Leave a Trail (Signal Bend #7)(10)

God! He was such a dick. “Adrienne…” He knew he should help her get up, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even say he was sorry.

“What is wrong with you?” She stood up and brushed her ass off. “You know what? Never mind. I’m sorry I tried.”

She turned and headed for the doors again, and this time he just watched her go.



oOo



That evening, he rode back from Springfield with Show and Tommy. Tommy had taken over Havoc’s place as enforcer, his primary task protecting Show. Even though he’d only been in the club not even a year, he was the natural choice for it—big, strong, and just… hard in some way Badger couldn’t define.

Tommy was a good guy; he just liked to hit things. He was a lot like Havoc in that way, really.

The wedding that afternoon had gone off fine. He’d worn the stupid coat and helped the fancy little prissy chick in a fluffy white dress to mount Toby sidesaddle, and he’d walked her to the porch, where her supposed knight in shining tuxedo helped her down. It was all very romantic, in a total chick flick way. He was growing to really hate weddings—not that his opinion mattered to anybody.

He’d seen Adrienne a couple of times. She’d changed clothes, into a little flowered dress and flat shoes, to help with the wedding. Watching her with Shannon, her mom, always made his heart feel strange, and even more than usual today. For a long time, he’d been basically in love with Shannon, even though she was Show’s old lady. He wasn’t in love with her anymore—or, well, it was different, both deeper and shallower. And not nearly as…sexual. She was hot, and she was kind, and he loved her. But he didn’t dream about her anymore.

Now he dreamed about her daughter.

When he wasn’t dreaming about being skinned alive.

He was such a f*cked-up loser.

He’d seen Adrienne a couple of times during the wedding, but they’d only made eye contact once—and she’d immediately turned away. Rightly so. He’d hurt her. Not metaphorically, not emotionally, but that, too —he’d actually knocked her to the ground and hurt her.

He really was a monster.

When she’d left the barn, he’d almost gone back to his office for his stash, but he’d fought the urge off.

It had sucked, but he’d fought. Every six hours. No more than every six hours. Holding to that personal rule, he knew, was what was allowing him to keep functioning. To do his job at the B&B and in the club.

He knew that if he caved to that, he might as well just snort the whole bag at a go. But his head was full of self-hate and misery, wrapped up in a binding of need, and he’d stood in the aisle, his hand wrapped around Toby’s lead, mere feet away from peace of mind, needing it so badly he thought he’d die anyway.

He’d fought it off and done his job, and told himself that meant he was still in control.

He was a little high again now, on this run, but in what he thought of as his safe zone—not so soon after a dose that he obviously looked high, unless somebody really checked, and not so close to needing another that he’d be sick. Safe.

It had been an easy run—just to Springfield, to their contact for black market medical supplies, to set up the next order. Tasha’s clinic was legit, straight-up. She was just getting off the ground, but people in town were coming to her, and Badger knew she was building up a small but steady patient base. The Horde kept an eye on the clinic’s progress, because they’d put the money into starting it. And because Tasha was one of their own—a club daughter and now Len’s old lady.

The clinic was legit, but Tasha also took care of the Horde, who couldn’t always go to the hospital even when they needed it—as Badger knew very well—and she was building a store of drugs and supplies that made her clinic something of a underground hospital. For that, she needed supplies that weren’t readily available to the doctor of a small town clinic. And the Horde helped her out.

It was why Badger went all the way to St. Louis for his own…supplies. He couldn’t risk anyone the Horde worked with knowing what he had going on. They already watched him too closely, waiting for their chance.

Once they were back in Signal Bend, Show veered off toward home, and Tommy and Badger headed on to Tuck’s. With Zeke, they were on duty there tonight, keeping the usual fracas from getting out of control. Though the town was changing, with new residents—and a few old ones—who weren’t on board with the way the Horde ran things, Tuck’s was still Tuck’s. It got rough, and the people who went there, for the most part, knew and expected that. The innocent bystanders who might straggle in occasionally got a quick lesson, and then they hightailed it to Valhalla Vin, for a quiet drink.

It was still early enough when they met Zeke inside that the crowd—and it was a decent-size crowd— was pretty calm. There was a band, like every Saturday night, and most people were dancing. Zeke stood at the bar, leaning backwards against it, his expansive belly swelling out in front of him. As Tommy and Badger walked up, Zeke nodded, one deep incline of his head, his long, iron-grey beard sliding over that belly. “Brothers.”

“Zeke.” Tommy leaned on the bar. “Looks chill.”

“Yep.” Zeke was not a talker. It was rare for him to string enough words together to make even a sentence. But he was a tough old dude. He nodded again, this time directly at Badger. “Okay, Badge?”