Sanctuary (Freaks MC Book 2) (16 page)

“
I do.” She laughed. “Mostly.”

The walk from the clubhouse door had felt like an uphill marathon, but Samson couldn't keep the grin from his face as he joined Wolf and Bugs at the bar. It would be at least another month before he was fit to ride, but finally it felt like there was light at the end of the tunnel. His back still hurt like a bitch, and he still faced surgery on his shoulder, but he was healing, and now he was back with his brothers.

Wolf grinned. “Your ol' lady finally let you out, brother?” He pulled him into a hug. “Good to have you back.”

“Good to be back. Gonna be a while 'fore I'm back on my bike, but I'm getting there.”

“
Reckon you best get healed quick. Emma must be ready to murder your ass.” Bugs chuckled – he'd been spending a lot of time there converting the garage roof space into a studio and had witnessed some of their more memorable fights. He nodded to the prospect. “Beer?”

“
Nah, I'm under strict instructions not to drink. Got surgery on my shoulder on Friday. Emma'll kick my ass if I stink of booze when she picks me up.” Samson looked around. “Barney around?”

“
No, he's got a job out of town apparently, haven't seen a lot of him. I can get him to swing by your place when he gets back if you want.”

“
Nah, no rush. It can wait.” He still wasn't prepared to make any accusations until he'd spoken to him, and as far as everyone was concerned, it had just been an accident. But Samson knew there was no way that truck driver hadn't seen him. What he didn't know was why Barney would want him dead.

A two hour drive after therapy and over an hour of standing propping up the bar, because he was too proud to admit he needed to sit down, had taken their toll, and by the time they pulled up outside the princess house, Deke's mood had definitely taken a turn for the worse. And yet again, Emma was on the receiving end as she walked around to the passenger side to help him out of her stupid, too fucking small car. “I can manage. Stop fussing.”

“
Fine.” She turned on her heel and picked her way through the mud to the trailer. “But if you fall on your ass, you can stay there.”

It took three attempts to climb out of the car but he wasn't going to call her back, and he sure as shit didn't need any help getting up the two steep steps to the trailer door. Emma leaned against the sink and watched him as he stopped to take a breath. “I suppose you can take your boots off yourself as well, huh?”

He ignored her and shuffled towards the bed. He needed to lie down before he fell down.

Following him as he sat down heavily on the bed, she crouched down and untied his laces. “You do know you wouldn't be suffering so much if you didn't insist on being such a macho asshole?” She eased off his boots. “You want a couple of Oxys?”

“Yeah.” He pulled one of her curls, grinning as it sprang back into shape. “Sorry for being such a douche... Again. I don't deserve you, baby girl.”

“
No, you probably don't. Luckily for you I love your moody ass.”

SIXTEEN

Tiny wheeled the Dyna out of his garage. “She's good to go, bro. Took her for a burn yesterday an' she runs like a dream. Prospect did a decent job of putting the shine back as well.”

It did, indeed, gleam. Samson couldn't help but feel a little guilty. The bike had sat, neglected, for too long. It and his two others had been sitting in Tiny's garage ever since he and his ol' lady had moved there, and he spent far too little time on them, relying instead on his brother to turn the engines over now and again and, when he had the chance, give them a run. “Appreciate it, Tiny.” He looked over to the far end of the garage, where an old panhead and his first love – an Indian Chief – rested under their covers.

The panhead was an unfinished project, that he'd had big dreams about. It was as uncomfortable as all hell, but was beautiful to behold, and when he'd bought it for a song from a suit who shared his dreams but lacked the knowledge to turn them into a reality, his head had been full of visions of pulling up outside the clubhouse and every head turning.

While he had the technical skills, what he lacked was time, and five years after buying it, most of it was still in boxes.

Then there was the Chief: the first bike he'd ever built. He'd been seventeen – still wet behind the ears – when he'd pushed it the two miles from the scrap yard to his pa's house in Anchorage, and it had taken nearly two years, and a lot of fuckups, before it was roadworthy. It was the Chief that he'd first ridden from Alaska to Mexico on. It was the first bike he'd ever fucked a chick on. It was responsible for his first broken bone and what sparked a conversation between a him and the President of the Vegas Freaks that changed his life forever.

The gleaming Dyna held no such memories. It had been bought as a second bike, and while there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, it just wasn't his old Fat Boy, which was now languishing at the bottom of a river just across the Canadian border.

It had been his plan to sell it to help fund the build. It would fetch more than the unfinished panhead, and he'd figured he could always use a loaner if his bike was off the road. Of course he'd reckoned without his bike plummeting into a canyon, and as the insurance company was dragging its feet, he was going to have to use it.

Right now, though, as he fastened his helmet, studiously avoiding Emma's concerned face, all he wanted was to get back onto the road, and he didn't care what he would be riding, and he'd worry about whether or not he'd have to sell his beloved Indian on another day.

He hadn't exactly been passed as fit to ride, but had chosen to interpret 'you should be able to take very short rides of no more than fifteen minutes in a week or so,' as 'Yep, you're good to go, jump on your bike and ride for two hours back to your house.' His back twinged as he swung his leg over the bike and his shoulder ached dully, but he was a Freak. And Freaks lived to ride.

Emma stepped closer. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Deke?”

“I'll take it easy, baby.” He grinned. “Stop looking so worried. This means you'll be finally getting me from under your feet.”

She smiled and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “Take a break if anything starts to hurt too much.”

He put his hand to his heart. “I swear.”

“
It's okay, sweetheart.” Tiny mounted his own bike. “I'll ride with him. If he looks like he's about to kiss the asphalt, I'll make sure he rests.”

“
I don't need babysitting, brother.”

“
Yes, you do. And I ain't doin' it for you.”

Emma left his side and kissed his brother on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“No problem. You go an' schmooze those buyers. I'll get him home safe.”

~ oOo ~

The small cocktail party at the gallery was attended by two types of buyers: those that wanted to buy something they loved, and those that were hoping to spot the next big thing and to snap up their work at a bargain price. Emma and other artists milled around, hoping that maybe some rich socialite would become their patron but all knowing that if they made just one sale, they'd be happy.

She wasn't a huge fan of events such as this, but she was a realist and had learned that buyers liked to meet the artists and sometimes would actually commission pieces. So she wandered around with a glass in her hand and a smile painted on her face, and resisted the urge to check her cell.

Deke would be fine, she knew. In absolute agony and grumpy as all hell, but fine, really.

“
Which ones are yours?”

A voice jolted her from her reverie and she turned to a tall, devastatingly handsome, scraggly haired, blue eyed man. “The canvases on that wall over there.”

He smiled, showing a row of perfect, white teeth. “I was just admiring those. Do they sell well?”

“
The smaller ones do. The bigger ones work well in a minimalist setting, but not many people have the wall space for them.” She smiled. “I like painting them, though. How about you? I'm guessing you're selling.”

“
The sculptures.” He pointed to some abstract metalwork that, for some reason she couldn't quite understand, disturbed her. “They're not exactly flying, but I'm hoping by playing nice, I might generate some interest.” He looked over to where a portly, balding man was talking to the gallery owner. “Luckily, I have a sugar daddy, so I get to indulge my artistic tendencies while he goes out and does a real job.” He eyed the canapés suspiciously. “I don't suppose you'd sneak out to get some decent food with me? My stomach thinks my throat has been cut. There's a lovely little Italian place just around the corner. We can sneak out the back - no one will miss us.”

“
Sure, why not.” Already she liked the young artist. “I'm Emma, by the way.”

“
Felix.” He took her hand and kissed it with a flourish. “Pleased to meet you. C'mon, lets get out of here.” He led her down a narrow corridor and out of a back door onto a large, empty lot. Felix glanced over to where a group of youths were lurking. “We'll go this way. No matter what they do to turn this area around, the cockroaches won’t be far away.”

“
I guess. I thought this was a pretty good area.”

“
It is, but drugs are everywhere, and this city has its fair share of lowlifes, street gangs, drug dealers, hookers... That motorcycle gang.”

“
Club.”

“
What?”

“
It's not a gang, it's a club.”

“
Semantics, darling.” He looked down at her as they rounded the corner. “Please don't tell me you're one of those girls that hang around with them.”

“
No. I'm not.” She was already regretting opening her mouth.

“
Glad to hear it. I'm sure those poor girls have a terrible time. Ah, here we are.”

'Here' was the cute little bistro she used whenever she was in the area. “I've eaten here before, you're right. It's extremely good.”

Spending a stolen hour with Felix had proven to be a brilliant idea, and by the time they snuck back in, they were firm friends and had already made plans to meet up next time she was in the city. “I'm going to mingle for a while, then head off home. I don't want to be too late.”

“
Have you got your own sugar daddy waiting at home?”

“
Not exactly.” Emma smiled. “If you're a good boy next time we meet, I'll tell you all about him.”

“
I can't wait. I promise next time we can talk all about you.” He kissed her cheek, “Go mingle. Sell paintings.”

~ oOo ~

If his back hadn't been killing him, and there was room in the stupid tin can, Deke would have been pacing the floor. Emma had texted over three and a half hours ago, saying she was about to leave, and there was still no sign of her. He'd tried calling, but her cell was off, and he was staring to worry. Fuck. He was going to go and find her – she could have wrecked her car and been dying in a ditch somewhere. With his hands on his thighs, he pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his keys, then, just as he opened the door, her car pulled up.

He was at the side of the car before she'd even killed the engine. “Where the fuck have you been?” Yanking the door open, he practically dragged her out of the car.

“You know where I've been. Jesus, Deke. Chill the fuck out.”

“
You texted me four fucking hours ago saying you were leaving. It don't take four hours to get from Seattle.”

“
Well I was on my way, but there were these hot guys, so I had to fuck them all. I tried to be as quick as I could, but time must've got away with us.”

“
Not funny, Emma. Where were you?”

“
I got talking to a potential buyer just as I was leaving is all. No biggie.”

“
No biggie? Fuck, woman! I've been worried sick. Could you not have called and said you were going to be late?”

“
I thought you'd be asleep.”

“
Well, I wasn't. I was up waiting for you to get your ass home.” He ran his hand over his head. “Fuck, Emma, I was imagining all kind of shit. Have you any idea how that feels?”

She slipped her arms around his waist. “Laying awake all night waiting for that call to say you've been found dead on the roadside? Not knowing where the hell you are? No, Deke. I have no idea what that feels like.”

“Shit.” He wrapped his arms around her and held as tight as he could. “Shit, baby girl. I'm so sorry.”

~ oOo ~

“So did you sell any paintings?” They were lying in bed, sharing a post-coital joint.

“
Yeah, a couple of the smaller ones, and I left my number with a guy who's interested in commissioning a big canvas for his office. A few others were interested but noncommittal. Hopefully now that they know about my stuff they'll buy something in the future.” She passed him the joint and settled with her head on his chest. “The gallery sells postcards and prints of the artists' work. I'm not sure if it's worth the expense of getting them printed, although Felix thinks they sell really well to the hipster kids.”

“
Felix?”

“
An artist I met. He does these weird metal sculptures. I'm not sure about them, they're kind of creepy, but he's obviously really talented. He's cool, too. We're going to have lunch, next time I'm in town.”

“
I don't think so.” Deke stiffened.

“
Not actually your call, Deke. If I want to meet a friend for lunch, I will. So you're going to have to suck it up, I'm afraid.”

“
You can meet as many friends as you like, as long as they ain't men.”

She could have told him that Felix was in along term relationship... with another man, but she was pissed, and Deke should trust her. She pushed herself off him and sat up. “I will meet who I want, when I want and as often as I want, regardless of gender. I'm not going to sneak around behind your back, I have never slept with anyone else since the first time I met you, and I don't plan to. I can't force you to trust me.” She sighed. “But if you don't... this relationship is doomed to failure.”

“I do trust you.”

“
Well, clearly you don't.”

“
I do... I just don't like the idea of some asshole sniffing around what's mine.”

“
Nobody is sniffing around me. So how about you quit this macho bullshit.”

“
So you'd be okay with me having lunch with a chick?”

“
As long as you weren't planning on fucking her, and she was a friend, sure.”

“
I don't believe you. And for the record, if I catch any guy pushing up on you, I will hurt him. A lot.”

“
And I suppose you'll beat your chest afterwards, then drag me home by my hair.” She lay back down and trailed her fingers down his chest.

“
Are you making fun of me, girl?”

“
Hard not to.” She snuggled closer. “Caveman.”

~ oOo ~

Samson leaned on the bar and watched as his brothers filed out of church. Normally he would have joined them, but – his eyes fell on Barney, who quickly looked away – he didn't trust himself to be in a confined space with that blonde pretty boy. Straightening up, he crossed over to where the former SAA was trying to make himself as invisible as possible. “Goin' outside for a smoke. Join me.”

“
Maybe later.” Barney shifted uncomfortably. “Good to see you're healed, brother. I feel kinda bad. If my bike...”

“
Not here. Outside. Now.”

People were still milling around outside the front of the clubhouse. Samson led Barney to the vacant lot at the side of the building and, leaning on the wall, lit a cigarette. “Wolf said you been working away.”

“Yeah. Big building project in LA. Money was too good to turn it down.” He swallowed. “What's this all about, brother?”

Samson decided to cut to the chase. “You tell anyone the route we'd be taking back from Alaska?”

“No, of course not. You saying this wasn't an accident? I thought...”

“
That's exactly what I'm saying. I was run off the road and the fucker that did it knew I was there.”

“
You can't be sure of that, brother. And who's to say that this wasn't just a case of you being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Maybe you just happened to be passing a trucker with a beef with the Freaks.”

“
Must've had X-ray vision or be psychic or something. My cut was under my hoodie. Ain't no decal on my bike. No way he'd know I'm a Freak. So unless he's a psycho who runs down bikers at every opportunity, he was expecting me.”

“
And you think I had something to with that.”

“
Oh I know you had something to do with it.” He dropped the cigarette and ground it under his heel. “Can't prove it, of course... Yet. So this is me giving you a heads up. I'll be watching you. Very fucking closely. You take one step outta line, I will be coming for you.” He pushed himself away from the wall. “Now I'm gonna help the grunt celebrate getting his top rocker... You are gonna go for a ride. I'm heading out next week, so this is my last chance to party with my brothers for a while. Don't want to have to look at your face while I'm doing it.”

“
I had nothing to do with this.” Barney stood in front of him. “Why would I want you dead?”

This was what had been plaguing Samson for the last two months. Why would his brother want him dead? He shrugged. “I ain't figured that one out yet, so for now, as far as everyone's concerned, this was an accident.” He reached out and, with one hand, grabbed Barney by the throat. He squeezed just enough for him to feel his airways constrict. “But, trust me, I will figure it out, and when I do, you wanna hope it's the club that deals with you. Cuz if I find you first...” He left the rest of the sentence unsaid and his hand dropped to his side. “Now, fuck off outta my sight.”

~ oOo ~

Groaning, Samson opened his eyes and, once he was sure his head wasn't going to fall off, looked around. All around him, the dead and dying were sprawled wherever they’d fallen. It had been a classic Freak party: plenty of free booze, women in various states of undress and plenty of action in the ring.

A groan coming from somewhere between his thighs caused him to look down. Samson frowned and lifted the redhead's head by her hair. “Go make me a coffee.” As she staggered towards the bar, he surreptitiously checked his fly, sighing with relief when he discovered everything appeared to be tucked away nice and safe. He didn't remember her being there when he crashed, but he was pretty sure getting a blow job, even when drunk out of your mind, was against the rules.

Despite knowing that sitting up was going to remind him of the foolishness of crashing on a too-short, lumpy sofa, three months after falling down a canyon, he had to move. Slowly he stood, taking a moment for the pain in his back to subside, and as soon as he was sure he wasn't going to puke, shuffled towards the john.

He wasn't sure who the face in the mirror was as he washed his hands, but it sure as shit couldn't have been him. He wasn't that old – or he hadn't been last night. The cold water did nothing to improve things, so he headed back to the bar in the hope that coffee would be more effective.

Tiny was slumped across the bar, looking even worse than he did. “Shit.” He opened one eye as Samson pulled up a stool. “I'm getting too old for this.”

“I feel ya, brother. What the fuck were we drinking?”

Tiny winced. “Cocktails.”

“Pretty sure cocktails don't come in quarts or taste like gasoline.” He rubbed his eyes. “Although the green one tasted okay.”