Strength & Courage (The Night Horde SoCal Book 1) (20 page)

“I know. But
talk
to me.”

He stopped and pulled back to look down into her eyes. Wit supplanted confusion as he understood what she wanted. He grinned. “I want to fuck you. I want to put my cock inside you and feel your silky, wet pussy grip me. I want to hook your gorgeous legs over my shoulders and shove into you so hard you can’t breathe.” He bent close, hovering over her mouth. “That what you want, baby?”

Every word he’d spoken had made her insides quiver and reach. Muse didn’t talk all that much normally, but he was positively eloquent when it came to dirty talk. “Oh, fuck yes,” she breathed. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him every bit as hard as he’d kissed her.

While their mouths devoured each other, Muse moved his hands to the front of Sid’s jeans and opened them, pushing one hand into her underwear and between her legs. When his fingers slid into her wet slit, he grunted harshly and slammed his hips into hers, pressing her tightly to the wall just outside her kitchen. He stayed on her clit, the pressure hard and direct, intense almost to the point of pain—almost, but not quite—and her hips and legs jumped spastically, beyond her control.

Without backing off her mouth, Muse gritted, “Come, baby. Wet my hand.” He changed the way his finger moved on her, and the blunt edge of his short nail just grazed the swollen nub of her clit. She screamed, and her legs gave out. Muse held her with his arm around her waist while the climax had her clamped in its teeth.

“Aw, yeah. That’s fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his mouth in her hair now.

As soon as she had come down enough to relax, he swept her up in his arms and took her down the short hallway to her bedroom. He laid her on her bed and yanked her jeans and underwear off, tossing them in a heap to the floor. Then he stripped out of his own clothes, laying his folded kutte on her dresser, then casting the rest of his clothes wherever. She pulled her sweatshirt off. She hadn’t been wearing a bra.

She kept a box of condoms in her dresser now, and after he set his rings on the top, he opened the drawer and grabbed one. Sid watched him, taking in his beautiful, perfectly cut body. He was like a piece of living art, muscle from his feet to his neck, his face handsome and full of character. The actual art, his tattoos, were just the glaze on perfection.

He turned to the bed, smiling his wry smile, and came onto the mattress on his knees, between her legs. She lifted her hips at him, but he didn’t take the invitation. Instead, he put his hands on her breasts, tweaking her nipples between his thumbs and the sides of his index fingers.

“Your nipples are so damn pretty. Little and pink, and when I do this”—he plucked—“your eyes roll up and your chest comes up. Makes my mouth water.”

He bent down and filled his mouth with a breast, sucking and flicking his tongue over her nipple at the same time. His hand kept at her other nipple, and Sid thought she’d go mad with the intensity of her pleasure. Each pulse of his mouth, each flick of his tongue or his fingers, sent shocks of pure sensation through her belly and into her core. She was making little grunting noises in time with his rhythmic attention to her breasts, and she put her hands on his head and held him close.

But she needed more. She needed to come. “Muse,” she panted. “I need to be full of you.”

He grunted against her breast and sat back, releasing her with a sucking
pop
. “That’s good, baby. Because I need to fill you up.”

Kneeling, he tore open the condom packet and wrapped up, then hooked her legs over his shoulders and dragged her hips up, shoving into her until she cried out at his depth. Then he shifted forward, leaning on his hands, his hair flopping sexily over his forehead, and fucked her so hard she couldn’t breathe.

She’d been primed and ready, and she came quickly, moaning
ohohoh
in breathless grunts until she couldn’t make sound anymore. Her climax, once on her, seemed to last forever, waves of ecstatic need coming one after the next until she thought she’d pass out before it was over.

As she finally hit and topped her peak, Muse growled, “Fuck, baby, oh fuck yeah. Oh sweet fuck!” Then he slammed into her even harder, fast and desperate, changing his hold and pulling her against his chest. “FUCK!” he nearly shouted in her ear, and then he went still, his damp body clenched around hers.

He gently moved her legs down to the bed and then lay on her. After a minute or so of lying together in a sweaty, spent heap, Muse lifted out of her and rolled to his side. As he pulled off the condom, he said, “Move in with me.”

And Sid’s breath stopped.

He got up and took the tied-off condom to her bathroom. When he came back, she hadn’t moved—or breathed—and he stopped and leaned on the door jamb. “Sid?”

She took a breath and rose up onto her elbows. Best to be straight with him. “It’s too fast, Muse.”

Instead of getting his feelings hurt, he nodded. “You’re right. It’s fast. But we’ve been together every night since…since we took Cliff up the mountain, switching back and forth between here and my place. Why not just settle?”

“At your place?”

“Or here. I don’t care either way, if you don’t care about having Cliff here. He’ll be happy just to be with us. And I need to keep you safe.”

And they were getting to the thing they actually needed to talk about. “You told me that you understood why I couldn’t have Keanu chasing me around while I was at work. And then you did it anyway. Behind my back. That’s bullshit.”

He didn’t move from the door. Sid found it a little difficult to have this discussion with him while he stood in her doorway, naked and gorgeous, his cock impressive even at rest. “I need to keep you safe.” That repetition was all he offered in explanation.

“Why do you think that’s your job?”

“I love you.” He walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, turning to meet her eyes. But he didn’t expand on his simple statement.

“Me, too.” A frown tightened his mouth, and she added, “I love you, too. But that doesn’t make me your job.”

They stared at each other. Muse didn’t say anything, and neither did Sid. Just before her patience ran out with their impasse, he said, “A violent piece of shit who’s already hurt you has threatened to kill you. You won’t tell me who he is so I can deal with the threat. If you think I’m going to sit around and let you walk into his way alone and unaware, then you need to change your thinking or we need to stop what we’re doing here. Because that’s never going to happen.”

“You just said ‘do it my way or else.’”

“I guess I did.”

“That’s not cool. I can’t deal with that.” She felt her nakedness acutely, and she sat up, intending to reach for her sweatshirt.

But Muse reached out and put his hand on her thigh. “I get it, hon. I know you need to be strong enough to handle your own shit. I’m not saying you’re not. I’m not trying to boss you around. I’m not trying to take your strength away from you. I’m trying to add mine to it. That’s what love is, right? That’s what family is.”

Her mind seemed to stutter. Was that right? Not in her case. Her parents loved her, had always loved her. They’d loved each other once. She loved them. But family was a struggle of will, people trying to control each other, finding and exploiting each other’s weaknesses, fighting each other’s control. A constant battle. Family made you weak, not strong. Family was a weight to be overcome.

She saw it every day at work; she’d lived it every day of her life at home.

But the words he’d said—what he meant, what he wanted—if it was true, if it was possible, that was a good thing. “Is it?”

He cocked his head. “Well, yeah.”

“Even after what your dad did, you think that?”

That brought a crease to his brow, but his voice was calm when he answered. “He’s not my family. My sister is. My grandma was. My brothers—my club.” His forehead smoothed, and his mouth lifted in a little smile. “You.”

“Not your mom?”

That crease again. “No, not her. Sid—where are we here?”

Sitting naked on her bed, talking about real things. But that wasn’t what he meant. “I’m not ready to move in. Not…officially. I need to go slower than that. I need to know we can be partners, and I’m not sure I believe that’s possible, for us or anybody. And no offense, but your house is kind of crappy. You can stay here, bring some stuff over. You know…a toothbrush, some clothes. Cliff. Your pictures. We can try it out.”

“And you won’t fight me when I need to protect you? Whenever I do?”

The honest truth of it was she wanted to be protected. She’d felt real, deep, crippling fear this afternoon outside the courthouse, and it hadn’t been the first time. She’d hated feeling alone in this. Whether Muse could keep her safe or not, she loved him for wanting to.

“I’m not going to tell you the guy’s name. I don’t want you to get in trouble, and if you know who he is, I’m afraid you will. But yeah. I’ll figure something out with Keanu so he can hang out with me at work, too. Which he’s already been doing, actually. But now he can be there with my permission. You can protect me. I want you to.”

Muse smiled fully and leaned in. Just before he kissed her, he said, “Thank you.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Showdown Ryan wasn’t the biggest man Muse had ever met, but he was high on the list. At six-one, one-ninety, Muse thought of himself as big, and most people agreed. But Show must’ve run six-five, two-fifty, every inch of it muscle. His long goatee was mostly grey, as was his long hair under the beanie he wore. His face bore the lines of a hard road traveled. The man probably had fifteen or twenty years on Muse. But he’d hate to meet Show in the ring. His hands were like boulders, and looked like they’d broken plenty of faces in their time.

He looked like he wanted to break a few now.

The mother charter of the Night Horde had arrived in Madrone a couple of hours earlier. Hoosier and Bart had taken Show and Badger, the President and VP of the Missouri charter, back into Hoosier’s office to talk while the rest of the club got acquainted, or reacquainted, as the case had been. Six members were visiting from Missouri, including all their officers: Show and Badger, as well as Tommy, their SAA, and Dom, their IO. Two regular patches, both of them on the young side, had joined the run: Double A and Nolan were their names.

Normally, when brothers arrived for a visit, the atmosphere in the Hall would be electric, a new level of rowdy. But not today. While the men had all been drinking and talking, playing some pool, groping the girls, the tone had been subdued, and they’d all cast glances in the direction of Hoosier’s office, wondering what was going on in there.

Now, they were in the Keep, the Missouri charter standing behind the seated SoCal Charter, ringing the table. Show stood behind Hoosier, his massive arms crossed over his equally massive chest. He was not happy.

Neither was Hoosier. Or anybody else in the room.

Hoosier had just finished describing the state of their problem—the events of the day before and where it seemed to leave them with Wade Ferguson and with the Castillo cartel. As Hoosier spoke, Show’s brows drew in tighter and tighter.

“Where we are now is in holding. Until we know Ferguson’s next play, or the Castillos’, we won’t know how deep this shit pile is.”

“It’s deep enough,” Bart interjected. Hoosier didn’t react badly to it, so he must have been expecting Bart to pick up from him. That, at least, was a good sign. It looked like the head of the table was mending its cracks. “Sherlock and I did some digging. The Castillos are new to the SoCal scene. They’ve been stirring up shit in Mexico, guerilla moves against the bigger players. I’d’ve said they were small time, barely anything you could call a cartel at all, but Ferguson is afraid of them. Ferguson is a power player. If these guys are making him nervous, the shit is deep.”

“Yeah.” Now Sherlock picked up, playing with the thick gauge in his right ear. “And we know why. Since…Santaveria…”—his eyes went to Show’s and then to Badger’s—“Mexico has been quiet. All the players had a sit-down and split up Perro holdings. They are in a truce that’s held up almost four years—which has got to be some kind of record. And it’s still strong. Mexico is more stable than its been in decades. The Castillos are trying to break in. They’ve been trying for a couple of years now and haven’t gotten anywhere. They’ve been steadily elevating, getting crazier, bolder, but they haven’t made any real progress.”

“But it looks like they’ve got new muscle now,” Bart continued. “The Zapatas.”

Trick sat forward. “Wait. I read about them in
The
New Yorker
.”

Despite the tension in the room, Muse smiled. He thought Trick Stavros might well be the only biker in the United States who read
The
New Yorker
regularly. Muse had found one on the back of the toilet once. He himself read all the damn time. But
The New Yorker
—those articles were twenty or thirty pages long, dense and dry as fuck. Muse had come out and tossed the magazine at his brother, telling him if he could read that while he was taking a shit, maybe he needed to get more fiber in his diet. Since Trick was a vegetarian, the joke had been particularly funny to their brothers.

“It was an article about the decline of one of the most notorious cartels in Colombia. They just about ruled the place until maybe five years ago. Then they got pushed out of New England in some fight with the Mafia and they lost their juice. You’re saying they’re working a comeback? Through Mexico.”

Sherlock, Bart, and Hoosier nodded.

That didn’t make sense to Muse, and he could tell by the reaction around the table, by the men sitting and standing both, that he wasn’t alone. “You’re saying that a Colombian cartel is subbing work out to Mexicans? So we made enemies out of
two
cartels?”

More nodding from the men who knew the answer. Bart actually replied. “Yeah. Zapatas are moving their product through the Castillos, up the Central American pipeline and into Mexico, then north. We thought the Castillos were based pretty far south to be moving into SoCal—now we know why.”

“Fuck.”

“I’d say that’s a fair assessment of the situation, Muse.” Hoosier looked over his shoulder at Show, then back at the table. “There’s been no movement from Ferguson after yesterday’s surprise party. That tells me he’s got bigger trouble than us. Maybe the Castillos take him out and leave us be.”

“Unlikely, brother.” Show’s voice was quiet but commanding. “You’re on their radar. They won’t let go. You’re with them or dead. It’s how they work, and you know it as well as I do.” He nodded at a skinny blond standing behind Bart and Sherlock. “Dom has some intel, too.”

Dom cleared his throat. “Yeah. Castillos have been making their bank by ambushing shipments and moving the stolen product. They keep the people quiet in the villages by piking one woman and one child and promising to do the same to all the rest, so people don’t talk to law, such as that is in Mexico, or even the other cartels. The whole organization is eight men—or was, until they hooked with the Colombians. But six of those eight men have turned over three times in the past two years. They leave their dead, even kill their own, when things get hot. Only the two Castillos—father and son—are consistent. They’ve been moving small enough percentages and doing it fast enough that the bigger cartels can’t pin them down. They’re like roaches, too fast and small to squash.”

“They were. Not now.” Hoosier gave Dom a pointed look.

And Dom’s voice shook for a second when he spoke again. “Right. This alliance or whatever you want to call it with the Zapatas is their big move. They’ve cleared a route on the pipeline. Ramon and Emilio Zapata are brothers—and the kingpins. Or were, and want to be again. I’d say they see the Castillos as nothing but grunts, and the Castillos know it. It’s a weak alliance.”

“You know what?” Demon asked. “I don’t give a fuck what fucking cartels do to each other. What does all this yakking mean for us? How bad are we fucked?”

Bart answered. “They won’t leave us as a loose end. But they’re vulnerable. If we’re reading this right, the Zapatas need this pipeline to be operational and now, or they’ll lose their chance to get back in the game. The Castillos need it to be operational so they can build up the resources to make a move in Colombia. We need to kill the pipeline at the border.”

Muse laughed—because that was laughable. “
We
need to kill the pipeline? How?”

“You work with a bigger cartel. Or you build an alliance and break the Castillos. Use their guerilla tactics against them.”

The room was silent. Again, Show had spoken quietly, but his words resounded. What Muse heard more than anything else was one word:
you
.

The mother charter was turning its back.

Show took a step forward and leaned his hands on the table between Hoosier and Bart. “You got some big trouble, and I’m sorry about it. Unless this Ferguson flips on the Castillos, then your shot is to align with somebody bigger.”

“You keep saying ‘you.’”

Show looked at Muse. “I do. I’m sorry, brothers. We have fought our last cartel. You voted to cross a line, and that was your right. But we won’t. We voted before this run, and I speak for the charter. We will help with intel, and we will bring you friends, but we are done working dark. We put two good men in prison to get us clear, and we won’t disrespect their sacrifice.”

“Then why are you even fucking here?” J.R. had been silent and fuming the whole meeting, even before it had been called to order.

“Because I wanted to look you in the eyes when I told you where we stand. And because I wanted to talk to some friends on the way. If you decide to fight, we can offer you help from four MCs—The Red Rebels here in Cali. The Vikings in New Mexico. The Brazen Bulls Nevada charter. And the Marauders are offering their Nomads. They’re all outlaw, they all have different things they can offer you, and they’ll all help. All you need to do is call. That Bulls charter is less than a year old, but the men are solid, and Eight Ball vouches.”

“And me. I’ll stay and do what I can.”

Muse turned to the Missouri patch standing behind Ronin. He was young. A pup—early twenties if that. His name was…Nolan. Bart had greeted him especially warmly. It was obvious that Show and Badger—the whole Missouri contingent, in fact—had been caught off guard by the volunteer.

Hoosier chuckled, “I appreciate the solidarity, son, but what we’re facing here is nothing for a youngster to get into.”

Nolan’s expression went dark. “I’m young. I’m not a youngster. You’d be surprised what I can handle.”

Hoosier and the boy stared each other down for a few seconds. “You’re Havoc’s kid.”

“I am.”

“And you’re with us?”

“I am.” He looked at Show. “If my President will loan me out.”

Show’s look softened. “We should talk, Nolan. After the Keep.”

“We can do it here.”

After a pause, Show nodded. “You sure this is what you want? It’s shit like this got your old man killed.”

“I’m aware. I won’t be worthy to stand in his place if I don’t face fire.”

“What about your mom? Your brother?”

“Loki’ll be okay. And I’ll talk to my mom. I’ll make her see this is right.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll have her straight up my ass for letting you stay. I’ll have every damn woman in town up there with her. But you’re a man and a patch. If you want to stay, and if Hooj says he wants your help, I won’t stand in your way—but, boy, you are on loan. You wear Missouri on your back, and I won’t let that change without a fight. When this business clears, you get your ass back to Signal Bend where it belongs. You hear?”

“I hear, boss. I wouldn’t want it any other way. That’s home. Always will be.”

“I’ll stay, too.” A blond, a bit older than Nolan—Double A—leaned in. “I’ll stay, too.” He looked across the table to his President. “I’ll keep track of him.”

Nolan wheeled on his brother. “Fuck you, A. I don’t need a sitter.”

Show raised his hand. “Same deal goes for Double A. If it’s your choice, and Hooj wants you. On loan.”

Hoosier slapped his palm on the table. “I’ll take all the hands I can get. Thank you, brothers.” He stood, turned to Show, and held out his hand. As Show grasped it, Hoosier said, “And thank you, brother. The help you offer is real and appreciated, and I understand why you can’t do more.” With that, the tension in the room broke. Before Hoosier closed the meeting, he said. “We need to think and do some planning before we make any decisions. We’ve got our antennae up for new trouble. So, for now, let’s give Mother the welcome they deserve. Let’s party.”

~oOo~

Partying was all well and good, and the meeting had ended on a more positive note than any of them could have hoped, considering how it had started, but Muse left the Keep wondering how the fuck they were going to earn. Not only had the expected bank from the border run evaporated, but they were losing all of Ferguson’s business. If they fought the Castillos—and the fucking Zapatas—no matter how much help they got from Horde friends, that was outlay, not income, and not just borrowing from Bart to re-arm as outlaws, but lost bank for the time away from what business they still had that earned.