his teeth, using his right arm, he pulled himself into a sitting position and, fighting the waves of nausea, looked around.

Somewhere, out of sight, above him, was the road. It was too sheer to climb, even with four fully functioning limbs. Samson looked around again. The ledge he’d landed on seemed to continue towards a more wooded area that led to the river below. Well if he couldn’t go up, he’d have to go down. He debated removing his helmet, but decided as it had almost certainly saved his life once, he’d keep it on, at least until he hit level ground.

He had to stand up. Despite the pain in his hip, he didn’t think his leg was broken. Carefully and extremely slowly he hauled himself to his feet. The ledge was about six feet wide, but the edge looked like it could crumble and there was no way he’d survive the drop below.

Leaning with his back against the cliff face, he reached into his pocket for his cell, hoping vaguely that it had survived the fall. It hadn’t. Shit. Taking a deep breath, which he immediately regretted as another pain revealed itself, he started to inch slowly along the ledge, stopping every so often to wait for the pain to subside.

After what seemed like an eternity, the ledge widened as it merged into a steep slope heading down to the river below. The ground here presented a new problem. Small rocks and stones meant that it was constantly moving under his feet, and Samson found himself fighting a losing battle to stay upright and made much of the descent on his ass. Gradually, though, the ground leveled out and he found it easier to stay on his feet. Knowing he was at least thirty miles from civilization, he decided his best option was to follow the river until, hopefully, he'd reach a point where he could get back to the road, so fighting the urge to lie down and close his eyes, he set out.

As he walked, he tried again to asses his injuries. He was pretty sure he had a concussion, his helmet was fucked, and the pounding headache confirmed it, but he’d had worse. The left side of his face was swollen and hurt like a bitch, his best guess was that he’d fractured his cheekbone and probably his eye socket. His back and hip hurt and he was sure he had some broken ribs, but by far, the worst pain was coming from his shoulder. That was completely fucked. His arm hung limply at his side, and any attempt to move it resulted in pain so bad he nearly blacked out.

Every so often, as he limped slowly along, his legs seemed to buckle under him, and a few times he found himself falling to his knees. Then, just as he thought things couldn’t get any worse, it started to rain. So now he could add cold and wet to his list of his woes. Despite this, it never occurred to him to stop and rest. Every time he fell, he dragged himself back to his feet and continued his limping, stumbling walk back to civilization.

As the light started to fade, exhaustion and pain started to get the better of him. His steps began to falter and when, again, he sank to his knees, he could no longer summon the energy to stand. For a few moments he stayed there, his chin resting on his chest and his breath coming in short gasps, unable to continue any further.

He looked up, and in the dim light, noticed something between the trees. A cabin! With a gargantuan effort, once more he struggled to his feet and staggered towards it.

It was old and, judging by the smell, hadn’t seen use in many years. But, apart from one corner where the roof had collapsed, it was dry. Samson hobbled to a cupboard by the stone chimney breast and opened it. Inside were candles, some cans of corned beef and - joy of joys - a bottle of scotch. Thanking whoever it was up there, he carried his haul to the table in the middle of the room and, pulling out a chair, sat down gratefully.

He’d always hated corned beef, and Scotch would never be his drink of choice, but right now it felt like a feast fit for a king.

As soon as his belly was full and he’d drunk enough to numb the pain, he limped over to the narrow bed. Part of him was afraid that if he went to sleep he’d never wake up again, but fuck it. He’d rather die in a dry bed with whiskey in his belly than face down in the rain in the middle of nowhere.