Chapter 25

(Saint)

Cold Beers, Bloody Steaks, and Pleasant Conversation

“Burrrrrrppppppp.”

Laughter broke out as Wreck’s belch echoed loud enough to prompt a responding hoot from a nearby owl.

There was a fire in the backyard fire pit, one of several features that had added to the appeal of the house. Saint couldn’t wait to get the wall built, so nosy neighbors, like the guy who’d come outside twice now and stood on his back porch staring at them, would have to use their imaginations to figure out what the fuck they were up to.

“I’d like to echo that sentiment,” Kat said as she raised her beer in a silent toast to Wreck. “But I doubt I could rival it.”

“I doubt any of us could,” Cody remarked, seconds before Creature let out one that lasted several seconds.

“Challenge accepted…victory secured,” Creature declared as Wreck made a small bow down motion before he downed the rest of his beer.

This was what Saint had hoped for when he’d made the painful decision to not only move out of the house he’d shared with his brother since they’d assumed leadership of the Jokers but move off the grounds of the compound that had been his home for most of his adult life.

“Man, I don’t know how you get the steaks so tender, but I’ll never look at the ones at Durango’s the same way again,” Kong said.

“Good,” Creature said. “Cause you’ll be eating there alone if you do. I got salmonella the last time I ate at that place.”

“You weren’t the only one,” Doc B declared. “Hard to tend to fifteen folks with their heads in buckets when you’re hunched over the shitter yourself.”

Around the backyard there was only laughter at the memory and the image Doc had conjured up.

“Just answer me this one thing,” Doc B said. “Which of you went back there and had words with management?”

“That would be me,” Pope declared.

He’d brought Axel with him at Saint’s request, since he still hadn’t come up with an appropriate way of thanking the kid for the save he’d made. At least he could treat Axel to a good meal and give him the opportunity to spend more time around them. Creature had taken to picking him up after his shift ended at five in the morning and driving him home so he wouldn’t have to bike through factory row and risk mixing it up with the guys who’d gone after Saint. There would be hell to pay if they laid hands on him, and Pope had already suggested they award Axel with one of the small shoulder patches of the joker’s emblem to show that he was club protected.

It still needed to be voted on at chapel, but Saint couldn’t think of a single reason why it wouldn’t pass.

Axel seemed right at home too, half in awe, but totally at ease and joking around with the rest of them.

“By had words, do you mean actual words, or words punctuated with right crosses?” Axel asked.

Pope gave the kid a wink. “I plead the fifth.”

“And it’s right crosses for the win,” Bellamy said.

Though Kat laughed alongside everyone else, it was impossible to miss the sadness in her gaze, or the way she leaned into Mark and closed her eyes every now and again, like she was trying to hide the fact that she longed to have their boy pressed between them. He felt for them, he truly did, unable to imagine what it would feel like if the shoe was on the other foot. He just hoped seeing less of them, or more specifically, Sinn around the place might mean a shift in attitude back to being the Teddy they’d loved.

“So get this,” Mark said. “I reached out to that salvage yard Teddy had been pussyfooting around about visiting and was told flat out that we weren’t welcome to come up there.”

“You’re fuckin’ shitting me?” Sinn snapped.

“Afraid not,” Mark said. “I can’t tell if it’s a dead end or if Teddy spoiled it for us but I aim to find out.”

“Bastard.”

“For now, we’ll keep putting feelers out and see if we can’t scare up some of those parts,” Mark said. “I do have some good news though. I talked to those folks on the corner who own the furniture store. The rumors were spot on, they are planning on selling the place, but hadn’t decided on which realtor to list it with, which works out for us, since I offered to purchase it outright. We’ll meet with the bank to set up an inspection and all that legal bullshit later in the week.”

“Holy shit, that was fast,” Sinn said.

“They say why they’re in such a hurry?” Creature asked.

“In a word, triplets,” Mark said. “Their son and daughter-in-law live in Minneapolis, and they plan to relocate up there to help with the new arrivals. They’re hoping to be settled in before the birth and having a buyer lined up that doesn’t have to deal with loans will hasten that along.”

“Do you need me at the bank meeting?” Pope asked.

“Please.”

“Let me know when and where.”

“You did good finding this place,” Dalton said as he leaned over in his chair to retrieve another beer from the cooler.

“You finish that one and you’re crashing at my place tonight,” Wreck told him. “If I take you back to the home drunk, they’ll have both our heads.”

“In that case, I’ll help myself to a pair,” Dalton declared, plucking two dripping bottles from the ice.

Everyone laughed at that, while Dalton used the side of his chair to pop off the first top and kick it back.

“Want a beer kid?” Bellamy asked as he headed for the cooler.

“He ain’t legal,” Creature snapped at the same time as Axel declared. “I don’t drink.”

“Fair enough,” Bellamy said as he glanced between them.

“I wouldn’t want one even if I was legal,” Axel admitted. “My old man does enough drinking for both of us.”

“Angus still tyin’ them on like there’s no tomorrow?” Dalton asked.

“Worse,” Axel said. “It’s more like he’s a camel storing up for the next prohibition.”

The way he said it, without a trace of humor, left Saint wondering how bad things were for him at home and if there was anything the club could do to help make things a little better for him.

“So, no meal would be complete without Kat’s rum-soaked strawberry shortcake, so where you got it hidden?” Dalton asked.

“In the fridge,” Kat said, laughing. “At least let your food settle a little longer before diving into it.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

“Speaking of fun, guess who reached out to me the other day?” Kong said.

“Who?” Saint replied.

“Shelby.”

“I’m hot shit ‘cause I’m named after the Mustang Shelby?”

“The one and only.”

“The fuck did she want?”

“To know where Caleb was, since she claims she’s carrying his baby.”

“Holy shit.”

Did you tell her he’d transferred to Kill Devil Hills?”

“Hell no. Told her to lose my number was what I did,” Kong said. “Whether it is or it ain’t, I’m not getting mixed up in it. Shit’s still catching up to me from the last time I dealt with her.”

“That kind of fallout is a bitch.”

“Not near as much as Shelby.”

“She better hope I never get my hands on her,” Kat declared. “That lying witch nearly got me sent away.”

“If Caleb is smart, he’ll tell her to fuck right the hell off if she does manage to catch up to him,” Wreck said. “Not that he’s ever shown signs of being particularly intelligent, at least not when it comes to her.”

“She’s a real piece of work, that’s for damn sure,” Mark said.

“About the only thing that woman has in common with a Mustang is how many miles have been put on her,” Kong grumbled.

“Speaking of cars, or more specifically, the car show,” Saint began in a desperate attempt to change the subject and keep the vibe on an even keel after his eyes met Mark’s and his brother jerked his head toward his wife, drawing his attention to the way Kat sat there seething.

With all the history there, the only thing the conversation was doing was riling her up, which was the last thing they needed, considering the mood she was already in after all the shit with Teddy. While she wouldn’t touch Shelby while the bitch was pregnant, she’d sure as hell be waiting once the odds were even again. The hurting Kat put on her would make what Sinn had done to Teddy look like a bit of slap and tickle. Last time he’d caught a glimpse of the man, Teddy still sported two black eyes and was limping as he’d gone about his tasks.

“Please tell me you finally got them to agree to let the classic bikes in?” Mark asked.

“Nope. Not even the trikes. If it ain’t got four wheels and a couple of doors, they don’t want it, but after seeing the list of sponsors, and seeing how many cars had entered so far, it did give me an idea,” Saint declared.

“Do tell?”

“It might even solve some of our parts issues too.”

“Now you’ve got my full and undivided attention,” Sinn said.

“We organize our own.”

A moment of contemplative silence followed his words, then ideas started being tossed around so fast Saint found it next to impossible to keep up. Fortunately, they had Kat, who stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a sharp whistle.

“One at a fuckin’ time ya impatient fucks!” She declared as she pulled out her phone and the notepad app Saint knew she had installed there.

“Okay,” Kat said once she was set up and ready. “I heard swap meet, chopper category, classic category, food truck and what the hell else?”

There was a collective intake of breath like everyone was poised to start talking at once again, only Kat held up her hand and pointed at Sinn.

“You first.”

“I say we break down the bike categories by model if we get enough of them,” Sinn said. “Include a rat bike category, invite vendors, especially ones that carry parts, but nothing that clashes with what our own members already craft. We want to highlight their talents and keep the bulk of the profits coming back to the club. Of course, we’d get more folks in if we set up a charity auction too, that way we’d attract the hardcore riders and the motorcycle enthusiasts. We’d want some kind of entertainment, so maybe reach out to the local bands so we can showcase them if they’re any good. We could purchase some campground slots to go along with the tickets for those who want to get a package deal.”

“In other words, make it an event, and not just a show,” Kat said thoughtfully. “I like it.”

As discussion of the event continued around him, Saint leaned back in his chair and danced his fingertips up the back of Sinn’s neck while Night leaned against him, smoke from his joint curling around his head. It was a sweet smell, not that skunk shit he’d caught him smoking outside the clubhouse and as he passed the joint over, all Saint could think about was how lucky he was to be there with the men he loved, and the club that had shaped him into the man he was today.

May this never change, he thought as he let the smoke curl into his lungs.

And may neither death, nor five hundred miles ever separate them again.

-End-