Free Strength & Courage (The Night Horde SoCal Book 1) by Susan Fanetti Page A

Hall, which had filled while they were back in Muse’s office. Several of their brothers had stood up, knowing Demon and what he could do.
     
    “Easy, brother. I did talk to her.”
     
    “But that’s not all, is it? You fucked the bitch who stole my kid! You son of a bitch. Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me I’m wrong!” Spittle flew from his raging mouth. Muse set his muscles. He wouldn’t lie—lying to a brother was bad news. But he would fight if he had to.
     
    But before Muse could answer, Demon roared, “TELL ME I’M WRONG!” and punctuated the last word with a right hook into Muse’s face. Even though he’d been ready for a blow, it knocked him backward over a table, and he landed on the floor.
     
    And then a large black missile was airborne and headed straight for Demon. Barking and growling furiously, Cliff jumped and sent his body into Demon, knocking him backward as well. The dog stood over him, snarling, his teeth bared and aimed at Demon’s throat. But he didn’t attack. Demon was a friend, so Cliff was giving him a pointed warning.
     
    “Off, Cliff.” Muse stood, rubbing his face, trying to decide whether his cheekbone was broken. At his command, Cliff calmed and stepped off. But he stayed on his feet, eyeing Demon, growling at every move. “Here, bud.”
     
    With a last, suspicious glare at Demon, Cliff came over, tailing wagging, and licked Muse’s hand.
     
    Lakota looked from Muse to Demon to Cliff. Then he laughed. “That dog is badass.”
     
    His amused comment broke the tension, and the rest of the men laughed. Muse smiled and ruffled Cliff’s ears. Demon, back on his feet, still glared.
     
    When the room was quiet, he grumbled, “You are, aren’t you? Banging her?”
     
    “If I am, don’t you think it helps you if she’s a friend of the club?”
     
    Demon blinked, working that through. “That why you did it?”
     
    No. He’d done it because she was hot and he’d wanted her. He maybe still wanted her. Not maybe, definitely. But it was true that keeping her close could be helpful—and possibly give Demon access to information he might not otherwise get. “It helps you.”
     
    “Long as you don’t piss her off.”
     
    “Then I won’t piss her off.” He crossed the space between them and held out his hand. “Can we get a drink now?”
     
    Demon scowled at Muse’s offered hand, then took it and let himself be pulled into an embrace.
     
     
    ~oOo~
     
     
    The Night Horde SoCal sat around their table in the Keep. They met every Friday afternoon, in the tradition of the original Horde charter in Missouri—and of every club Muse knew about. Friday was church—or, in the Horde’s way, the Keep.
     
    The SoCal charter currently had thirteen patches and three Prospects. Not a huge club, but larger than the mother charter, especially with two members of that charter in prison, including the legendary Isaac Lunden, former President. No longer, though, did the Horde play on fields that could get them sent away. They had a wide array of legitimate businesses. Especially SoCal. They had the bike shop, regarded as the best in California and the whole west coast; a security and protection business; and their various entertainment industry support work—from equipment rental to technical advising and stunt work. That last was what Muse managed. He hated it. But he was good at it, and he did what the club asked of him.
     
    None of it made the kind of bank that basic outlaw work had made. Not even the bike shop, despite its reputation and celebrity clientele. Muse, already chafing at the routines of a ‘normal’ life after long years as a Nomad outlaw, now struggling just to keep his bills paid and his sister taken care of, and still steaming after the humiliation of just being called for missing his club dues for the second month in a row, was giving the argument now going on between his President and VP every bit of his attention.
     
    “It’s a bad idea, Hooj.”