Behold the Stars (29 page)

“Come in,” she called. He went in to find her reading, curled up in the leather armchair he’d built—the first new piece of furniture he’d finished for the house. Her face had almost healed, and she was curled up in a big sweater and jeans that had gotten a bit baggy over the past few weeks. She looked fresh and lovely, even though the bruises and cuts weren’t entirely gone.

There were stacks of books everywhere and boxes more that hadn’t been opened yet. The contents of her storage locker had arrived. In the kitchen, there was a pretty amazing set of Italian dishes and crockery, too, from her grandmother. And drooping over a stack of boxes in the corner of this room was a decaying, black and white spotted, stuffed dog.

He walked over and kissed the top of her head. She leaned into it, and he sighed his relief. She was warming to his touch again. It would be some time yet before they could again be intimate together, until she’d healed completely—if she was even ready then—but she no longer stiffened when his skin touched hers, and that was enough.

“I gotta get going pretty soon.” He’d called the Horde in to discuss what appeared to be the end of the Ellis problem. In the few weeks since Lilli had been taken, a lot had changed. “But before I go, I want to talk to you about something. Got a minute for me?”

She set her book aside. “Sure. What’s up?”

He got down on his knees in front of her chair and took her hands in his. “I want to marry you, Sport. Now. We’re clear of the shit, and the baby’s okay. I want to do what you said—fly out to California and get your dad’s ‘Cuda, then stop in Reno and get married. I want to go tomorrow.”

The incredulity had grown in her eyes as he’d talked, and now she said, “Isaac…,” making it clear in the way she drew out the syllables that she thought he’d lost his mind.

But he hadn’t. This was right. There was no good reason in the world that they couldn’t elope right now. “Come on, baby. Let’s put it all behind us, get to our future. Come on. Come away with me.”

“Isaac, it’s December. If it’s snowing, we’ll never get through the mountains without chains, and I’m not putting chains on my dad’s car.”

“If it’s snowing, we’ll go south and get hitched in Vegas.”

“It’s almost Christmas. I’m planning that big-ass party.”

“You’re good at giving orders. Delegate. The guys will help. And there’s a whole mess of women who’d be all for gettin’ involved. We’ll make sure we’re back in time. Come on, Sport. It’s my Christmas wish. All I want is a wife.”

“You’re insane.”

He laughed. “Where you’re concerned, that is not news.”

She sighed, but she was smiling a small, sweet smile. “Okay. Then get your ass out of here, because I have a lot to do today if we’re running off in the morning.”

Grinning so widely his cheeks ached, he raised up on his knees and kissed her. She kissed him back and, without thinking about it, thinking only of his relief and happiness, he deepened the kiss, cradling her face in his hands and pushing his tongue into his mouth.

She stiffened and pulled back.

“I’m sorry, baby.” Pushing his disappointment away, he kissed her forehead. “Sorry.”

“No—it’s okay. I just…”

“I know. It’s okay. We’re okay.” Picking up her hands again and kissing them both. “Get busy, Sport. I have to get to the clubhouse. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Isaac stood and headed to the door. Before he stepped through, he turned back and said, “All the reservations are taken care of. You just take care of what you need to do. The trip is done.”

She smirked at him. “And if I’d said no?”

He winked and headed downstairs. He’d had to believe she’d say yes.

~oOo~

The Horde were heroes. Fucking heroes.
Folk
heroes, even. Isaac was amazed. The gunfight down Main Street had drawn the attention of the media as well as state and federal law. News crews had descended on the town in the hours and days afterward. “The Shootout in Signal Bend”—that’s what people were calling it. Like it had starred John Wayne and Clint Eastwood. Dan had hit the nose when he’d said it was like the Wild West.

Dan.

They’d buried him and the others in the town cemetery. MCs from all over the country—even those with which the Horde had no relationship—had sent representatives. The funeral at St. John’s, and the wake in the clubhouse after, had been covered by several major news organizations and maybe a dozen bloggers.

They were heroes because by the end of that day, the two major gangs in St. Louis—the Underdawgs and the Northside Knights—were decimated. The Horde had nothing to do with the demise of the Underdawgs, their friends, but the general populace was no less pleased they were gone, and no less happy to credit the Horde with it.

Lawrence Ellis had been simultaneously exposed as one of the most powerful drug kingpins in the country and eliminated. Bart and Rick had—anonymous and heavily shielded—blasted out to all those news organizations, and the FBI, the information they’d hacked from Ellis. That included the footage Bart had pulled down from that office building in St. Louis. Most of it. He’d destroyed the worst parts of what had happened to Lilli.

The day before, Isaac had taken a call from a Hollywood producer, wanting to “option” the story. Whatever that fucking meant.
Hollywood
. The guy had spoken some kind of hipster lingo that aggravated the
fuck
out of Isaac, who’d told him to shove his “option.” But then the guy had said that the story was out there and would get told. The Horde and the town could profit from it, or somebody else could. As he’d talked, Isaac had realized that Signal Bend needed to control the story, not just profit from it. So Isaac, grudgingly, told this “Stan” guy that he’d get back to him. He’d take it to the table.

Meth was dead to Signal Bend. The focus on the town, and the demise of the Underdawgs, their primary buyer, had killed it as a viable economic plan. At first, Isaac had lamented to Lilli the irony of all this hero worship, which had saved them from the specter of prosecution—there was no appetite at any level for putting away the guys that had accomplished in a day what law enforcement had been trying for years to get done, and the Feds had a real interest in keeping Lilli’s past controlled—being the thing that killed the town after all.

But Lilli had said, “Use it.” In the first conversation in which she’d fully participated since she was taken, she’d described ways that the town’s newfound notoriety—no, popularity—might be useful. It wouldn’t bring the family farms back, but it could draw people to Main Street, and bring life to the shops, to Marie’s and the other little cafes. More growth could feed off that. They’d had themselves a modern-day shootout, and the town had banded together and fought off the bad guys.

And now Hollywood was calling.

Isaac sat at the head of the table and laid out the story. Though the Horde had met at table a few times over the past few weeks, those meetings had been focused on specifics, dealing with the fallout of that day—understanding the potential legal risks to the Horde and its allies, organizing the cleanup and repairs, planning Dan’s memorial, updates on Vic and Badger’s conditions (both were pulling through and would recover). They’d put Vic on a year’s probation, his patch in the balance if he fucked up even once. This was the first meeting in which they were looking forward.

“We gotta get out of the meth business. We got nobody to buy what we’d be selling. The void in St. Louis will fill, but we don’t know by who, and we got no relationships with any of the likely players. It’s too hot. We got a pass—and that’s a fuckin’ miracle—because we took the Northsiders and Ellis down. We need to use this chance to get on the right side. Dandy and Becker are on board. Even the Sheriff is ready to be out. These last few months have killed greed.”

He was gratified to see the heads around the table nodding. He’d known they’d be in—no one had any appetite to continue the way they’d been going—but it still felt good to know for sure. He looked at Show, who’d lost so much to this business. His VP was staring at his hands where they gripped the edge of the table. He was working his way back, Isaac knew, but it was a slow go. No telling whether Show would ever be the same. Isaac hoped so. They were a team. If Isaac was good at the head of the table, it was only because Show was at his side.

He had a sense that the table was unified, but a sense was not enough. “All those in favor of ending the meth trade in Signal Bend. Aye.” He went around the table: Show. Bart. C.J., with Vic’s proxy. Havoc. Len. It was a small table these days, but it was unified. They were out of meth.

Isaac nodded. “Carries. I’ve called the cookers all in, and I want us all in the meeting. That’s three kitchens down. All those people not making or spending money. We’re gonna need to give them a way to earn. We can put them to work on the rebuild, but that’s a short term deal, and the insurance money isn’t a get-rich scheme.”

Bart leaned in. He was still in a sling, but nearly back to top form. “I got some help for that. We can do a Kickstarter, get funding for the rebuild that way. Ties in with the idea of using the shootout as a public draw.”

C.J. asked, “What the fuck is a kickstarter?”

Bart laughed. “It’s a website for crowdfunding. Basically, you start an account, describe a project you need money for, and then ask people to give you money. You give them some kind of swag for certain levels of donation—twenty bucks, fifty, a hundred—like we could get coffee mugs made or t-shirts, whatever, and—”

“Fuckin’ charity?
T-shirts
?” C.J. snarled and crossed his arms. “That’s bullshit. What’s twenty bucks gonna do for us, anyway? Asshole.”

Unfazed, Bart grinned at the oldest member. “Dude. People make fucking millions for their projects.
Movies
have been funded this way. We’re rebuilding a town. Everybody thinks we did some kind of public service—think about it as getting paid by the public for it. Considering the publicity, I bet we get enough to make a nest egg for the town.”

C.J. scowled at Bart. “Call me
dude
again, asshole, and I’ll feed you your teeth. Charity’s charity.”

“Okay, guys. Ceej is on record. I say we vote. All in favor of Bart doing this Kickstarter thing. Hands.” Isaac raised his hand and looked around the table. Every hand but C.J.’s was up.

“Carries. Bart, do your thing. Now—do we talk to Hollywood or not? I expect the town to follow our lead. Hands for this, too.” Again, every hand but C.J.’s—Signal Bend was going Hollywood.

“One more piece of business.” Isaac felt oddly nervous about announcing the next part. He cleared his throat. “Show’s in charge for the next few days. I’ll be reachable, but I’m taking my lady and making an honest woman out of her. She’s baking my kid in her oven.”

Show turned sharply at that last bit of news. Isaac hadn’t said anything to anyone about Lilli being pregnant. Len slapped his back. Havoc applauded. Bart was grinning like an idiot. C.J. sat expressionless. Isaac was getting damn tired of the old man’s attitude, but he ignored him and took the congratulations of his other brothers with a broad smile. Meeting Show’s eyes, he saw a somber kind of hope.

And then Show reached out and grasped his arm. “That’s a good woman. Don’t fuck it up.”

With a laugh, Isaac nodded and turned back to the table. “We leave in the morning—flying to California to pick up her dad’s ’68 Barracuda and then driving back. Stopping in Nevada to do the deed. Right now she’s working out instructions for the Christmas party. I know it sucks worse than a gunfight, but I need a volunteer to handle the party plans while we’re gone.” The table was silent, the men shifting awkwardly in their seats. “Come on, brothers. It’s just telling a bunch of chicks what to do. You’re all great at that.”

Len sighed. “Are there flowers and shit?”

Isaac laughed. “This is Lilli. The party is here. No flowers. Probably a Christmas tree.”

“Fuck. Fine, I’ll do it.”

“My man!” Isaac slapped his SAA on the back. “Okay. Let’s talk to the cookers.” He gaveled the meeting to an end.

~oOo~

“Come on, Sport. You’re making us late for our own wedding.”

“Chill, love. There’s a reason I don’t dress like this. It’s a pain in the ass.”

Isaac stood outside the bathroom door. He didn’t know what her fuss was about. They were heading down to the wedding chapel in the hotel for a ten-minute wedding. He was dressed the way he always dressed—except that, yes, he’d made sure his kutte and boots were extra clean, and, sure, maybe he’d taken a couple of extra minutes with his hair, leaving a lot of it loose, the way she liked.

The day before, they’d landed in Sacramento and picked up a rental car for the ride to Stockton. They’d collected the ‘Cuda—which was indeed a magnificent car—then returned the rental (him following her) and headed for Reno. They’d gotten lucky; though there was heavy snow cover in Tahoe, the roads were clear. Lilli had insisted on driving all the way to Reno, much to Isaac’s chagrin. He did not ride bitch. Not when a woman was behind the wheel. But she’d pointed out that, first, it was her car, and second, she hadn’t been able to drive it for years. So he’d acquiesced.

She drove like fucking Danica Patrick. Jesus. He’d actually been nervous, speeding over winding mountain roads, weaving around slower traffic—which was everyone. He’d been damn glad to see the hotel. But she was letting him drive the rest of the way. He had an image to uphold, so they’d be making it home in record time, even with a honeymoon night here in the hotel tonight.

Assuming they got married today. The chapel had a strict “fifteen minute” policy, only waiting fifteen minutes past the scheduled appointment before they moved on to the next wedding. They were in that grace period now.

Finally, the knob turned, and Isaac stepped back as Lilli came out of the bathroom.

Holy fuck. She was…holy fuck…wearing a short little white lace dress, with sleeves that were almost long, showing a
lot
of leg. And the most astonishing pair of sky-high heels he’d ever seen. Red suede. Jesus. He’d never seen her wear heels before. Or a dress, for that matter. Lilli had great legs and a
stupendous
ass. The outfit was definitely working for her. He shifted his swollen cock, trying to find a place for it in his jeans.