Shadow & Soul (14 page)

“Faith, wait. What I said was bitchy, but really think about keeping your life. We owe her nothing.”

“It’s not about owing, Sera. It’s about…I don’t even know. But I can’t know that this is happening and just go on like I don’t.”

Sera sighed. “Okay. Then do what you need to do. Send me the bills.”

~oOo~

That night, Faith went to the Night Horde SoCal clubhouse for the first time. Feeling raw and edgy after dealing with her mother’s news and talking to her sister, she wasn’t much in the mood for a party at all, much less a party at an MC she didn’t even know. She wanted quiet. She wanted to curl up in Michael’s arms and tell him about everything, so she could sort it all out and let him make her feel better.

They had taken Sly back to her mother’s house and then spent the night together, in his room at Bibi and Hoosier’s. They were both up and dressed before Tucker was awake, so they hadn’t had anything to explain yet to that little guy. Faith wasn’t sure how things would go for them now. She would have to move in with her mom. Michael couldn’t very well move there with her, even if not for Tucker. Margot and Michael would make even worse roommates than Faith and Margot would be.

They were finally together, and still her family was between them. Faith was frustrated and trying not to despair. So she wasn’t in a great mood when she parked Dante and went through the front door of the clubhouse. It was Friday night. Michael needed to be at the clubhouse, and he wanted to be with her. So here she was.

She was struck at once by the same sort of familiar dislocation she’d felt again and again in Madrone—that sense of a home she’d never seen before. The main room—this club called it the Hall, because the mother charter had some kind of Viking thing going on—looked, smelled, and sounded like a biker club: dark walls, low ceiling, battered furniture, a big bar with lots of booze, a big television. A pool table, pinball and video games. A stripper pole. Posters of nearly-naked women, beer and bike signs, bulletin boards full of snapshots of men on bikes and women on men on bikes. The smell was smoke, old beer, and man, with just a slight overtone of cheap perfume. The music was loud. All of the men in the room were clad in denim and leather, and most of the women were barely clad at all. It was home.

But the dark colors were different. The battered furniture was different. Most of the men and women were different. The big sign on the wall near double doors that led, she assumed, into the chapel—or, no, they called it the Keep—was different, a horse with a flaming mane.

The only old lady she knew was Bibi, but Bibi was home with Tucker. In fact, as Faith scanned the room, she didn’t think there were any old ladies present. You could always tell an old lady from a passaround. Their posture and attitude was totally different. And they covered up more. They weren’t nuns, but they were the exact opposite of available, and thus not putting their offerings on display.

No. At this party, she was the only woman in the room who wasn’t pussy on tap. That completely sucked. She would not be staying.

But she would stay long enough to say hello to the men she did know. She saw Hoosier and Connor. And—oh wow, was that Sherlock? He’d been a Prospect when she’d left. He was a good guy. Kind of a dweeb, for a biker. But he’d filled out and looked good.

No sign of Michael. That also sucked. Squaring her shoulders, she made a beeline for Hoosier and Connor. Hoosier gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and then Connor grabbed her, and his face split into a huge grin. That sucked a lot less.

“Well, hot damn. Bambi!” He wrapped her up in his big arms and squeezed her so hard her back cracked. Then he set her down. “Look at you, all growed up.” He looked her over, raising his eyebrow at her black leather pants and spiky, strappy shoes. She’d dressed for the event she was attending—like an old lady, though, whether she was one or not, not like a club whore. “Got a Joan Jett thing goin’ on. I like it. It’s hot.”

She grinned and punched him in his gut—which was rock hard and kind of hurt her hand. “I see you’re still a butthead, and totally gross. I’m basically your sister. So yuck. Also, call me Bambi again, and I’ll take your berries.”

He shrugged broadly, lifting his hands up, “What can I do about it? You got those big doe eyes.”

“Bambi is a boy, moron,” she laughed. It felt good to be with Connor exactly like she’d always been, like she’d been gone a week and not a decade.

Connor laughed, too, and picked her up again in a crushing hug. “I missed you, Bambi girl. I’m glad you’re home.”

When he set her down again, Michael was standing there, his cheeks blotching red. The way he eyed Connor, Faith knew right away that he was jealous. He’d been jealous of Connor in their time before, too. He hadn’t liked the easy, affectionately physical way she’d been with Hoosier and Bibi’s son, and he hadn’t liked that there’d been nothing at all he could say or do, no sign he could give to claim her.

He hadn’t needed to claim her. Connor was older, a couple of years older than Michael, and Faith had grown up knowing him like a brother. She could see that he was good looking, but the thought of him that way was just…ugh. She’d tried to convince Michael of that then, but they hadn’t had enough time together for her to get all the way through.

Of course, now Connor knew what had been between Faith and Michael then, and apparently knew what was between them now. So in response to Michael’s look, he grinned and raised his hands in affable surrender. “Easy, Deme. Just sayin’ hi.”

Faith put her arms around Michael’s waist. “Hey. I missed you.”

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, and she relaxed against him and let him take it deep. Right there in the clubhouse.

That felt fucking fantastic. It nearly erased all the chaos in her head from everything that had happened earlier in the day. They were standing in the middle of his clubhouse, and he was claiming her.

The thought that she could have everything—she could have her art and her family and her love—took hold. If the price for all that was her mother’s care, then so be it. It would work out. It would. She could feel it.

He pulled away and smiled down at her. “I want you to meet somebody.” Taking her hand, he led her to a patch standing near the pool table, holding a cue in one hand and a beer in the other. He was considerably older than Michael, in his forties somewhere, she guessed, with greying hair and a full, greying beard. He was handsome, with blue eyes in a bright, piercing hue. “Muse. This is Faith, my…my old lady.” He looked down at her as if for confirmation, or to make sure she wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t even the tiniest bit angry. She smiled back and squeezed his hand.

Muse smiled, switched his cue to rest in the crook of his other arm, and shook her hand. “Good to see you,” he said. And that was all. He was up at the table, so he poured his beer down his throat and set the empty on a little round table near a support pole.

Faith looked at the table, watched Muse set up his shot. “Not the two?” she asked without thinking. Michael chuckled at her side, and Muse looked back at her, still bent over the table.

“Pardon?”

“Go for the two, you can get the four, too. If you bank it right, you can fuck up the fourteen for your buddy with the dreads.”

Muse’s eyebrows went way up. The guy with the dreads stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Trick, sweetheart. And if we get consultants, then I’m going to need a time out to find one of my own.”

“Sorry,” she muttered and shook his hand.

“I guess you play,” Muse said, standing up without taking his shot.

Michael chuckled again. “She plays.”

Faith scowled at him, but she’d brought it on herself. She’d felt more comfortable than she’d realized in this room, and she’d forgotten for a minute that this wasn’t her clubhouse. “I used to play. I haven’t in a long time. I’ll shut up and watch.”

Nodding, Muse went back to his shot, setting up this time to go for the two. He took and made the shot and held up his fist toward Faith. She bumped it, grinning. She was glad she was here. It did feel like home.

Michael took her around and introduced her to any of the patches who weren’t busy doing things he didn’t want to interrupt. She met Bart, and Lakota, J.R., Ronin, and Diaz. She was reacquainted with Sherlock. There were a few others, but they were busy. Faith figured she’d meet them eventually. They’d have to come up for air.

After a while, he took her to the side of the room and sat down in a big, old leather armchair. He pulled her onto his lap. “Tell me about your mom,” he said. In his arms, in the midst the chaotic revelry of a Friday night clubhouse party, Faith put her head on Michael’s shoulder, her mouth near his ear, and told him. He held her and let her talk.

They were still sitting like that when Michael became suddenly rigid with tension, and Faith realized that the noise in the room had changed—the talking was fading out, leaving only the blaring sound system. As he set Faith on her feet and stood up, pushing her behind him, somebody turned off the sound system, too. And then the Hall was nearly silent.

She could hear Hoosier, though. He was saying, “Go on. You know this is no place for you.”

Then Michael stepped forward, and Faith was able to see around him. A woman had the attention of literally every person in the room. There were men on couches with their dicks out who were pushing girls away and standing up like they were facing an enemy.

She was small. Not short, but frail. Skinnier than was healthy. Her long hair was like straw, and a red dye job had grown out, showing several inches of brown. She looked sick, with blotchy skin and dark circles under her eyes.

Michael was walking toward her. As he moved, Faith realized who she was. Tucker’s mom. She couldn’t remember her name, though.

“You need to get out of here, Kota. I swear to God. You need to go right the fuck now.” Michael’s voice was low and heavy with menace. If those words in that voice had been directed at Faith, she would have turned and gone immediately.

But the woman—Kota—laughed. “What are you gonna do about it? Kill me? All these
heroes
are gonna let you kill a woman? Fuck you, Deme. I want Tucker. You got some guy sniffin’ around me. You think you can hunt me down? Scare me? No. I’ll hunt
you
down. I got me a lawyer, too. I’m gonna get Tucker back. You watch. I got lots of shit I can use on you.”

There was movement around Michael and Kota, and Faith’s eyes were drawn to the sidelines. Muse gestured at Hoosier, who shook his head, then nodded at Sherlock and Bart. Those two left, and Muse walked over to Michael and put his hand on his shoulder.

When Kota saw that, her expression became villainous. She smiled a smile that chilled Faith’s heart.

“Aww. Ain’t that the sweetest thing? You take Muse’s cock, baby?” At that, Connor reached for her, but she knocked his hand away and ducked out of his reach. She went on, speaking faster and louder, like she knew they would try to shut her up. “You like it deep? He give you a good pounding? I bet he does. I bet you bend over for all these guys. Your
brothers
. You like it, baby. I know you do. Hard and deep. Just like when you were a kid.”

The sound Michael made was inhuman, unearthly, unadulterated fury and agony. He flew at Kota and took her to the floor. The chaos then was too much for Faith to make sense of. All she saw was Michael’s arms flying almost too quickly to discern, and blood spraying.

After a long, long minute, his brothers tried to pull him back, but he threw them off again and again.

Finally, they got him off of her, four men struggling and at last succeeding. He was stippled and striped with blood and gore. But Kota was alive and conscious. And she was laughing. Through a broken horror of a face, in a voice that was hoarse and choked, she laughed. And then she said, “See if you get him now, asshole.” And laughed all the harder.

Michael roared in anguish and tore himself free from his brothers. But he didn’t go for Kota again. He turned toward the back, toward Faith, and then froze, his face, his whole head, a dark, sinister red, and she could see it dawning on him at the moment that she had seen it all. He roared again and ran toward the door to the back. Faith tried to stop him, but he pushed her away, so hard that she lost her feet and landed on the concrete floor.