Page 5 of Legacy of Smoke
2
INTOXICATING
AUSTIN
Nothing fit anymore. The thermal I borrowed was Sprout’s, so it was hella long, and the jeans I wore were brand new, and not broken in yet. The 883 I rode, both borrowed and underpowered. It certainly wasn’t my old Screaming Eagle. But it was good for tooling around town at least. I’d managed one trip to the store yesterday and surprisingly didn’t buy booze. Mainly because I couldn’t afford it.
Luckily, Sprout vouched for me with Jackson, and I could drink at the Destroyers bar tucked inside a junkyard the club owned and ran. Even better, there was a broken shell of an RV tucked in a corner of the sprawling lot that had a mattress that smelled like mildew, and a shitter that worked. The whole unit was the same size as my cell, so it didn’t feel too cramped or too open. The best part was walking outside any time I wanted or needed to. The view included an open blue sky ringed on the periphery with barbed wire gates that magically opened. Their sharp-edged loops reminded me of hell. Familiar, but I was free for the first time in almost ten years. It was intoxicating andaddictive. I needed something to ground me before I landed my ass back inside.
Sure, there was a halfway program I should check out, but I wastime served. Which meant a minimal support system.
Except for the Destroyers.
Sprout, hands down, was the best friend a man could have. I’d prospected years ago and was almost patched in. But two days short of the ceremony, my fuck-ass brother, the real one, took his douche-baggery too far, and I had to kick his ass.
I did such a good job of it; I landed in prison for almost killing him.
Which meant I missed my swearing in ceremony, missed my patch, and missed out on the changes I could have been a part of.
Like Sprout owning a construction company.
Like Wolf finally getting his VP position and losing a leg.
Jackson getting his president’s patch.
Kushman retiring.
So much passed me by.
Now I was starting over from nothing. But at least I still had my prospect spot, and last night, Jackson declared me, “time served,” and handed me the vest I should have put on a decade ago.
It was too tight. I couldn’t button it, and it chafed around my armpits.
Even the weather felt odd. October was great riding weather, if you were used to it. But I’d been ten years gone, and slowly rotting away inside. The first few miles were shaky, and by the time I pulled up to the lot where my new job was, I had an overwhelming urge to take off into the chill andneverlook back.
But as I changed from the too-tight vest and borrowed shirt into what would be my uniform from now until whenever I got fed up with the grind, a flash of color caught my eye.
Sprout hovered over a tiny bundle of curves wrapped up in a tight skirt, bright tropical flower jacket, and shimmering black curls that caught the morning sun and sparkled like diamonds on black silk. I was struck dumb. I stood there by my bike, gaping at the work trailer for a whole minute, barely remembering to breathe, let alone find my loaned construction helmet.
Then Sprout bellowed for me to get my ass in the trailer, and I got to meet her.
Poppy.
Prettier than a dream. It was hard to believe that she was Pinner’s daughter. He was an ugly son of a bitch. Everyone in the joint thought he was lying when he pointed to a photocopied photo of a gorgeous Pacific Island knockout, and said she was his wife.Ex-wife, he’d correct himself under his breath.
That we could believe. But seeing Poppy in the flesh, knowing she was Pinner’s daughter, and smelling the sweet fragrance of whatever perfume she wore? It was a punch to the chest. I’d never breathe the same again. Even sweating my ass off, the lingering kiss of flowers returned every time I straighten up and caught a breath of clean air.
By quitting time, those moments were rare. And I thought I was hallucinating when I finally handed off the last board, put away the last hammer, and swept the last deck. That smell was back. I turned around, sensing the breeze, and there she stood.
A vision of paradise haloed by the setting sun. “Hey.”
“Are you hungry?”
I rubbed sawdust out of my ear and asked her to repeat herself.
“I was wondering if you were hungry. Sprout told me you got out on Friday, didn’t have much, and I’m cooking for my sister tonight, but she might not show, and I’d rather not eat a double portion so…” Her words rambled around, but if I understoodcorrectly, she was asking me to come to herhomeand eat. I had to make sure.
“You’re asking me, a felon, to your house for dinner?”
