Sanctuary (Freaks MC Book 2) (6 page)

“
Good. Now I'm hungry. Can we finish this soup?”

“
That's it?”

“
For now.” She stood and kissed him on the top of the head. “You going to help me or what?”

~ oOo ~

“Running out on me, big guy?”

He grinned as she knelt up on the bed and, wrapping her arms around him, pressed her beautiful tits against his back. “Gotta head out. Sorry, baby girl.” He tightened the straps on the knee brace then, twisting around, pulled her onto his lap. “Gotta head up north... Reckon I'll be gone awhile. I'm....”

She cut him short with a kiss. “It's okay. You want some breakfast?”

“
Nah. I'll stop off somewhere.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “Go back to sleep.”

“
I'm awake now.” She slid off his lap and pulled on a pair of leggings and a flannel shirt.

“
Isn't that mine?”

“
Not anymore.” She grinned and twirled around. “Tell me I don't look hot.”

“
You always look hot.” He stood and pulled her into his arms. “Even when you're wearing a shirt about ten times too big. Well, I guess since you're up, you can make me some pancakes. Now get into that kitchen and cook for your man.” He waited till she'd left the room, then sank back onto the bed and picked up his jeans from the floor. He searched inside one of the pockets and pulled out an Oxy, which he dry swallowed. It wasn't a problem, and if he wasn't faced with a eight-hour journey he'd not have taken it, but he didn't want her to worry. He hated to see the concern in her eyes.

~ oOo~

Emma leaned on the doorframe and watched him ride away. Despite his best efforts to hide it, it was clear he was in pain, and now he was going to ride for the best part of a day to Seattle.

She looked down as Blue whined. “Hard isn't it, boy.”

He'd never really told her what had happened to his leg – he'd still had a dressing over the wound when they first met – all he'd ever said was that he'd pissed off a man with a gun. She'd never pushed and pretended not to notice when he limped. There were other injuries, too. A trick shoulder from laying down his bike that kept him awake sometimes, a long scar down the right side of his torso, and on more than one occasion he'd come to her bruised and bleeding. She turned and, with a sigh, walked back into her house. She'd always tried not to think about what could happen to him, but it was hard when the evidence was staring her in the face.

EIGHT

As chapters went, Seattle was one of the most harmonious. It was bigger than many, but it wasn’t rich. The patches worked regular nine to five jobs away from the club, and apart from its dues, the only real cash it brought in was from protection runs and security work. Wolf was a good President; his officers appeared loyal and, despite his advancing years, no one was making moves to take the gavel. Samson had always thought that if he was going to settle anywhere, it would be here.

Recently, though, there seemed to be tension amongst the ranks. Many chapters on the west coast ran chop shops, breaking up cars and shipping the parts around the country. Seattle was one of the few that didn't and had flown pretty much under the authorities' radar. The chapter had agreed to store the parts and escort the shipments out east, and although it was proving lucrative, it was causing some unwanted attention, and this was making Wolf in particular very paranoid. Samson couldn't help but wonder if there was more to this paranoia than just the Feds sniffing around.

“Samson, brother.” Barney was leaning against the bar – a bottle of Bud in one hand and a blonde in the other. He grabbed her hair and pulling her head back, kissed her. “Gimme five, sweet tits. Wanna talk to my bro.” He slapped her ass and watched as she shimmied away before turning his attention to Samson. “Thought you were in Reno.”

“
Nah, something came up. Gave the gig to Fox. Gonna head on up to Vancouver in the morning.” He headed behind the bar and helped himself to a beer. “Any word on this witness?”

“
He's a bartender, goes by the name of Billy Smitt. Don't worry, bro, we got it covered. He's a bit too fond of the horses, shouldn't be a problem persuading him to forget what he saw.”

“
And the assholes that killed Mikey.”

“
Still working on it. But it's looking like it's some two-bit street gang getting too big for its boots.” Barney shrugged. “Whoever they are, they have got some balls. They've been selling meth right under our noses, and as fast as we take down their cookhouses they're setting up another.”

“
Where can I find them?”

“
As far as we know, they're based around the old docks, but honestly they're showing up everywhere. We didn't pay them much attention at first. Just a bunch of asshole street dealers across town. Wolf's getting worried, though. They're setting up shop wherever they like and stealing from businesses under our protection. Fuckers ain't showing no respect.”

“
So we take 'em down.” Samson looked around the dimly lit bar. This was not a chapter made up of young men; the youngest were in their forties and most were nearer sixty. The days of turf wars and running battles with rival clubs were long behind them, and most of the money the club brought in was – for the most part – legit. “If we let these assholes disrespect us, what's to stop others doing the same? They killed Mikey and attacked me. We cannot let this go, brother.”

“
I know.” Barney sighed. “We're doing what we can. But they're slippery and always seem one step ahead of us.”

“
So we up our game. I got some business over the border needs taking care of. I can be back here in a week. I'll reach out to the other nomads. Show these assholes who runs this town.”

~ oOo ~

While Deke was doing whatever it was he did in Canada, Emma was biting her tongue as the stuck-up bitch of a realtor wandered around her house, taking notes and occasionally sighing and shaking her head. All she wanted was to know how much her house was worth, not get a critique on her choice of colors for the bathroom. She felt her teeth grind together as Ms. Hawkins ran a perfectly manicured finger along the bookshelf. “Well?”

“
Well, a lot depends on how quickly you want to sell.” Ms. Hawkins wrinkled her nose as the smell of rotting corpse wafted across the kitchen, and she scowled at Blue laying in the corner. “It is a cute little house, and there's room to extend out back. But – can I be honest here? – The décor is a little too... specific for most people's tastes. And the back yard isn't what I'd call attractive. For a developer that wouldn't be an issue. He'd probably just tear the whole thing down and start again. But for someone looking for a home it may be somewhat off-putting.”

“
Off-putting.”

“
Yes. I'm afraid so. If you want to get the market value and a quick sale, it would be wise to lose some of the clutter and change the color scheme to something a little more neutral.”

“
Neutral.”

“
Yes. Cream or beige is quite popular. I'm not sure about how you tackle the yard, but it might be worth getting someone to clear it and lay a lawn. You may not recoup the expense, but it could make the difference when it comes to making a sale.” She smiled. “I'll call you tomorrow with a figure I think we should market this at and if you're agreeable, we'll take it from there.”

“
Okay. Thank you.”

As soon as she was alone, Emma sank onto the chair and, with her elbows on the table, put her face into her hands. She wasn't stupid and she knew that not everyone shared her tastes, but –naively maybe – had thought that the person who bought her house would be someone who just fell in love with it. It's just a house, the mantra she'd been repeating since deciding to move, sounded hollow now. The thought that the lovely little home that she'd lived in for nearly ten years could fall foul of the developers wrecking ball made her feel physically sick.

~ oOo ~

The clubhouse just outside the Vancouver city limits was owned by a small local support club and resembled an oversized hunting lodge, complete with the heads of dead animals on the wall. It wasn't the first time Samson had visited, but he wasn't a regular in the small barroom and was causing quite a stir with the girls. As he leaned back on the leather sofa, his feet resting on the low table in front of him, enjoying his cold beer in front of a roaring log fire, he became aware of fingers trailing down his chest. He frowned. “Don't recall inviting you to sit down, darling.”

“
Thought you might be lonely.” She gave him what she clearly thought was an alluring smile.

There was lipstick on her tooth and someone had applied her makeup with a trowel. Vaguely he wondered what she would look like if she washed all that crap off her face. “Well you thought wrong. Take a hike.”

This was ostensibly a social call, just catching up with some old friends, but as supporters of the Freaks, the club had handed over the bar to him and a few of his nomad brothers to sit down and discuss business. The chapter was becoming too thinly spread, and he wanted to sound them out about splitting the chapter into two before taking it to the club. As if to prove his point, only six of his thirteen brothers had been able to make it, but they had all voted by proxy and after a somewhat heated discussion had agreed that this was really the best option.

Now, though, it was time to kick back, and his fellow nomads were partaking in the delights that the club had to offer. Not for Samson, though. Like a dick, he'd promised to keep it in his pants. So while his brothers buried themselves in Canadian pussy, he was sitting in the corner, sulking.

His cell vibrated and he pulled it out of his pocket, grinning as he saw her name. “Hey, baby girl.”

“
Hey.” He heard a loud sniff. Shit, she was crying. “Is my house off-putting, Deke?”

“
No, baby. Your house is perfect. Is that what the realtor said?”

“
She said.. She said...” Shit she wasn't just crying, she was really bawling. “She said it was too specific... I don't even know what that means, too specific for what? And she said the yard was ugly, and I should lose the clutter. She said I should paint it beige!”

“
Oh, baby.” He wanted to wrap his arms around her until the crying stopped, then find that insensitive bitch and shake her till her teeth rattled. Could she not see how much Emma loved that house? Didn't she notice how her eyes lit up when she explained that in her kitchen, no matter what the weather, the sun was shining? That it wasn't clutter, it was things she thought beautiful? That ugly yard was where she stood wracked with guilt at the sight of dead slugs in the beer traps and had then spent hours scouring the internet trying to find a plant they liked more than her lettuces so they could eat them instead. Did the stupid bitch not see how carefully it was planned out? Did she not stand out there listening to the girls clucking away and smell the flowers she'd planted for the butterflies?

“
I know it's just a house. I guess I sound stupid, huh.”

“
No, you don't.” This was his fault. She was selling the home she loved to be nearer to him. She was crying because of him. “Emma, you don't have to...”

“
Yes, I do.” He could almost see her trying to compose herself. “I'm sorry. I just needed to hear your voice. I'll be okay.”

He'd needed to hear hers, too. “You can call me when you're not drunk or having a meltdown, you know.”

“I know.” Her laugh was a little shaky. “But I try to limit calls to emergencies only.”

“
Getting drunk or having to paint your house beige are emergencies? Shit, baby girl. What are you doing with me?”

She was silent for a beat. “You think I'm a pussy?”

“No, I think you're perfect.”

~ oOo ~

In the two months he'd been away, Emma had transformed her home. She'd boxed up her stuff and put some of her furniture into storage. Deke had to admit it would be nice not to have to yell “Goddammit, woman! Get rid of that fucking piano!” every time he stubbed his toe on the fucking thing, but the room was too empty now. All the rooms except the kitchen were now painted cream, and she'd even stripped and re-varnished the living room floor. He stood with his arms around her and looked around. “I'm sorry.” It was all he could think of to say. The room felt…dead. It wasn't her anymore.

She smiled. “It's okay, Deke.” Her hands found their way up his tee shirt. “It's okay, I love you. I want to be with you. It's only a house.”

She was so beautiful - he bent and kissed her - she tasted so good. He wanted to taste all of her. To feel all of her. “Emma...” She reached up and grabbing his hair, kissed him harder, her teeth grazing his lip. Reluctantly, he pulled away. “You really need to get naked.”

He followed suit as she began pulling off her clothes. Jesus, she got more perfect every time he saw her. She frowned. “Deke, you're doing that staring thing again.”

“Admiring.”

“
Whatever.” She stepped closer and with her hands flat against his chest pushed him backwards until his calves were pressed against the sofa and he had no choice but to sit, then climbed onto his lap and began to bite his neck.

He wanted to push her off, to force her onto her knees. He wanted to control her. To own her. He wanted... He felt, rather than heard himself moan as her tongue trailed across his throat, and, grabbing her hair, he pulled her head back and began to kiss her, more forcefully than before. Fuck it, he wanted her to do with him whatever the fuck she liked.

~ oOo ~

“
Is he okay?” Deke leaned his forearms on the kitchen table and watched as the dog struggled to his feet.

“
He's old.” Emma scratched Blue's head. “Doubt he'll last until the spring.”

“
Shit. Isn't there something you can do?” He knew the dog was old, but he hated the thought of Emma losing her companion as well as her home, and if he was honest, he was fond of the old mutt.

“
Not really. I give him supplements to help his joints, but I'm not going to let him go on much longer. The poor guy's in pain, and it isn't fair on him.” She smiled a little sadly. “He's had a good long life and I'll miss him, but it would be selfish of me to let him suffer.”

“
Shit.” His voice sounded gruff and he cleared his throat in an effort to dislodge the lump that was stuck there. Blue took his usual place under the table and rested his head on Deke's lap. “Can't the vet give him something for the pain?”

“
Yes, and she does. But I don't want him to end his days unable to enjoy life.” She sat down next to him and slipped her hand into his. “That's the good thing about being a dog. If you are suffering, someone will end it for you. We humans don't get that option.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “He's got awhile yet.”

He looked down at the mutt. Who knew what his parentage was. He'd guess there was a bit of greyhound in there, but the rest was a mystery, and the result wasn't pretty. It wasn't that he didn't like dogs – or any animal for that matter – but he didn't get people keeping pets. If she'd had a Doberman or a German Shepherd, something that was an effective guard dog, he would have understood it. He even sort of understood something cute and fluffy that she could cuddle. But she had chosen a lanky, mottled gray, wirehaired hound with mismatched eyes and a face that only a mother could love. The fucking thing had pissed in his boots, had farts so bad they probably contravened some UN resolution, and would try to kill the chickens the second he thought your back was turned.