Leave a Trail (50 page)

Badger liked it this way—calm. He and Adrienne were starting a family. They’d bought a house on about fifteen acres, with a small barn, not far outside of town. He wanted their life to be a quiet one. They both had deep scars, inside and out, from the life the Horde had been living, and he felt that he’d had enough outlaw excitement in his life. He was only twenty-seven, but he felt considerably older. Now he wanted to work his straight job at the B&B, riding to work every day with Adrienne. He wanted to go home and spend the night with her, being married, fixing up their house, getting ready for their son, fucking in their bed, with Hector closed out of the room so he wouldn’t sit there and stare.

He wanted to meet with his brothers in the Keep to talk about town business; he wanted to go on runs with destinations to look forward to—rallies instead of wars. He wanted to get drunk and party and not worry whether it would be the last time.

Because it was Nolan’s birthday party as well as the day he became a Prospect, the old ladies and kids were there at first, too. There was cake, and people had brought presents. It was Lilli’s first time back in the clubhouse since the January day Isaac had gone away. In the few months since Show had taken the President’s patch and Isaac had gone away, Shannon had stepped into the role of clubhouse first lady, managing the women and events like this party. Badger thought he saw Lilli struggling a little with the new dynamic, no longer at the head of the women. Not in any overt, hostile way—she simply looked a little lost sometimes. She was a natural leader, unused to following. It was a good thing, he thought, that she and Shannon were so close. He had no idea what went on in the kitchen, and he didn’t really care to know. But he knew something about Lilli. She wouldn’t make a fuss, but she was having trouble.

After the cake and presents—Nolan got a mountain of t-shirts with dirty sayings and jokey junk like that, as well as more serious gifts like mechanic’s tools and a vintage Harley sign—Badger checked on Adrienne, who was sitting with Cory and Tasha. She was content, and it would be another hour or more before things would shift into roughhouse gear, so he let her be. He waved his empty bottle at Candy. As he waited for her to bring him a fresh beer, he looked around for Nolan and didn’t see him. After he had a new cold brew in his hand, he went looking.

He was in the bays, all the lights on, with Havoc’s Softail uncovered. That bike was so Havoc, all the way to the ape-hangers. It made Badger grin to see it, even as his stomach tightened.

Nolan’s bike—the one he and Havoc had started and he and Badger had finished and brought here, to wait for his birthday, because he didn’t want to ride it until he had a kutte of his own—was parked right next to Havoc’s, also uncovered. 1972 Harley Sportster Ironhead, all black and chrome. Across the top of the tank, using airbrush skills he’d taught himself just for this project, Nolan had painted the words
Wreaking Havoc
in the vivid red that, with black and silver, were the Horde’s colors. The sides of the tank he’d left blank, hoping to have the privilege of adding a Horde tag to it someday. Maybe on his next birthday.

Nolan was standing between the two bikes, a beer in his hand. He looked up as Badger approached.

“What’s up, bud?”

Nolan shrugged. “I don’t really like parties when they’re for me. Too much attention. It’s cool—I don’t mean to be a dick. Just got kinda freaked.”

“I get that. I don’t think anybody noticed.” He huffed a laugh. “No offense.”

“S’okay. I’m glad. I needed a minute.”

Badger stepped back. “I’ll get out of here, then.”

“No. You can stay.”

“Okay.” They stood quietly, Nolan’s eyes on the bikes, Badger’s on Nolan.

“I don’t think I want to ride Hav’s bike. Not even after I get patched.”

“No?” That surprised him. That goal had seemed to drive Nolan—to step into Havoc’s place in the club, to try to fill the hole that had been left.

“No. Feels wrong. This bike shouldn’t be anybody’s but Hav’s. Ever. He built the perfect bike for him. I never want anybody to think of it as mine.” He brushed his hand over the new leather of the seat on his own Sportster. “He bought this for me. This is the only bike I want to ride.”

Badger looked past him at the row of Horde bikes. The row was too long—not only Havoc’s bike, but Isaac’s bike, and Len’s. Mikey’s, Omen’s, Dan’s. The bike of every Horde patch who had fallen or gone away in the service of the club, standing like silent sentries. Four patch deaths, not counting the traitors who would never count. Three Prospects, as well. In six years. Two men doing hard time.

Yeah. Badger wanted a quiet life.

“I think it’s right, Nolan. You know nobody would hold you up, once you’re patched, if you want to take on Hav’s bike. But you’re right. I look at that machine and can still see him on it, riding down 44, so fast his exhaust is practically on fire, grinning like a psycho.”

“I miss him every day. Still. It’s been a year and a half, longer than I even knew him, but it still fuckin’ hurts.”

“I know, man. I’m sorry.”

Nolan shrugged again. “I don’t think I want it to stop. It’s kinda like he’s still around, he’s in my head so much.”

Badger had no response, but he understood. They stood silently for a few minutes more, then Nolan sighed. “Okay. I guess I should go back out there before my mom starts to think I’m back in the dorm gettin’ laid.”

“Are you? Not right now, I mean, but…you gettin’ laid?”

Nolan grinned. “Dude. I hang out here a lot. I’m not a monk.” The swagger in that statement was compromised a little by his bright blush.

“Good for you. And wrap. Every. Fucking. Time.”

“I do. I will. I’m not a moron, either.”

~oOo~

There was a time when a whole-club run to Los Angeles would have been the highlight of Badger’s year—hell, maybe even his life. That time had passed. Now, he had a pregnant wife at home, and even though this trip and what it meant was fucking awesome, a wide cord of worry bound his head up. No reason he should be worried. Adrienne was in her second trimester, and everything was going the way it should. But he was worried. What if something happened, and he was two thousand miles away?

But this run was more important than his irrational fears. For the first time in its existence, the Night Horde MC was welcoming a new charter—Night Horde Southern California. That warranted a full-club run, and he was the VP, a thought that still floored him. Even the Prospects, including Nolan, had joined them, riding in the van behind their bikes, carrying, among other things, their gear, new kuttes for the SoCal charter, and a large metal Flaming Mane for their new clubhouse.

Even with the mother charter’s—that was them!—support, it had taken the SoCal contingent some serious time to get their shit straight and pull together the resources they needed to open a clubhouse and start a new bike business. Untangling from the Scorpions had been complicated, despite the vacuum created by the implosion of that mother charter. The Horde had withheld the patch until they were fully ready to go. But they were solid now, finding and rehabbing a property that easily housed both the business and the clubhouse. About forty miles east of the city rather than in Los Angeles itself. Apparently, that was a good thing, with a little more room to maneuver both physically and in terms of their business opportunities.

Badger figured they knew what they were talking about, but to him it seemed crowded as hell from about a hundred miles outside the city. Holy fuck, there were a lot of people in California. And not a damn one of them paid any attention to what they were doing on the road. It would be bitterly ironic if the Horde ended up a giant grease stain on a California freeway, on their way to what would be, in the end, a fucking party.

They made it to the clubhouse whole and undented. The Horde SoCal had a city block on the edge of a town in the LA suburbs. Their new custom bike business, Virtuoso Cycles, had opened that week, with a client list carried over from the previous business.

As they rode up, Hoosier and Bart came through the clubhouse doors onto the sidewalk. Once they’d parked and dismounted, all the men embraced. As Show, Badger, and Dom clasped Bart, they all grinned maniacally. Even Show. Bart was coming back into the Horde fold. Years before, he’d given up his patch to save them. To have him back, even with Isaac and Len away, felt like the cycle of death they’d been stuck in was finally ending. Bart was back. Isaac and Len would come home eventually. And then the Horde would be strong and right.

Hoosier led them all into the clubhouse, sending their own Prospects out to help Kellen, Nolan, and Thumper unpack the van. Taking in the brand new clubhouse, Badger stopped and laughed. Old or new, he guessed it didn’t matter. An MC clubhouse always looked like a rec room in somebody’s ratty basement. It didn’t smell right yet, but it would soon. The paint here was fresh, the walls blood red and the floor a kind of silvery grey, the woodwork black. There were no gouges in the walls or floor yet. But the furniture was thrift store and yard sale stuff, the shit nobody would have heartburn about if it got torn up, or puked on, flattened during a brawl, burned with a dropped cigar, or who knew what else. The décor was beer and motorcycle signs, neon or metal, and pinup posters—the pinups in this front room, at least, were sort of dressed. Pool table, video games, and, here in LA, a foosball table, and a stripper pole in one corner.

Where some MCs had a stripper pole like this, the Night Horde Missouri had a fancy chess set. Or they used to. Show had packed it up when Isaac and Len had gone away. It was the first thing he’d done when he’d returned from leaving them with the Feds.

The SoCal crew had already voted to take the patch, so this trip really was for a party. They got a tour of the business and the clubhouse, and then they went into the SoCal Keep. The table in the middle of this room was just a table—solid oak, substantial, but just a table. The men for whom this new clubhouse was home sat around it; the Missouri Horde stood behind. Hoosier stood next to Show. In a way, this was Show’s meeting.

“I’m not one to make a speech. But I’ll say we’ve been on a hard road together. We fought hard, and we all lost a lot.” He nodded, and Tommy came over with an armload of kuttes. “What this means to me—creating this charter, free and clear of all our old bullshit, is a new start. And I’m glad we’re starting together.” He picked up the kutte on top of the stack, already with the President’s patch sewn onto the right breast. He turned it around, showing the Flaming Mane, buttressed by the words
Night Horde
on the top rocker and
Southern California
on the bottom. Then he held it up by the shoulders, and Hoosier slid his arms into it.

~oOo~

When they came out of the Keep, all the old ladies and their families were there. Riley was there with Lexi, her and Bart’s little girl. Badger thought for a minute—she was about two. A pretty little thing, with soft blond curls and light eyes. Riley clearly was pregnant again.

He thought to go over and say ‘hi,’ but then Bart dropped his arm over his shoulders. “Hey, brother.” Bart nodded at Badge’s VP patch and then at his own. “Who’d a thunk, huh?”

Badger laughed. “Not me. I’m fuckin’ glad to have you wearing the Mane again, man. I can’t say how glad.”

“Me too, me too. Everything’s gonna work out. When Isaac and Len get home, thing’s’ll be good. We got through.” He lifted his drink, indicating Nolan, who was chatting up some sweet little thing in an itty bitty skirt. “And Hav’s boy is prospecting? Damn. I know he’s proud, wherever he is.”

“Yeah, that’s right. He’s a great kid, too.” Badger turned his eyes to the old ladies sitting together. “Looks like Riley’s got another bun.”

Bart looked over at his old lady; their eyes met, and Riley blew him a quick kiss. “Yeah. Gonna have a son. Her series ended. I’m trying to talk her into retiring. I think she might be softening to the idea. She hates to leave Lex with the nanny.” Bart turned to Badger. “Hear you got one on the way, too.”

“Yep. Little boy for us, too. Due in September.”

“That’s great, man. Those girls over there are the best things in my life.”

“Yeah. It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“How having a family makes everything make sense.”

“No shit, Badge. No shit.” Bart turned to the bar and set his empty glass down. “I’m gonna send my girls home. Then let’s get shitfaced.”

~oOo~

It was late when they got back to Signal Bend. They’d pushed on through the last leg, pulling into the clubhouse well into the wee hours of the morning. Show had sent them all wherever they wanted to go, saying there was no need to meet in the middle of the fucking night. Then he’d ridden home. Badger had followed immediately after, feeling anxious to see Adrienne, even though he’d spoken to her when they’d stopped for supper.

Except for the light over the front porch, and another over the stove, the house was dark. Hector had come padding down the hallway, growling softly, as soon as Badger opened the front door, but he was wagging his tail by the time he came into the living room.

“Good boy.” Badger ruffled his ears. “Let’s go to bed.”

Adrienne was deeply asleep, curled on her side, her hand lying on her little swell of belly. His son was in there. His son. Henry Robert, named for his father, and for hers.

He stripped and slid between the sheets, curving his body around hers. She moaned quietly and shifted, lifting her head. “You’re home. Yay.”

“Shhh. Sleep, babe. I’ll say hello the right way in the morning. You get your sleep.” She nodded and slipped instantly back under. He lay there for a long time, listening to her deep, steady breath, feeling the peace in her slumber slow his own rhythms down. This quiet life was the life he wanted.

He needed it to last.