Chapter 19
Cameron
“What’s up?” I asked as I entered the small room I was rarely allowed into.
Casper, Grease, Samson and old Smokey were sitting in their chairs at the table, but no one else was in the room.
“Dragon and Poet are on their way,” Casper said tiredly, running his hand down his face.
“How’s Lily?” I asked him, leaning up against the wall. It was weird as fuck being in the room with all the empty chairs. My eyes automatically went to Slider’s place at the head and I jerked them away.
“She’s good. Home with Farrah and CeeCee.”
“I need to get over there,” I said in apology, meeting my dad’s eyes. The man was holding on by a thread and I hadn’t been around like I should’ve.
“Sounds like you’re dealing with your own shit,” he said cautiously.
“It’s fine,” I replied automatically.
“Callie?” I asked, moving my attention to Grease.
“Told her about Mick and Gram today,” Grease rasped, leaning back in his chair. “Had to sedate her.”
“Fuck,” I hissed, looking down at my scuffed up boots.
“Her body’s healin’,” Grease continued. “All I can ask for.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” I mumbled back, meeting his eyes again.
“Will do.”
“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” Dragon’s voice drifted through the door. “Makin’ your woman cry. You see that?”
I didn’t hear Poet’s reply, but within seconds, I was moving away from the door so they could pass me. Poet was on a pair of shiny new crutches and was wearing a set of light blue scrubs, his cut thrown over the top.
Dragon hovered like a nursemaid, looking like he wanted to kill someone, until Poet dropped down in his seat with a sigh.
“Close the door,” Poet ordered me sharply.
I met Amy’s watery eyes as I glanced out the doorway, and nodded to her before she moved away.
Once the door was closed, I leaned back against my spot on the wall. There was an empty seat at the table, but it sure as fuck wasn’t for me.
The room was silent as Poet’s pale face turned to each man, silently meeting their eyes. “I’m steppin’ down,” he said softly, running his hand down the long beard against his chest.
Smokey mumbled something under his breath.
“What the fuck?” Grease whispered.
“Gettin’ too old for this. Made some bad decisions—”
“We all fucked up,” Casper cut him off.
Poet raised his hand for silence, then spoke again. “Don’t want it. Not without Charlie.”
My throat grew tight at Slider’s real name, the use of it an indication of how long their friendship had run. Poet and Slider had joined the club as young men, Slider because his dad was the president, Poet because he’d been running from shit in Ireland. Their friendship had lasted longer than most marriages. A lifetime.
“I’m steppin’ down. Gonna spend some time with my grandbabies, take Amy on a fuckin’ vacation. Sit on my ass and watch fuckin’ Matlock in the middle of the day.” Poet looked around. “Think I’ve earned it,” he said roughly.
My softhearted dad looked like he was going to cry, but he beat it back, sitting up taller in his chair.
“Now the formalities,” Poet said roughly, pulling off his cut. He looked at Dragon expectantly, then nodded as Dragon’s switchblade slid across the table. Poet ran his fingers reverently over the vice president patch on his cut before flipping open the knife and slicing through the threads, neatly severing the patch from his cut.
“All in favor for Dragon as President of Aces and Eights Motorcycle Club, say aye,” Poet said strongly.
A unanimous ‘aye’ went up around the table.
“All in favor for Grease as Vice President of Aces and Eights Motorcycle Club, say aye,” Poet continued.
Again, a unanimous affirmative vote.
“All in favor for Hulk…” I zoned out a bit as I heard my name, my eyes growing wide.
‘Aye’s filled the room, and I turned my head to silently look at Casper, who gave me a proud nod. Then my eyes met Dragon’s. I was taking his vacant spot.
He looked away.
“All in favor of Will—Christ, that boy needs another name,” Poet grumbled, making low chuckles fill the room as he continued on.
Will was also voted in.
Poet stood from the table and glared at Dragon as his son-in-law moved to help him.
I stood straight as the men around me rose from their chairs and Poet moved against the wall, sweating as he stood straight and tall.
Then everyone moved.
Dragon swallowed hard as he braced his hands on the table in what was once Slider’s place. Then he tapped it twice and sat down.
Grease followed suit in the seat Poet had just vacated.
Will’s seat stayed empty. I wondered if he knew what was happening at the club and chose to miss it, or if his dad hadn’t mentioned it.
“Well,” Poet said roughly to me, gesturing with his arm when I was the last man standing.
I moved around the table slowly and pulled out my new chair, not meeting anyone’s eyes as I dropped down.
Subdued clapping and cheering filled the room, and I was thankful for it. It sure as shit wasn’t the best circumstances to become an officer, but it was mine. My night.
“Sit down before you fall down, old man,” Dragon suddenly barked at Poet, who was looking really fucking gray.
Casper kicked Will’s chair away from the table, and Poet hobbled his way over, taking a seat, but remaining separate from the table.
“News?” Grease asked, bracing his elbows on the table. I watched him silently for a moment as he fidgeted and noticed how much he’d aged in the past week. His hair and beard had little streaks of gray that I’d never noticed before.
“Congrats, Hulk,” Samson said quietly, reaching over to grip my shoulder, and I nodded my thanks. He’d been completely silent at every other meeting I’d attended in that room, more of an observer than anything. I wondered if he ever gave input, or just stayed to keep on top of shit going down with the club.
“Two boys from Western Oregon University, one from University of Oregon,” Poet announced to the room. “Those are the dead ones.”
Grease turned his head and spit on the floor.
“Contact in the police department says the roommate of the U of O kid was involved. Haven’t been able to find him. Not sure if he went home for the summer, or what.”
“Name?” Casper barked.
“That’s it?” Dragon asked in confusion. “Only four of ’em?”
“Looks like it,” Poet answered, shaking his head. “They were doin’ little shit. Kid shit. That fuckin’ attack was—it didn’t make any fuckin’ sense.”
“Little cunts,” Smokey rasped, his breath labored.
“Name?” Casper asked again.
“Steve Smith,” Poet replied. “Waitin’ to hear where he’s from. Maybe he’s run home to Mummy and Daddy.”
“He’s mine,” Grease announced, his voice resolute.
“Steven fuckin’ Smith? Jesus, like finding a needle in a haystack,” Casper commented in disgust. “Talk about the most average name in the fuckin’ United States.”
His words nagged at me. Average. There was something right at the edge of my mind, but I couldn’t grab hold of it.
A knock sounded at the door and all our heads snapped up in surprise. Casper pushed to his feet and opened the door.
“I’m sorry. Really sorry, but Patrick’s not supposed to be—”
“Wife!” Poet bellowed, his face a mixture of embarrassment and fury.
“Don’t ye use that tone with me, Patrick Gallagher!” Amy’s voice was shaking, and oddly had a hint of a Scottish accent. “I’ll twist yer balls straight off yer body.”
I covered my mouth with one hand to hide my smile and dropped my eyes to the table. If I met anyone’s eyes right then, I’d fucking lose it.
Dragon helped Poet get to his feet, and the old man stomped off the best he could while putting very little pressure on his wounded thigh. When the door closed behind him and we couldn’t hear him bitching at his wife anymore, the entire room roared with laughter.
“Did you see her face?” Grease asked, a small smile on his face. “She probably woulda tore off his balls.”
“Nah, she needs ’em,” Casper argued, his voice hitching as he tried to fight off his guffaws.
“Aw, fuck. That’s disgustin’,” I groaned, making a new round of laughter roll through the room.
Dragon’s eyes were crinkled at the corners as he glanced around the table, meeting each of our eyes one by one. “I’ll do my best,” he announced seriously, his face falling back into severe lines.
Every single man went silent as we nodded.
“We gotta talk arrangements,” he said roughly, leaning back in his chair.
“Farrah’s been takin’ care of Slider, Vera and Gram,” Casper announced. “Got ’em at a funeral home—” his voice broke and he cleared his throat. “Waitin’ on details from you.”
Dragon nodded. “You got the cash for that?” he asked bluntly.
“No,” Casper answered. “With Lily…”
My stomach rolled. “I got it,” I cut in. “Got some savings.”
“Got a baby on the way,” Casper argued.
“And income comin’ in, we’ll be fine—” I shot back.
“Club’ll handle it.” Dragon cut me off. “Least we can do. Clear?”
“Yep,” Casper said, his whole body seeming to sag in relief.
“Grease?” Dragon called, drawing attention to the silent man beside him.
“Cremated Mick,” he whispered roughly. “Not doin’ nothin’ ’til my woman’s out of the hospital.”
I closed my eyes against the look on his face. The man was barely hanging on—I wasn’t sure how he’d gotten that far.
“Ain’t sure she’s gonna want a club—” Grease said apologetically.
“No worries, brother,” Dragon replied softly, reaching out to grip Grease’s shoulder. “You do what’s best for your family. Ain’t no one gonna question that.”
“You got the cheddar for that?” Samson spoke up, surprising us all. “Me and Ash can help with Micky.”
“I got it, man, thanks,” Grease said with a nod, a look of understanding passing between them.
Another knock broke into the tense silence and Dragon cursed. “Grand Central fuckin’ Station.”
“What?” Grease yelled sharply at the door, his nerves obviously fried.
Samson’s woman, Ash, poked her head in, making him sit up straighter. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the man was afraid his woman was going to drag his ass out like Amy had done to Poet.
“Sorry,” she said worriedly, glancing around the room. “But someone’s screamin’ like they’re dyin’.” Her eyes met mine. “Think it’s Trix.”
I shot up from the table, glancing at Dragon.
“Go!” he ordered, standing up quickly.
I ran.
When I got to my room, I threw open the door, Trix’s screams getting loud as fuck once they weren’t muffled by the solid wood. She was thrashing around, tangled up in the blanket and sheets as she wailed nonsense.
I felt Dragon at my back as I stepped into the room and reached for her.
“Bea,” I yelled over her cries. “It’s a dream, baby. It’s a dream.”
Trix hit me in the face as she flailed, and I scrambled to grab her arms as she fought me in her sleep. She was pulling so hard against me, I was afraid she was going to hurt herself.
“You’re okay,” I murmured over and over as I tried to contain her. “Baby, wake up.” My voice cracked.
Finally, I crawled completely on top of her, dropping my body over hers as she beat at my back. I pressed my face against hers, seeing stars as her forehead hit my cheekbone.
“Shhh,” I whispered into her ear as she finally slowed her struggles, then went completely still beneath me. “You’re okay, Sweetbea. It’s just a dream.”
I lifted my head and glanced quickly at Dragon, who was standing in the doorway. His eyes were dark and haunted as he nodded at me, stepping back and pulling the door closed, leaving me and Trix alone.
“Cam?” she asked softly, tears running down her face, into her hair.
“Hey,” I whispered gently back, my throat tight.
It was too much. I was cracking. After everything that had happened that day, I was finally at the end of my rope. I wanted to weep.
“I was looking for you,” she whispered back, her eyes glossy.
“I was right here, baby.”
“No, you weren’t,” she murmured back, closing her eyes and turning her face away.
* * *
Three days later, we said goodbye to Gram, Slider and Vera. They were going to be buried in a cemetery on the edge of town, leaving a space between Gram and Vera for Micky’s ashes. Callie had decided she wanted Mick in beside his great-grandmother, but they were waiting to lay him to rest until she could be there. Until then, his remains would stay in his bedroom.
As I helped a hollow-eyed Trix into one of the limos the funeral home had provided, I glanced around to the sea of bikes waiting to leave from the funeral. Aces members from chapters all over the west coast had traveled to Eugene to pay their respects. So had members of other clubs we were allies with, coming from places all over the US, from Florida to Montana.
“I’ll see you at the cemetery,” I said quietly to Trix as I helped her buckle her seatbelt. The limo was already full of family, her mom and Farrah, my little sisters, Tommy and Rose.
Leo was riding in the procession, his scar on full display for the first time since the shooting.
I nodded at my ma and backed out of the limo, walking over to where my bike was parked. The people of Eugene were going to be out in full force as we rode through town, and the thought of the police outriders stopping traffic along the route made me chuckle a little under my breath.
The day before, I’d finally heard from the cop who’d questioned me. They were closing the case. Between the boys’ prints all over their weapons and the fact that our guns were registered, it was a clear case of self-defense. He’d sounded pissed. I was pretty sure Poet had something to do with the fact that the dogs had been called off. He’d probably called in every favor he had with the department, one last hurrah before he stepped away.
“Ready?” Casper asked, wrapping a bandana over his flattened Mohawk. Mom must have cut his hair the night before.
“Yup.” I started up my bike.
Thank Christ it was almost over. Trix looked like she was going to fall over at any second. She was barely eating and she hadn’t slept in days, beyond a few naps at her parents’ house. She barely spoke to me.
She barely spoke to anyone.
I hadn’t been able to corner her, there was too much shit happening, too much to get ready and plan for. There hadn’t been time to make her talk to me.
I cracked my neck and slid my helmet on.
After this fucked up day was over, I was going to sit on a couch and drink until I couldn’t stand up again. Then tomorrow, I was going to figure out what the fuck was going on with my woman.
This shit had to stop, one way or another.