Black Hills Holiday

by Bad Company

The National President has made the 2017 Sturgis Rally a mandatory run for all the west coast charters of the Sons. Mini story set after "Gets in Your Blood".

2. Black Hills Bound

AN: We apologize in advance if the updates are a little slow. Collaborations take longer to piece together. You guys can help us though! We know where the characters are going, but specific reviews will really help us figure out what to include along the way. So if you want to see more of something, let us know, please! Thanks.

…

2. Black Hills Bound

"Ooh, I think that's them!"

Koz lowered the wrench in his hand and regarded the kid from his position kneeling beside his bike. "Luc, your mom's car isn't red. That ain't them. I thought you were helping Suzy wash the bikes."

Poor shithead Suzy – Koz's Prospect – had the worst nickname on record. But Ryan Sommers had just been too much of a soap opera name for the guys to let it go – everyone conveniently chose to ignore the fact that Berg knew who Susan Lucci was. When asked, Koz said it was his doing because he was such a fan of The Man in Black and "Boy Named Sue", and the dark-haired, tattooed Prospect seemed to appreciate that explanation a hell of a lot more. Either way, the name had stuck, and he was Suzy.

Luc made a face. "It got boring."

"Yeah," Koz sighed, humor nudging his irritation. "Guess I can see that."

"Whatcha doin' to Mistress?" the kid knelt down beside him and examined the shiny guts of "Mistress" – the bike.

"Makin' sure she's running okay 'fore I take her all the way to South Dakota and back."

"How far away is Sou' Dakota? Is it far as Dinah-Gram's house? 'Cause that's as far as I ever been, and it's a looooong way away. You know, my gramma lives where me and Mommy used to live. In California," he stressed the word like it was very important. "But we don't live there anymore." Duh. Koz of course knew all of this already. Luc jumped to his feet again. "That's them, that's them!"

Koz sighed. The green Jetta was not them and irritation won out again. He hadn't spent this much one-on-one time with a kid since Ava had been little. And she'd been a quiet, serious little girl…which probably explained her fucked-up buckets of crazy adult personality.

"Well, look at this. Daddy Daycare's open today."

Bill Eberts, better known as the Mayor, was standing on the other side of Koz's bike, arms loosely folded, staring at him down his nose. And as usual, his sarcasm was about as thick as his hairline was thin. He had one of those snake faces that was in a perpetual smirk. And his blue eyes had a habit of reminding Kozik of someone he'd rather not think about. Brothers were brothers…but no one had ever said that all brothers were created equally.

"Eat me," he replied flatly, turning back to his bike.

The soft thrum of a car engine and a blast of music snagged Koz's attention. He stood and glanced over his shoulder. Cassie had finally arrived, and Luc had become preoccupied with a beetle being swarmed by ants over near a dried puddle of something sticky – the boy who'd cried "mom" hadn't even seen her pull in. Koz shook his head at the five-year-old and watched Cass brake her dark blue Maxima to a halt. The windows were rolled up – it was hot and the AC was no doubt running – but the sun roof was open and she had the Go-Gos blasting from the speakers. "We Got the Beat" cut off as she killed the engine and then she and her mother, Dinah, climbed out of the car.

Cassie and her mom had the same bone structure, similar lines to their faces, though Cassie was two inches taller. And if Dinah Brigalia was a peek into Cassie's aged future, it wasn't a bad picture. Today Dinah had her auburn hair pulled back in a gold clip – she had a thing for gold in general. Gold wedding set with a sizable rock, gold watch, delicate gold chains on her two pendant necklaces. She was in white crop pants and a white tank top, red three-quarter sleeve button-up over it. Red leather mules. Dinah was always put together, which was where her daughter had obviously inherited the habit.

In contrast, Cassie's dark hair was loose around her shoulders. She'd changed out of her around-the-house cutoffs and tank top before leaving for the airport, and was now in a clinging halter dress, that wasn't, he noted, the least bit indecent. Her strappy sandals were the same color as the dress.

Mother and daughter both, Koz noted with something like satisfaction, earned nasty glances from the club girls who were smoking over beside the dumpster.

He'd almost forgotten Mayor was still standing beside him until he cleared his throat. "Ya know, Koz, you probably split the age difference between mother and daughter straight down the middle. Or maybe even fall a little on the mom's side of the age bracket…"

"Shut the fuck up."

Luc had the worst timing, and came shuffling over. Still, Mayor gestured toward Dinah. "C'mon, Gramma's still pretty fresh. You tellin' me you wouldn't hit that?"

The kid frowned. "Koz would never hit my gramma," he said seriously. "Mom would get real mad and Gramma would slap him back."

Mayor burst into laughter.

Koz jerked a thumb toward the parking lot to catch the kid's attention. Cassie and Dinah were approaching them, Cass having shoved her Ray Bans up onto her head so they acted as a makeshift headband. She was smiling. "Speaking of your grandma -,"

"Dinah-Gram!" Luc yelled and went bounding toward the women.

Dinah hugged her grandson tightly and then they continued toward his position still standing next to Mistress and Mayor – Jesus, could this asshole not find somewhere else to haunt? Luc was holding Dinah's hand and talking a mile a minute about something she doubtless cared nothing about, but was nodding along with anyway.

"Hey, Dinah," he greeted when she was in earshot. "How was the flight?"

"Hello, Koz dear." She'd only met him once previously but already he was "dear". "It was uneventful."

Mayor smiled. "So you're Cassie's mom, huh?"

Koz shot him a warning look that he ignored, but Cassie was already answering. "She is. Dinah Brigalia." She motioned to Mayor. "Mom, Bill Eberts. Everyone calls him The Mayor."

Koz snorted. "He don't hold the office, but he likes to act like he does."

Bill extended his hand to her. "I'm a take-charge kinda guy is all."

Luc scowled, staring at Mayor's offered shake like he wished he had lasers in his eyes. "Don't shake his hand," he muttered to his grandmother. "He wants Koz to -,"

"Hey, buddy," Koz took the kid by the shoulder, thankfully cutting him off. He knew his grin was fake and ridiculous. "How 'bout you help me with Mistress."

"Really? Yessss!"

By the time he had a rag in Luc's hand and was showing him how he wanted the pipes buffed, Cassie was crouching beside him. "I'll get him out of your hair," she said. "Mom and I'll take him to dinner and then crash early. It's gonna be an early morning."

He nodded.

"You staying here tonight?"

"Yeah, we still got a shi…" he glanced at Luc ", ton of shi…stuff to do tonight." He grinned at her. "I'll see you at six tomorrow though."

Cassie's sigh was one of anticipation, and not dread at the early wake-up call. She stole a kiss. "With bells on."

-O-

Ava had trouble sleeping the night before their departure; jittery inside, excitement tingling in the pit of her stomach like a kid waiting for Santa. She was nervous too, though. Leaving was never just a wild, free-spirited, no-strings affair anymore. Sam was going to be left in the more-than-capable hands of her mother and grandmother – Diane watching him at their house during the day and Maggie keeping watch at night. It would be easier on Sam to keep him in his own crib at home and then no one would have to lug his toys and things back and forth. They'd minimized any possible trauma. But there was a small part of her that felt like a bad mother for leaving him behind. She was going to miss him so much. She knew there'd come a time when he was seventeen and giving her snotty looks and it came down to either tossing him out or hitting him upside the head with something, but that time hadn't come yet. And at dinner, eating mashed potatoes and meat loaf, he'd asked ", Muh-muh eeving?" And she'd wanted to cry. She and Maggie had been telling him for weeks that she'd be leaving for a little while, trying to get him used to the idea whether he understood it or not, and he'd finally connected the dots and it broke her heart.

"You feel like you're hooked up to jumper cables, baby," Juice had observed, passing his hands over her skin that felt practically feverish with anticipation. "Like you're electrified or something."

Now, the morning was here and it was one of the brightest, crispest, most beautiful blue mornings she may have ever seen. Or maybe that was just the excitement again. Everything was still fresh: the sky a perfect robin's egg blue, the colors of the landscape vivid, everyone's hair and clothes tidy and clean, the day's heat hadn't yet soaked into the atmosphere and turned everything wilted and sweaty. Ava held Sam and stared down the row of spit-shined bikes, all scrubbed and polished courtesy of the Prospects for the trip. Jax's pickup was hooked to a motorcycle trailer and the two prospects would be following the procession in it. The guys were moving between their rides and the clubhouse, checking their gear, doing last minute tune ups. Ava had long since packed her essentials that now occupied one of the two saddle bags on Juice's Dyna. She hated the look of the bags, but knew it was necessary.

"Look at you," she recognized Gemma's voice and turned to greet her. She had her hands on her hips, looking splendid as ever in black-on-black with heavy rhinestone accents. Her hair was, as always, flawless. "Gimme the baby so I can get the full picture."

Ava handed him over reluctantly – Gemma snuggled him close. She missed not having any grandbabies who were literal babies.

"Boots fit good," the Queen nodded approval.

Ava did a little spin as requested and glanced down at her ensemble. She was in a ribbed white tank top with SOA printed across the chest, her favorite old leather riding jacket that hit above her navel and was covered with zippers and little darts that made it form fitting. Jeans. And then her new boots – a present from Gemma. They came up just shy of her knees and were authentic Harley riding boots, with low heels that would make walking comfortable, but they hugged her calves and would still look cute with the only change of pants she'd packed, a denim mini skirt.

Another nod from Gemma and she was feeling good about her choices. She knew there would be countless women tarted up in bright colored string bikinis flaunting their way down Main Street, but she wanted to look the part of a proud OMC Old Lady.

She glanced across the lot packed with people. Maggie was saying her goodbyes to Chibs and Ava cut her eyes away. She was glad her parents were getting along so well, but she didn't need to see it. Lyla was brushing imaginary dirt off Opie's cut. Clay was walking up and down the lines of bikes, visiting and no doubt wishing he was going along. Juice had his iPod plugged into the dock on top of his fuel tank and was checking that the speakers tucked away in his ferring were working.

"Can I have him back?" she asked Gemma, not wanting to turn loose of her baby until the last minute.

Gemma's answering smile probably had something to do with the fact that Ava had actually asked for permission to hold her own child. "Here," she passed Sam back and then patted him on the leg. He was squirming and babbling and definitely didn't want to be held.

"Da-ee, Da-ee, Da-ee, Da-ee," he said over and over, head swiveling around on his chubby neck.

"As you can tell," Ava said. "Daddy is a rockstar. Who cares about Mom, huh?" she asked Sam, who ignored her and continued to repeat "Daddy". "I'm not putting you down, dude. I'm getting my hugs in before I go."

Maggie joined them, hands stuck in the back pockets of her jeans. "You all set, baby?"

Ava nodded, bouncing Sam in an effort to keep him occupied. "As set as toiletries and three extra shirts can make a person."

"Been there, done that." She shook her head. "You'll have fun…but I don't miss these sorts of things. Watch out for your father," Maggie leveled her a serious look. "Don't let him get drunk and sleep all night in a ditch."

"No ditches. Got it."

"We're countin' on you," Gemma said, equally serious ", to look after all of the boys."

Wow. Just…wow. Tara was the only other SAMCRO Old Lady making the trek. But here the two eldest – and most respected – of the women had laid the burden of responsibility on her. She knew it wasn't literal; she wouldn't have to physically take care of any of them. But somehow, just knowing they expected her to think of all the guys, and not just her own, was a big, scary honor.

"Okay," she agreed, mouth feeling a little dry. "I'll try."

A hand settled on her shoulder and she started. "We're good," Juice said, and returned Sam's wave with a goofy smile.

"You be careful," Maggie told him, moving in for a hug. "Take good care of my girl." She patted him on the back. "And bring her home pregnant!"

"Oh, Christ," Gemma rolled her eyes.

But he gave her a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am."

Ava hated giving Sam up, but she did, with one last kiss and assurance that she loved him to pieces and would be home soon. Then she gave him to Maggie and gave her mom a quick hug. "Thanks," she felt a lump in her throat. "I gotta get outta here before I cry like an idiot."

Everyone was mounted and engines fired up, their growls thunderous against the concrete walls of the clubhouse and garage. Ava swung her leg over the back of Juice's Dyna and found the footpegs out of habit. He passed her helmet back and she snapped it on, the butterflies flapping around in her stomach again.

"You ready?" he called as he revved the throttle and the machine shook beneath them.

She took a deep breath and glanced over where Maggie and Ava were standing. Maggie got Sam to wave. She hooked her chin over Juice's shoulder and took a deep breath. "Ready."

-O-

The Redwood Contingency – which is what Ava was calling their caravan, even though the Indian Hills, Fresno and Vegas charters had already hooked onto the convoy – stopped for lunch in northern Nevada at a giant truckstop. The kind with arcades and tractor-trailer sized carwashes and showers for grungy truckers. Ava and Tara took their Subway sandwiches and Cokes and found a shady picnic table, at which Ava immediately set her sunglasses on the bench and sat on them in a mental lapse that left her groaning.

"You think they're fixable?" she asked Tara, dangling them by one earpiece. As if to prove that they weren't, one of the lenses popped out and clattered down onto the table.

Tara suppressed a grin with a bite of her turkey on wheat. "I think you donate half your brain cells to the baby when you're pregnant and then never get them back," she said with a chuckle. "I was helping Johnny put paper in his great big shoes the other morning so they'd fit, and then realized they were Abel's shoes."

Ava sighed and popped a chip in her mouth, setting aside her ruined shades. They'd been her favorites: the lenses huge and mirrored, who cared if they made her look like a bug, they were great for people watching. "And just think, I wanna have another one," she said dryly.

"Sam needs a sibling. Jax is an only child – well, bless Tommy -," she shook her head. "And I'm an only child, so are you. Siblings are good."

Ava nodded in agreement. Her thoughts exactly.

"Hey, babe," she heard Juice and twisted around on the bench. He was walking toward the convenience store/tacky-ass gift shop in front of the gas pumps. "You need anything else? Gum? I'm gonna grab some smokes."

"Sunglasses," she called back. "I just broke mine."

"You wanna come pick 'em out, or…?"

"Nah, I trust your judgment. Get something cute," and she turned back to her lunch. Subway was hardly the top of the restaurant food chain, but after so long on the road, the cool turkey, mustard and lettuce was delicious going down her throat with a sip of Coke between each bite.

"Which cabin are you guys in?" Tara asked.

"Six. I think, since there's only one true bedroom in each cabin, they tried to make it one married couple per."

The doc nodded slowly, glancing out across the asphalt that shimmered with heat mirages.

"I get to meet Koz's girl, so that should be interesting."

Tara frowned slightly, in a gesture Ava knew meant that she wasn't up to speed on that piece of gossip. With her duties at the hospital, she wasn't as in the loop as far as club gossip went. And since Koz was, and had always been, an out of town member, Tara had had very little to do with him. He certainly wasn't "Uncle Koz" to her and she probably didn't even register that him bringing someone along to Rally was a big deal.

"Glen was just named president up there, wasn't he?" Tara asked, and her expression was anxious like she thought she might be remembering that tidbit incorrectly and didn't want to put her foot in her mouth in front of the northern charters.

"Yep." Ava nodded. "Janine called to congratulate herself." She smiled at the memory. Janine was one of those people too damn likeable to ever be offensive with her off and on tangents, rambling and gossip.

They finished up their lunches, wadded up the garbage and were discussing their various levels of saddle soreness when Tara paused with her white chocolate and macadamia nut cookie suspended in front of her mouth. "Oh my god," she snorted, and then popped a much too large bite into her mouth to keep from commenting further.

Ava didn't have to wonder for long, because as she followed the doctor's line of sight, she saw her husband coming toward them. He had a plastic shopping bag in one hand, his black shades pushed up on his forehead, and perched on his nose, the tag still swinging from between the lenses, was a pair of sunglasses with plastic, red heart-shaped rims around the plastic, black heart-shaped lenses.

She almost choked.

"Well," Tara chuckled. "The good news is, he got you some sunglasses."

-O-

Manhattan, Montana was a far cry from its New York counterpart. They'd ridden through miles of open, flat grassland framed by groves of dark, heavy-leafed trees and winding little creeks that looked like shiny snakes slithering across the tundra. And then the town popped up like so many Monopoly houses bundled up along the road like something out of an old Western.

Tacoma led the way, and behind them the Rogue River and Jolet charters, and a handful of Nomads made a formidable line of bikes. Cassie kept her arms tight around Koz's waist up near the very front of the convoy and watched the town come into focus. It was dusk, and the old fashioned lamp posts were lit. The buildings were old and quaint, shop windows decorated with women's clothes, leather goods, big wheels of cheese and cured sausages. The side streets were narrow little veins that looked residential, bungalows with narrow porches clustered together. She saw more than one mailbox in the shape of a trout, or a moose, a grey wolf. Traffic was light and comprised of mostly pickup trucks and vans. This was a rural area dotted with horse and cattle farms, the town merely a suburban oasis for the ranchers. It was cute and so foreign from the terrain back home that Cass leaned back, her hands on Koz's shoulders, and stretched her sore back so she could check things out as the procession crawled through town.

Stacy Bergen – she of the pregnant belly and whiny voice – had booked them lodging at the Wayward-Ho Motel, and Cassie could see Janine leaning close to speak in her husband's ear and waving directions. Glen, and consequently the rest of the crew, turned down a large side street that teed into Main and the businesses gave way to empty buildings with broken windows. They were quickly in an older section of town that looked like it might have survived a fire at some point, and was no longer inhabited. And then, one more right turn and the motel loomed on the very edge of town, backed by nothing but a parking lot and a long stretch of empty field that disappeared into the ever-darkening tree stand beyond it. Dark but rainless clouds rolled over the sunset, giving the two-story building with its pitched roof an ominous feel. The neon sign out front flickered, and then died, leaving only half of the letters illuminated.

Ho Motel. That's what it said. And if they'd been smart, they would have hauled bed rolls and blankets out into the field behind the motel and camped under the stars.

-O-

The Ho Motel would have been tan on top and brown on the bottom if the paint hadn't been peeling off in long, dull, lead-based strips. Koz could hear the disapproving whistles and grumbles of his brothers as he slapped his helmet on the handlebars.

"Well isn't this just a budding metropolis," he recognized Suzy behind him somewhere.

Metropolitan wasn't the problem. Absolute shit was.

"Are you shitting me?" Janine shouted. She stood up on the sidewalk and flung her arms in the air. "Fuckin' Stacy…you!" She found Stacy's husband Berg in the crowd and stabbed a finger through the air at him. "If your Old Lady wasn't pregnant, I'd hike all the way back to Tacoma and kick her ass for this!"

"She looked it up online," Berg made a half-hearted protest, arms raised in a helpless gesture. "She said the pictures looked nice."

"Pictures from when? Thirty years ago?"

Koz tuned out the tirade – listening wasn't going to change the course of events to follow – and turned to find Cassie off the bike and on her cell phone. "Yes, Luc, it's me again," she said and he knew she had called home to check on the kid now that they had reached their destination.

Around him, the guys were unstrapping saddle bags and chattering.

"…so long as there's a shitter and a pillow, I'm good…"

"…damn, my back hurts like a…"

"…see that place we passed about a mile…"

"You good, brother?" an impossibly deep, loud voice cut through the others the same moment Koz felt a hand on his shoulder. A massive hand, it turned out, because it belonged to one of their Nomads, Mayday.

Mayday had spent a lot of time riding with Happy, and as a result, he'd kept in good stead with all of Hap's close brothers since the guy's passing. Koz liked the gigantic man a lot. "Hey, bro," he took the offered handshake, as always shocked at the size difference between the two of them. "I'm a'ight. You guys hook up with us at lunch?"

"Yeah. Still makin' the rounds." He nodded toward Cassie. "This your girl's first rally?"

Mayday and Cass had met a couple of times, but at big parties where there had been little chance for conversation. "Yeah." Koz glanced over at her, feeling proud. She was sliding her cell back in the little knapsack she was using as a purse.

"Hey, Mayday," she greeted as she joined them. She was always good about remembering names and personal tidbits, made a point of knowing his brothers and not just nodding and smiling. "I haven't seen you since June. How've you been?"

The giant was a sucker for polite sincerity. "Pretty good, ma'am, how 'bout yourself?"

"Dying for a shower, but good."

A sharp whistle snagged their attentions. Janine was on the sidewalk, hands now full of something. Face still a thunderhead. "Okay, I got the keys for everyone who booked a room," she called, voice carrying across the crowd. "Everyone who chose not to get a room – good for y'all – extra blankets are in the trailer." She gestured toward the utility trailer the pickup from Tacoma had pulled. "Rooms all have two queens and a bathroom. Except the honeymoon suite, that's one king bed and 'jacuzzi' tub in the bath. Who booked that?"

"Me." Koz raised a two-fingered salute with a grin, earning wolf whistles and comments from the guys.

Janine rolled her eyes and then flipped him the key. Which, when he caught it, he realized was an actual key: the metal variety dangling from a tan, wooden keychain with HS is gold script. "Clerk said it was on the south end under the staircase."

-O-

The south end, as it turned out, was bathed in shadow. The door to the room was tucked up under the staircase that led to the second floor walkway, and it was ensconced in absolute blackness, the only light source the dull glow of a Coke machine about ten yards down the wall. Koz felt Cassie's hand curl around his upper arm as she followed him into the dark. Her fingers twitched on his sleeve. He knew this made her nervous. Hell, it made him a little nervous, but that's what he got for watching too many horror flicks. Of course, for him, his nerves centered around his own reaction time should he need to protect her from whatever might lurk in the shadows.

He found the doorknob by feel, same with inserting the key into the lock. A blast of stale air hit him in the face as the door swung open, and for a half a breath, he anticipated any number of murderers to come rushing out of the suite. But all was still, the creak of the door the only sound. And a quick fumble along the wall flipped the light switch. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness.

Koz heard her breath catch in her throat; and not in a good way. He glanced sideways and noted the look of abject disgust that flickered across Cassie's face before she could school her features into a carefully bland expression. He stood beside her in the threshold of the motel room and his thought was: what a fuckin' shit hole! He'd maybe bedded down in worse, maybe... but not in a long damn time or without alcohol to help him lower his standards. And as he glanced around, trying to see things the way she was, it wasn't pretty.

The honeymoon suite was decked out in a Western motif. The king-sized bedspread had once been a Navajo pattern of cream, green, rust and blue stripes, but was now various hues of dirt. Instead of carpet, the room was floored with discolored, warped and peeling linoleum. The dark splotches could have been age spots, or could have been shit stains for all he knew. The AC hadn't been running and it was hot, and smelled like a high school locker room. The faux wood ceiling fan blades drooped. There was a velvet painting of a fat woman on a horse above the bed.

A sigh drew his attention, and he couldn't help but admire the way she screwed up her courage and took a step inside the room. "It's okay, right?" she muttered, crossing the room and setting the saddle bags she'd had slung over her shoulder down on the wooden table that sat between two dingy upholstered chairs along one wall. Two doors flanked the seating arrangement; most likely leading to the bathroom and a closet – as if anyone staying in this place would take the time to hang up their clothes. The table shifted off kilter, but it held the bags. Barely.

Cassie blew out a breath and seemed almost afraid to inhale again. She turned around and traversed the room, coming to a stop in front of him. Her arms slipped around his waist and she leaned against him, chin resting on his chest, face tilted up so she stared at him.

"It'll be alright," he ran his hands over her back.

She sighed and closed her eyes, turning her head so that now her cheek was resting on his chest. "Serial killers notwithstanding," she joked quietly. He chuckled in spite of the situation – yeah, this place fucking sucked, but his girl was trying to swallow her horror and go with the flow. She kept doing that; proving that she wasn't just in his life, but worked hard at belonging there. He kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot and glanced down to find her green eyes staring up at him again. "I don't need five stars Koz -,"

He cut her off with a laugh that he couldn't bite back. "That's good, sweetheart, 'cause this is about as far away from that rating as you can get... we're probably negativea few." She laughed too, and he felt her arms slip from around his waist as she stepped away.

Cassie took a few steps backward, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "You know, we might as well make the most of a bed and some privacy while we have the chance. I've ridden on your bike all day baby," she bravely sat down on top of the still-made-bed ", now I want to rii..." her words cut off the second the corner of the bed gave way with a thud and she was dumped onto the floor.

Koz was dumbfounded into silence. Which was probably a good thing.

Her face registered shock and horror. "OH!... MY-GOD!" she stuttered around a rush of breath as she scrambled to her feet, turning back to stare at the sagging corner of the bed. "I broke the bed! Are you ki – I actually broke the bed!"

Koz could only imagine what was running through her head. But for his part, he knew it was never good for a woman's ego when something broke while she was sitting in/standing on it. The dilapidated old piece of shit had no doubt been rocked one too many times by daylight cash-paying customers, and the slats that held the mattress, not to mention the leg that now protruded at an awkward angle from the wreckage, had finally just snapped. It had nothing to do with Cassie and her hundred-and-thirty-something pounds, but he would have to soothe those ruffled feathers anyway.

"It's fine, baby," he reined in a smile. "It wasn't you -,"

"I know it wasn't." She ran a frustrated hand through her hair and shook her head. "It's just insane to think that motels this shitty still exist outside of Hollywood clichés!"

He snorted a laugh. "Grab your stuff and let's go see if they've got any other rooms open before Norman and Mother show up."

Cassie hefted the saddle bags again. "Half the crew is camped out in the parking lot, Koz," she reminded. "I think this 'honeymoon suite' was the last and nicest of the rooms."

"Guess we'll have to improvise then."

-O-

There was a topless brunette standing on a table, swiveling her hips as she unfastened her cutoffs and slowly worked them down her hips. Then men sitting below her smiled and nodded, but it was such a common occurrence that no one was too excited about it. Still, Ava knew that's where Juice's eyes were trained. Chairs were so scarce in the Salt Lake clubhouse that she was forced to sit in her husband's lap, his arm looped casually around her waist as she leaned against his chest.

Chibs, Bobby and Carter were at their table, along with several Utah Sons she didn't know. Tonight, amid the debauchery that was any overnight clubhouse stay, Chibs wasn't her father, but another Son, a brother, and she was completely in Juice's hands for the duration of this trip. Vegas, Fresno and Indian Hills were in-house too, and the room was hot and stuffy with jostling bodies. They had an early morning, but of course a quick beer had turned to a few more beers and some cards had been busted out. Now pool balls cracked, the music was blaring, and the club girls were putting on a show.

Juice was still riveted by the brunette though. Ava watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Maybe it was the smoky, sin-infested room, maybe she was too tired to care…but she moved around on his lap so her legs were split over his, her back to his chest, and watched the action.

The brunette was squeezing her tits together and doing a little twirl for her audience. She pinched her nipples and pitched her head back, knew just how to arch her back so that her stomach was sucked flat and her ass popped out. When she dropped to her knees on top of the table, hand thrusting beneath the lace scrap of her thong, hips rolling, Ava felt Juice shift beneath her. She knew it was an act on the girl's part – she wasn't really that turned on, but it got the attention of the sweaty, bearded bikers standing around her and they hollered their approval. In a matter of seconds, one of them was pulling her off the table, and Ava didn't miss her grin. What was a little public masturbation if it got your ass a ticket to Sturgis? The guys always bought it though. Always.

She moved her own hips in a slow circle and Juice's arm tightened around her. "Like what you see?" she whispered over her shoulder. He was hard, she could feel it, but wanted the visual confirmation and craned her head around so she could meet his gaze. His eyes were wide and dripped with unmasked intentions. She smiled. "You wanna find a room?"

One of his hands slipped across her denim-clad thigh and between her legs. "Hell yes."

He walked behind her and she knew they looked like those couples at the fair who were practically dry humping while they waited in line, but the room was so crowded that walking quickly wouldn't have been possible. The Utah clubhouse was long and narrow, with dorms on the first and second floor, but all the doors were shut. And most of them didn't even have to be knocked on to know what was going on inside.

Juice put his back against the wall up on the second floor and sighed in frustration. She felt more than a little guilty for leading him on, but in a good way. Guilt had a way of breaking through inhibitions. Ava smoothed her palm over his belt buckle, and then cupped the hard bulge in his jeans, leaning into him, stretching up on her toes. He snorted and it ruffled the soft wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail.

"In the hall?" he asked with disbelief. "You're killing me here."

"We're all alone. It'll be okay."

"Alone for how long?" But his hand was fitted loosely around her throat, pulling her to him.

She darted her tongue out and ran the tip across his lower lip. "It won't take long."

Ava had learned that goading Juice didn't lead to discomfort, but rather, he took it as a challenge. And usually proved her wrong – which was always her hope. He took hold of her upper arms and rolled her along the wall until she was the one pressed up against it, him pushing into her. His kiss was wet, warm and beer-flavored. His ornate belt buckle hit just above the low-riding waistband of her jeans and she tilted her hips until it dug into her belly hard enough to brand her skin with the outline of the wreathed skull. His hands skipped across her body, squeezing her tits hard before they started creeping beneath her shirt, his calluses rough on the tender skin of her ribcage. There was always going to be something terribly hot about having to tip her head back and crack her jaw wide enough to keep up with the mauling of an up-against-a-wall kiss. The hardness of the varnished wood against her back as she was smashed against it by his body was exciting and forbidden. Yeah, Juice was a doofus and a nerd, but he'd obviously used that to his advantage – had learned her body in a way that was purely about pleasure and not about proving a point.

She looped her arms around his neck and flattened her chest to his, his kiss trailing down her jaw and throat. He sucked at the tender little spot right above her clavicle and she dug her nails into the backs of his shoulders. Snap. The catch on her bra came loose. His hands smoothed up the length of her spine, and then one was pushing past the waistband of her jeans, palming her ass. Ava was well aware that things were about to get totally stripped down in the hall, and she couldn't bring herself to care. Her sore, tired muscles felt renewed under his touch. And she'd spent all day on the back of his bike, clinging to him…

The door nearest them opened with a pop of the lock and a loud groan of old hinges. Startled, Ava's first reaction was to straighten away from the wall. But Juice – and she couldn't help but admire the change in him over the past couple of years – immediately pinned her to the wall with a hand on her shoulder, only turning his body a fraction so he still partially covered her. He was protecting her, keeping her shielded from the eyes of whoever was about to come out of the dorm room, and it warmed her tiny little heart to no end.

A peal of high-pitched female laughter preceded the couple that came staggering out in the hallway. The woman was young, pretty, looked like a local high school grad who'd wandered into the party. Her pants were still undone and her panties were pink. The guy was in his thirties, medium build, a thick head full of movie-star dark hair. Good looking, but his nose was a tad crooked, like he'd suffered a bad break and it had never healed properly. He almost seemed a little familiar – the nasty smile and dark beady eyes.

Ava sucked in a sharp breath the same second Juice propped a hand beside her head on the wall and leaned over her, keeping her wrapped up tight. The guy was the same Johnny Depp look-a-like who Ava had tried to tempt at a SAMCRO party. Almost two years ago, when she'd been a bundle of raging pregnancy hormones – and, if she was honest, had been plagued by nothing short of insanity – she'd gone looking for a fight, and she'd found one. Mr. Nasty Smile had wailed on Juice, right up until the animal had come out. Until the steady, sweet side of Juice had snapped and given way to a darker, edgier version of her man. And he'd pounded this guy's face to a messy pulp.

Her hope that the Utah son had forgotten about the match was dashed the second his eyes locked on hers. He came to a halt, the girl stumbling at his side. "S'up, man?" he greeted Juice, his tone icy.

"Hey, Roman." Juice had his ass-kicking voice dusted off and out of its box.

Roman, that must have been his name, snorted and twitched a glance toward Ava. "They don't have any other tail in Charming?"

Juice was livid. She could see a vein throbbing in his temple. "Watch what you say about the wife."

He twitched his brows once. "Huh." And then started down the hall again. "C'mon, Candy."

"Um, it's Carol," she heard the girl say before they started down the steps.

Juice followed their departure with his eyes, rolling his lips into hard-pressed lines, eyes narrowing.

"Baby," Ava prodded gently, reaching up to touch his taut cheek. "It's okay."

His head swiveled toward her slowly, and the dark look in his eyes left her knees feeling weak. "That guy's an asshole."

"He is."

She was afraid their moment had been ruined, but then he grinned. She met his descending kiss, and this time, the steamy warmth of arousal was tinged with a hint of possession – the way his tongue pushed into her mouth and his hands started feeling greedy on her hips. They were past the bullshit; Roman, and consequently, their shaded past, wouldn't ruin their evening. But Juice was a changed man. He'd never be the pre-funeral, pre-her Juice that he'd been before.

He pulled her into the abandoned dorm room – thankfully there weren't other couples in there – and whipped her shirt off her head, her already unfastened bra getting torn from her arms in the process. But then he stopped, took her face in his hands, and kissed her forehead. "I love you, you know."

She smiled. Rested her hands over his wrists. "I know you do."

The room was a sparse, smelly space; it reeked of sex and cigarette smoke. The rumpled sheets were definitely a no-go. He still cradled her face and his thumb skimmed across her cheek. "But…I really don't wanna fuck you in the same room that asshole was just in."

She nodded. Though disappointed, she was in complete agreement. She wriggled back into her shirt, but stuffed her bra in his cut pocket. "Save that for later." And he towed her back out into the hall as the search continued.

-O-

Koz found Suzy at his post watching over the Tacoma fleet of bikes and offered him a quick up-nod. "If you ever even dream of having a Top Rocker, it would be beneficial for you to steer people clear of the pool are for the next hour."

The Prospect eyed his sponsor. "You're not seriously thinkin' of taking a dip in the Black Lagoon back there, are you? I think all the black shit is actually moldy algae."

Cassie appeared, still carrying the saddle bag, three beers, two bottles of water, and two blankets. She handed one beer to Koz and flashed a kind smile to Suzy. "Hey, Rye. Beer?"

Koz nodded, allowing it, and the Prospect took the beer with an honest "thanks". Koz draped an arm across Cassie's shoulders and steered her away. "Not swimming."

The "Black Lagoon" was fenced in by chain link back behind the motel, the wilderness just beyond the concrete pad. It was dark and oddly quiet, and already he could feel her relaxing against his side. Obviously, she didn't think an axe murdered was about to leap out of the shadows back here.

But the second they slipped through the gate, a flood light that was obviously rigged to a motion detector flared, washing the pool and surrounding area in blinding white light.

"Shit," Cassie muttered, squinting. She ducked out from under his arm and he let her go, finding the pool skimmer leaning up against the fence. There were cobwebs gluing the thing to the chain link, and he grimaced. Clearly the pool wasn't skimmed often. It would do the job he wanted it for, though, and he rammed the handle into each of the glaring bulbs, dousing them in welcome darkness once more.

When the bright spots had cleared from his eyes, he saw that Cassie had selected the sturdiest, cleanest of the resin lounge chairs and had hauled it up into a secluded corner by the concrete outbuilding that housed the pump and – maybe – pool chemicals. She had set down their beers and waters, stowed the bag beneath the chair, and was laying out the grey fleece blankets with care.

He smirked. She was all about finding luxuries where there were none.

-O-

He would have rather been in a bed, but slightly reclined in a lounge chair, at least he could stretch his legs. Cassie was sitting astride his lap, her right arm draped casually around his neck, the fingers of that hand messing with his hair; a move he would have found as annoying as fuck if anyone but Cass was doing it. Nobody touched his hair as a rule save him and Lou the barber. But Cassie, he's found, despite appearances, loved to break rules and push limits.

Her head was turned and she brought her beer to her lips, took a long pull and then brought the sweating bottle to her temple and held it there, attempting to alleviate some of her own sweating. The day had been a record-setter, reaching the mid-nineties, well above the average eighty-five for this time of year. Heat still clung to the night air and it was humid, which meant rain could be in the area. They were all praying that any downpours held off.

Cassie took another sip and then set the bottle on the ground next to the chair, turning her undivided attention his way.

Lightly at first, their lips brushed together, coaxing one another. Her fingers traced patterns on the back of this neck. Through their layers of clothing – her jacket, his cut – he'd felt her tits pressing against his back all day, and now, his hands found their way to her chest. He cupped a breast in each hand, lightly molding. He wasn't being conceited – he knew it was his mouth and hands pulling her closer, quickening her breathing between kisses. He squeezed her tits a little harder, bringing her even closer…

And then just as quickly he was pushing her away. He slammed back against the lounge chair. "Get up!" he hissed, and she leapt to her feet. She looked startled and concerned as he swung his legs over the side of the chair and stood, cussing, and massing his hamstring. Fucking Charlie horse…he was prone to leg cramps – he'd been known to seize up and have to stagger out of bed in the middle of the night – but this was one wicked spasm. He walked it off a moment, trying to remember how much water he'd had that day. Dehydration always made it worse. But it was usually his calves giving him fits, and not the hammies.

"Cramp, baby?" she asked knowingly. He'd scared her the first time it had happened at her house, and he smirked at the memory. But she'd since become used to the process.

"Yeah." And after another minute the son of a bitch had worked itself out. He settled back down in the chair, this time motioning for her to sit between his legs.

She did, lying sideways with her torso against his chest, her head on his shoulder. She settled her hand gently on top of his still-throbbing leg.

After a moment, she reached inside his cut and flannel shirt and curled her hand around the butt of one of the two guns he kept in his shoulder holster. She knew he liked to sleep on his left side, so she slid the piece from its holster and then deftly leaned back to deposit in the saddle bag.

"Thanks, baby," he said, squeezing her hip.

She settled against his chest again with a smile.

-O-

"It's a laundry closet," Ava's voice was flat. She sighed. "You know what -,"

"Hey, now, don't gimme that," Juice chastised lightly, earning a single arched brow in answer. "Yeah, it's a laundry closet, but no one else is in here. Totally private."

She didn't look convinced though, massaging her forehead right between her eyebrows. "I'm sorry I even tried to start something. It's late and you've gotta be exhausted…" her protests trailed off when he took hold of her hand and pressed it to the front of his jeans. "Still?" she asked, a smile breaking out across her face.

"All the time," he scoffed, because fake bragging always made her laugh, and she did. Until her eyes were dark little slits.

"You feeling creative, then?"

He pulled her into the closet and pushed the door shut with his shoulder. It was small, pitch black and stuffy, A quick scan of the wall with his hand proved that either the light switch was outside, or there was a pull cord overhead somewhere. The dryer was running with a steady thump and it was making the air around them hot as hell. "I can't see anything," he grumbled.

"You don't need to see." He felt one of her hands on his chest. Her touch trailed down until her fingers hooked into his belt. "Just feel me."

Okay, that he could do. Her bra was still in his pocket and he found the soft, round swells of her tits through the fabric of her shirt. He liked the separation the material provided, the mystery of it. He cupped them, squeezing until he heard her murmur approval above the noise of the dryer. His hands slipped under the hem of her shirt, finding her breasts again, rolling her nipples between his fingertips as he pressed his pelvis into hers, trapping her between himself and the dryer.

"Damn," he felt her lips against his neck. "This thing is vibrating like a motherfucker."

Which gave him an idea, but while he was thinking it through, she unfastened his belt and jeans, and then her hand was closing around his cock. He hissed. "Ease up, baby or this show's gonna be over in a hurry."

"Sorry," her fingers uncurled, until there was only the softest of brushes of her fingertips against him.

"You wanna try something?" he asked, eyes closed though it was dark, getting a little lost in her easy touch.

"MmHm."

He found her hips and turned her, slowly so she didn't trip on whatever the hell was in this closet with them. The feel of her ass against his hard-on was killer. And her belly was smooth and soft as he pushed her shirt up and unbuttoned her jeans. He pushed them down clear of her hips, taking her lacy boy-short panties with them, all the way to her knees. But she didn't have to take them off, her boots either. "Lay on the dryer," he whispered in her ear. Then he peeled her shirt off and let it fall into the blackness. Her hair tickled his face and neck. He could feel her quivering with anticipation. He slid his hands up her torso and over her breasts again, pinching her nipples. "Lay down on it flat, okay?"

"'Kay."

He followed her as she moved forward, imagining what it must look like. In his mind, he saw her get up on her tip toes and lay her upper body over the shaking appliance, saw her tits pillow against the warm metal, knew its vibrations rattled through her sensitive nipples and all across her chest. He saw her crawl up until her feet dangled useless a few inches from the floor, her flat lower belly holding her weight – more than likely painfully – against the lip of the dryer.

"You alright?"

She grunted. "It's awkward, but…God, it feels good too. C'mon."

He found her with his hands in the blackness. The ridge of her spine. The plump, tight roundness of her ass. Down further to the sleek wet entrance between her legs. He grabbed a hip in each hand and brought them together, pushing inside her on an easy stroke. And then…Jesus, he could feel the vibrations that rattled through her body, all the way up his cock to his balls. "Oh, fuck me," he muttered.

"I know," her voice was getting high pitched and breathy. "C'mon, baby. Please."

He started slow, withdrawing only a fraction and rocking his hips against her ass, loving the tight, wet grip of her body and the added bonus of the imbalanced dryer. But then he had to move; there just wasn't any way not to move. The metal sheeting of the unit flexed with a sound like special effects thunder, his belt buckle clanged against the front and the sweaty skin of her thighs peeled away from the appliance on each thrust, the slapping sound egging him to go faster, harder.

Ava was panting and moaning and muttering obscenities he couldn't make out. She was gonna have a bruise on her abdomen from this damn dryer, but it felt too good to stop. He slammed into her again and again and again.

She cried out when she came, and her walls grabbed him harder and tighter than a fist. He collapsed on top of her, his face sticking to the damp skin of her back. He stayed like that even once he was through, and he'd stopped pulsing.

The dryer's cycle ended with a loud blast of the buzzer, and then the cramped little place was silent except for their uneven breathing. "That was so hot," he managed after a moment, running his tongue up the rivulet of sweat he felt trickling down her spine.

"Literally. I think I melted."

-O-
Cassie's long, crossed legs had become intertwined with his good leg as they sat and talked about private things. Things kept secret between the two of them. It was in no way making small talk, but the fragmented bits of conversation served both as an exchange of information, and a way to flirt and relax. Her legs caressed his as they traded comments. He trailed his fingers across her shoulder and down her arm, rubbing little circles across the smooth skin left exposed by her tank top.

He slipped his arm down to encircle her waist, and with a slight nudge of his chin against her forehead, she knew to shift positions so that she rested with her back against his chest. He heard her sigh as he traced a single fingertip across the sliver of her abdomen between her waistband and hem of her top. With pained slowness, he walked his fingers up her belly, inching her shirt up just a little each time. The smooth flat of her stomach looked silver in the moonlight, and he could see the quick, shallow breaths she took reflected in the jump of her muscles.

He nudged her shirt up further, until his thumb brushed against the lace of her bra, and his other hand landed on the button of the denim shorts she'd changed into. God bless super-short, low-riding shorts…he thumbed open the snap and pulled down the barely-there zipper. When he slipped his hand inside, the shorts eased off her hips and Cassie lifted her ass slightly, maneuvering them the rest of the way down. Gravity carried them to her ankles and she pulled her feet through one at a time, then only clad in her thong and tank top.

He cupped her mound and could feel her heat, smiled, and when he felt her shift he knew she was fighting the urge to move her hips and coax some finger play out of him. So he decided to give her what she wanted. He moved her panties to the side; his finger slipped easily inside, she was wet, and her hips began to gently rock in time with the rhythm of his hand, her inner muscles squeezing his probing fingers. She inhaled deeply and then released the breath a little at a time. He felt her jaw grind where her cheek was pressed against his and knew she was biting her lip. When his thumb rubbed against her clit, she released a whimper, and her fingers lightly clawed the forearm of the hand that massaged her breasts.

He was rock hard now, straining almost painfully behind the fly of his jeans where Cassie's swiveling hips and ass were creating a delicious friction that was getting hard to fight. His strokes became more determined, fingers taking her toward her approaching orgasm. She was panting, her breathing pattern peppered with low, quiet little moans that were honest, pure, and turned him on far more than any porn star-esque vocal façade.

"Come on, baby. Cum for me," he whispered next to her ear, running his tongue along its outer contours.

"Fuck!" she cried softly, and then lowered her voice to a hushed murmur. "Mmm, please…please…ooh, there, yeah…right there…oh!"

There, of course right there. Koz knew this woman's body inside and out, knew exactly how and where to touch her.

Her orgasm began at his fingertips and he felt it move swiftly through her groin. "Fuuuuuuuuccckkkk," she hissed as her thighs clenched together against his hand, holding him in place. She bucked against his hand as pleasure rippled through her body. Her nipples were hard against his other hand. Goose flesh pebbled her moon-silvered skin. She was gorgeous.

When her thighs finally unlocked, releasing his hand, she relaxed back against him and caught her breath. After a long moment, she twisted, now breathing normally, and stretched up to kiss him, her tongue twining with his. She kissed her way to his neck and shifted positions again, now kneeling between his legs on the chaise. Her hands slid beneath his shirt, nails lightly, lovingly raking over his chest and abdomen, pinching his nipples each in turn.

She reached down and worked open his jeans. He lifted up slightly just as she had done, and she tugged them down – he'd thankfully already toed off his boots – and his jeans slithered off the end of the lounge.

He didn't wear underwear and his cock pointed skyward. He watched her lean low, felt her hair brush against him in the most tortuous of light touches, and sucked in an anticipatory breath, wanting her to take him in her hand. Instead, she began stroking his balls lightly with her fingernails.

Koz leaned back, eyes shutting, but not before he saw her satisfied grin. Twenty percent angel, eighty percent devil: that was his Cassie. He growled when she finally took him in her mouth.

Her tongue moved up his shaft, swirling, circling, exploring all the veins and textures of his hard cock. He was thick, long, hard and she was enjoying him like an ice cream cone. Her tongue traveled around the rim and over his smooth head. His hips bucked when she finally took him deep down in her throat. His hands tangled up in her hair, ready to guide, but she didn't need any coaching. Like he did hers, she knew his body, and exactly what to do to get him off. But he kept his fingers latched tight in her hair as she picked up the rhythm he needed.

His head began to swim and the tightness in his belly was verging on debilitating. His breathing was ragged. When she started massaging his balls again, he moved one hand from her hair to her cheek, caressing the side of her face. It was his personal signal to her that go-time was approaching. With club chicks, he didn't give a flying fuck if they were caught off guard and choked and sputtered. But he warned Cass.

She kept at it though, even as he bucked into her mouth deeper and his hands held her head in place. He came hard, pulsing, pushing deeper, filling her mouth. She licked and swallowed all she could, using both hands to stroke him to his end. He watched her tongue slurp up the remaining juices she'd missed on her first swallow.

Spent, he leaned back and was content to let her kiss her way back up his body. When she hovered over his chest, her nails biting through his shirt, he wrapped her up tight in a silent thank you.

Before long, though, they became aware of their state of undress. They both donned their clothes, consumed the water she'd brought along and reclined the lounge chair to a flat position. Stretched out on their sides, Cassie in front of him, his arm around her, they fell asleep using one blanket as a pillow and the other as a cover.

Cassie was so worn out that she remained asleep when Koz became aware of the approaching footsteps of others. Slowly, their hiding spot filled brothers looking for somewhere better than the parking lot to bed down. He drifted off again, but kept his ears pricked to all that went on around them.

TBC