Blood & Bones: Ozzy by Jeanne St. James
Chapter One
Ozzy groanedand slapped a hand over his eyes. The Great Oz wasn’t feeling so fucking great this morning. Trip must have driven over him with the repo wrecker. Then put it in reverse, smashed the accelerator and did it again.
He rolled over and shoved his face into his pillow to block out the sliver of light sneaking between the two halves of the curtains and, of fucking course, happened to be shining directly across his face. Sliding a hand between him and the rumpled sheet, he moved it all the way down until he found his aching morning wood.
As hard as he hit the bottle last night, he wasn’t sure he could perform this morning, but his dick seemed to be willing.
But then, it usually was.
His dick thought he was still twenty. The rest of his body reminded him he was twice that age.
With his face still burrowed in the pillow, he reached out for Lizzy…
Nothing.
Empty.
Her side of the bed was stone cold.
She was gone.
When was he going to remember that?
A two-year habit was hard to break.
He turned his head on his pillow and forced open his right eye.
Yeah. Gone.
He was alone.
He drew a long breath in through his nostrils and closed his eye again. Then he shoved his face back into the pillow and groaned.
He’d fucked up.
Not the first time. Wouldn’t be the last.
But this fuck-up stung. It had left a mark.
He wasn’t sure how to fix it. Or even if it was possible.
Right after she left, he was tempted to chase her down, to force her to come back home.
He didn’t.
Then she came home anyway. He thought she was back, but she wasn’t. Not permanently. She only returned to share the news with Stella and Trip about how she’d discovered Crazy Pete was her father.
She’d been keeping a secret all the time she’d been a fucking sweet butt.
She’d been keeping a secret all the time she’d been in his fucking bed.
The secret being she was a goddamn Original’s daughter. She just hadn’t known who the Original was.
Now she knew. A DNA test proved it.
Stella was her half-sister. Fury blood ran through her veins.
Because of that, she should be back in Manning Grove. Not as a sweet butt but as part of the Fury sisterhood. Trip should’ve insisted she come back home. Demanded it.
He didn’t.
The Fury prez saw his sister-in-law hooking up with that motherfucker Crash from the Dirty Angels MC as strengthening the alliance between the two clubs.
He acted like Lizzy leaving was a good thing.
It wasn’t.
She’d be back. She’d get sick of that motherfucker’s shit and she’d come running home to her real family. Ozzy would then need to decide whether he’d let her back into his life and his bed.
In the meantime, he needed to push this fucking mistake behind him and think about moving on.
If she didn’t come home, he had nothing holding him here any longer.
It was really fucking tempting to hit the road. Go back out on his own.
Keep on keeping on.
Yeah, that was what he needed to do.
He didn’t know why he came back to Manning Grove, to the Fury, in the first place.
He shouldn’t have.
When he was seventeen, he only joined the club for one reason and one reason only.
Revenge.
But when word got to him that Trip was resurrecting the club, he was curious more than anything. He wanted to see who actually survived. What the new prez was rebuilding and why.
What he found was not many were left at all.
Dutch. And Crazy Pete until the cancer got him.
Some of the kids had returned, like Trip, Sig, Jemma, Judge and Stella.
And then there was him, of course.
He’d survived the crazy shit that had gone down back then. But it had been the perfect cover for what he’d come to do in the first place.
Find and kill the fucker, or fuckers, who killed his mother.
By the time he figured out who it was, the Fury had already begun to crumble around him.
He’d been waiting for the right moment to do what he needed to do. The Fury members themselves took care of that for him. The death and destruction, the collapse of the club and brotherhood, was the perfect cover. With them all turning on each other, it wasn’t hard to take care of the business he needed to do and take off.
Without a worry about anyone hunting him down. Without having to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life.
Because no one would care. He figured in the end there might not be anyone left to care.
The murdering motherfucker was just another casualty in the devastation around them.
When it was all over and before the dust cleared, Ozzy had hopped back on his sled and took off, thinking he’d never look back.
But, eventually, he did look back. After spending time alone, riding town to town, state to state, being his own man, living his own life, it got lonely.
New towns, new faces, new names. Nothing ever stayed the same.
In the year he spent with the Fury as a prospect and then the month or so he was a fully-patched member, he began to understand the point of wearing a club’s colors, to belonging to a brotherhood. He might have even stayed after doing what he came there to do, if he could do it in a way it wouldn’t come back on him.
But then the Originals fucked everything up by turning on their own. The brotherhood splintered and each shard cut deep.
Even so, that type of brotherhood called to him and in a short amount of time that kind of bond had seeped into his blood. Eventually he found it again with the Thirty-Eight Calibers, a support club for the outlaw club, the Fifty Calibers.
Then he got his ass in a fucking jam and did time for running guns for the mother club. The brotherhood he thought was a solid one turned out to be as holey as Swiss goddamn cheese. Worse, his girl at the time went wild while he was stuck inside.
Once he was released, he again wandered across the country on his own. He kept his knees in the breeze and his face in the wind.
Until he heard the rumor.
Buck’s son returned after doing a bid of his own behind bars and was rebuilding the Fury with a vengeance.
Ozzy already had the damn club’s colors inked onto his back, so what would it hurt to go back and scope it out? Ease back into the Fury brotherhood. It could be a place to rest his head, if only for a little a while.
But he found what he was looking for, the real brotherhood he craved. The family he lost so fucking long ago.
A family created from the same club that stole his real one.
From the moment he stepped onto Trip’s back porch on the farm and pounded on that screen door, he’d slipped back into the life, both as club secretary and manager of The Grove Inn.
Shit was going great.
Until it wasn’t.
When once again, who he thought was his regular piece decided to spin on another man’s dick. And kept fucking secrets from him.
He groaned and slid his palm down his deflating dick.
He needed to take a piss, drink a fuckload of coffee and head downstairs to check on Josie, Chelle and Shade’s youngest girl, who was helping him in the office full-time for the summer.
Maybe if he sweet-talked her a little bit, he could watch the office while she came up to make him coffee and breakfast.
He grinned. Shade would probably hate it if he found out, but it wasn’t like he was asking the eighteen-year-old for fucking head.
All he wanted was a mug of black coffee and a breakfast that was edible.
And, anyway, he wasn’t into girls, he preferred women. He dealt with the club’s younger sweet butts but he always had preferred the older Lizzy in his bed.
A woman with a brain, who didn’t pout and stomp her foot, and didn’t have an ulterior motive.
Or at least he thought.
But it turned out she kind of did. Finding her fucking father.
All that fucking time he spent with her and she never shared that shit with him once.
Not fucking once.
It was time to stop wallowing in that bullshit and move on, from Lizzy and possibly the Fury, too.
He sighed, decided to take the next few minutes for some self-service and once he was done lightening the load in his balls, he’d head downstairs, check on his newest employee and turn on The Great Oz charm to finagle some decent food into his growling gut.
* * *
“Gimme a whiskey,”Ozzy ordered Crystal. The young sweet butt shot him a smile over her shoulder. Besides her so-tight-you-could-read-her lips short shorts being pink, so was her hair. The color was so bright it actually made him squint. How she had any fucking hair left with as much as she dyed it different colors, he had no fucking clue. “That a wig?”
Crys finished pouring him about three fingers of Jim Beam into a glass and stopped in front of him, the only thing separating them being the bar.
She giggled and slid the glass in front of him. “No. Why would you think that?”
“‘Cause you change the color so damn much.”
She ran her fingers through her long hair, fluffing it and set her baby blues on him. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s fuckin’ pink.”
“It’s supposed to be pink.”
“The only thing I like pink is my pussy.”
She winked at him. “You have a pussy, Oz? Last time I checked, you had a really nice cock.” She licked her lips and leaned over the bar, her tits practically falling out of the little black leather bra she was wearing. In fact, he could see the top edge of her also pink nipples.
That made him lick his damn lips.
Christ, he needed to get laid.
Crys just wasn’t on his menu tonight. Maybe he needed to go a round with Billie, instead, to beat some sense into him.
Problem was, Billie was nowhere to be seen. Maybe the club’s sadist already found tonight’s victim.
He heard his balls scream, “Thank fuck.” Last time he spent time with Billie, he couldn’t feel them for two days afterward.
Worse, he had to piss sitting down.
Still, it was a good night. He just couldn’t do it that often.
“Where’s Billie?”
Crys pouted. “I’m here.”
“Know it ‘cause you’re hard to miss with that fuckin’ pink hair. Asked a fuckin’ question.”
She shrugged one tattooed shoulder. “I think with Dutch.”
“And where’s Dutch?”
“I think with Billie.”
Ozzy sighed and downed half of his JB, hissing through the burn.
Being smart was not a requirement for being a sweet butt. They only had to be willing and available. And, of course, keep themselves clean. Not only shower and not smell like a cum dumpster baking out in the sun all day clean, but stay STD-free kind of clean.
It was one thing to share women, another for his brothers to share crabs or the clap.
He tried again. “Where’s Amber?”
Crystal shrugged again, her overflowing tits bouncing when she did so. That bra had to be a size smaller than it should be. He had no idea how she could breathe in it. “I’m here.”
“Yeah, Crys, had this convo already. Can fuckin’ see you. Know you’re here.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
He sighed. “Nothin’s wrong with you. Maybe—”
The front door of The Barn opened and who he hoped was Amber wasn’t. Instead, he saw Stella walk in with Trip on her boot heels.
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath when he saw who else was with them.
For fuck’s sake, if this shit was going to happen on a regular basis, it gave him another good reason to hit the road. He purposely hadn’t gone to Crazy Pete’s tonight, thinking they’d go there instead.
But fuck no.
That motherfucker Crash’s beard was now longer, as was his hair, and his grin was wide as he sauntered inside The Barn with his arm around Lizzy’s shoulders.
Liz.Since that was what she now wanted to be called.
Not once had she asked him to call her that. If he’d have known that was what she preferred, he might have done it.
But she didn’t say shit.
Just like she didn’t say shit about being an Original’s daughter.
He clenched his teeth together to keep from bellowing out, “Goddamn it, fuckin’ motherfucker!” like he belonged in a padded room in some psych ward.
He grabbed his glass and downed the rest of the bourbon, pounding on his chest with his fist while it settled in his gut, then dug around inside his cut for his tin with his stash. He needed a few hits to keep from pounding that motherfucking grinning bastard into the ground.
If Ozzy got into it with him while Trip was within ear- or eyeshot, it would cause issues. Not just between the two clubs, but between him and Trip.
Ozzy hated Trip’s old man back when the fucker was president—and alive—but he held a lot of respect for the man who came from Buck’s left nut.
Trip had worked his fucking ass off to rebuild the club from scratch and he built something worthwhile and continued to build it. The club was no longer the cluster-fuck it used to be. Instead, it was turning into a whole damn kingdom. One they all benefited from.
While he came back three years ago out of boredom and curiosity, and an urge to settle in one place for a little while, he had stuck around because of what Trip accomplished.
The man was impressive and a great leader.
Again, unlike his old man who was a goddamn tyrant. One Ozzy was surprised hadn’t been shot dead way before it finally happened.
Ozzy was tempted to do it several times himself when he was a prospect. But he gritted his teeth and took the abuse a prospect took just to stay in good with the club. By doing so, he could keep his ear to the ground to find out who did his mother dirty.
He tucked a joint between his lips, grabbed a disposable lighter sitting abandoned on the bar, and lit it, taking a few quick puffs to get it burning evenly. Once it was, he took a long drag and held it deep, hoping it would dull the sharp prickle of cactus needles stuck under his skin down a notch or two.
“C’mon, Oz. I have something that’ll distract you better than that.” Crystal gave him a wink and drew her middle finger along her hot pink Lycra-encased camel toe.
What he needed was a whole fucking bottle of whiskey and pussy older than twenty-one.
He tossed the Bic lighter back on the bar and stood up. “Heading over to Crazy Pete’s where I can drink in fuckin’ peace.”
“Do you want company?” Crys asked him, batting those big blue eyes of hers. He was surprised she didn’t dye her damn eyelashes to match her hair.
“Nah, Rainbow Bright, I’m good.”
Crystal’s brow furrowed. “What’s Rainbow Bright?”
“Christ,” he muttered, getting to his feet.
“Don’t let us chase you out,” Crash called out, settling on a stool at the other end of the bar as Stella stepped behind it to pour three beers. She stopped drinking the second her piss tested positive.
As in pregnancy test, not drug test.
Trip was expanding his empire by adding to his family and was a very happy camper about it.
At least if Liz was still drinking that meant she wasn’t knocked up yet.
The Fury prez came over and clapped him on the back. “Don’t gotta go, brother.”
“Yeah, best I do.”
They shared a look and after a second Trip nodded. “It’s only an occasional weekend ’til my son comes.” He said that only loud enough for Ozzy to hear.
Yeah, and after that it would be more often.
Fuck my life.
Hitting the road was looking better by the second.
“You know why I did my fuckin’ bid in prison, brother. Don’t make the same mistake,” Trip warned. “Ain’t worth it.”
“You’re right. Snatch ain’t worth fightin’ over.” He strode past the prez and out the side door, heading toward where he’d parked his sled.
Now he wasn’t sure if he was in the mood to head to Crazy Pete’s. Maybe he’d head back to his place, kick up his feet on the back deck and drink himself into oblivion.
It was Friday night, though. Pete’s could be hopping with some cougars. Usually they came out to prowl in an attempt to get their claws into Dodge.
That motherfucker got a lot more random pussy working at the bar than Ozzy did managing the motel. Lucky fucking bastard. His Fury brother would simply escort them upstairs and a few ball-emptying pumps later be back working behind the bar, serving a beer with a smile.
The women loved him as long as they weren’t looking for more than what Dodge wanted. Which was only getting off. It was rare that any of his conquests got to wake up in Pete’s old apartment above the bar. If ever.
But then, the only one that ever woke up in Ozzy’s bed had been—
“Ozzy.”
Yeah. Her. Fuck.
He stopped but didn’t turn around. Instead, he closed his eyes and did his best to breathe calmly. Her sandals could be heard moving quickly along the dry August ground, even over the damn deafening chorus of crickets.
He took another drag on the barely-lit joint he’d forgotten was still in his hand. Once he did, he held it deep until his lungs burned.
He felt her, heard her and even smelled that familiar goddamn scent of hers as she came around to stand between him and his escape.
He tipped his head back, opened his eyes and blew the smoke straight up toward the night sky. When he was finished, he tipped his head down to catch her eyes. In the dark, he couldn’t see the color, but he knew what they were.
Just like she knew what color his were.
“Back again?”
“Is this going to be a problem, Oz?”
“Dunno.” He pinched out the end of the joint. “Is it?”
“Only if you make it one.”
He dug his tin out again, tucked the roach away and pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette. “Don’t know why you keep comin’ back.” He tucked it between his lips and patted his cut, then the front pockets of his jeans, searching for his Zippo.
What the fuck did he do with it? He swore it was in his pocket. Was he losing his goddamn mind?
“Because Stella is my sister.”
What? Oh yeah… “And?”
Lizzy… Fuck… Liz rolled her eyes but her voice was soft and patient when she pleaded, “Don’t be like this. I don’t want it to be like this between us.”
He dropped his gaze to her hand that was now wrapped around his forearm. He missed her goddamn touch. “I don’t, either, but you won’t come the fuck home where you belong.” He yanked his arm free and she let it go.
“I’m home now.”
“But you’re with him. And you’ll go back to Shadow Valley with him. Then next thing will be you wearin’ his fuckin’ cut, then fat with his kid. That right?”
Her lips flattened out. Yeah, he was right.
“I love him, Oz.”
He started at the top and checked all his pockets again. Where the fuck was his Zippo? “Thought you loved me.”
It had been his father’s. He better not have lost it. It was the only thing he had of his.
He stopped his searching when she closed her eyes. He watched her throat undulate as she swallowed.
When she opened them, she looked him straight in the eyes and said, “Yes, I loved you, but I’m in love with him. He loves me and treats me with respect.”
Respect. The fucker should’ve given a fellow biker respect by not stealing another man’s property. He shook himself mentally. Another club’s property.
Fuck. Maybe stealing wasn’t right, either, since he had asked Trip first.
And it was Trip who said yes.
But that was before they found out her veins were full of Fury blood. That should’ve changed everything.
“And I called you a fuckin’ whore. Got it. Destroyed everythin’ ‘cause I fucked up with that one little word.”
“It wasn’t just one little word, Ozzy, that’s the problem.”
“I was fuckin’ pissed.”
“Yes, and you said out loud what you were thinking.”
“Was a fuckin’ mistake.”
“One you can’t take back.”
“You know what, Liz? I’m done talkin’ about this shit.” He jerked his head toward The Barn. “Your man’s in there waitin’ for you. Bet he’s in there wonderin’ if you’re on your knees suckin’ my dick right now.”
Liz groaned and shook her head. “Can you please make nice with him since we’ll be back on a regular basis?”
One corner of his lip curled up. “Askin’ for the impossible, baby.”
“I’m not, and he’s willing.”
“Yeah, of course he fuckin’ is, ‘cause he’s fuckin’ you. So, yeah, he can gloat about stealin’ you from under my nose.”
She sighed. “I wasn’t yours for him to steal.”
“Were you in my bed every fuckin’ night?”
“You wanted me there.”
“You never said no. Had to mean somethin’.” He raised his palm. “I get it. I hurt you, you hurt me back. We’re even. Or we were ’til you took it a step further by leavin’ with him.”
“I deserve to be happy.”
“Didn’t know you weren’t.”
“I love him, Oz.”
“Yeah, you said that already. Only been with him about six weeks. You were with me two fuckin’ years.”
“I was a sweet butt for two years. I wasn’t with you. I was with a lot of you.”
A reminder he didn’t need. “Didn’t know you wanted me to claim you.”
“I didn’t. I never wanted that. But if I had wanted that, would you have?”
He stared out into the dark over her shoulder.
“You can’t even answer that,” she said softly.
“Don’t matter if I did or didn’t. You woulda said no, anyway.”
“You’re right, I would have. Because I know you better than you do yourself. You didn’t want me forever, Ozzy. You wanted the idea of me but without the commitment. You wanted the convenience of me. You knew you could have me whenever you wanted and you could share me with anyone you wanted, too. Man or woman. You had it all with someone who didn’t complain about sharing you and didn’t get jealous. Funny how that ended up only working in one direction.”
“Said I was done talkin’ ‘bout this.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then eventually nodded her head. “I’m sorry, Oz.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He pushed around her and continued toward his sled, hoping his key wasn’t in the same place where his Zippo was.
His feet stopped moving on their own and he stared at his boots for a few seconds, taking a few breaths. When he was done, he turned and saw Liz still standing where he left her. She was turned toward him, watching him.
“Despite what you think, want you to be happy, Liz. Gonna do my best not to be a dick, but that’s the best I can do.”
“Thank you.”
He jerked his chin up at her, then turned and finished heading to his sled. When he got there, he straddled it and sat there, watching her walk back into The Barn.
And back to Crash.
Yeah, that fuck-up hurt.
It would be a while before that mark faded.
And maybe never would.
