Blood & Bones: Ozzy by Jeanne St. James

Chapter Eight

Dutch’s steeltrap must have been rusted tight and Ozzy had no other option but to talk to the sons of the Originals.

On one of the breaks during the run, he had pulled Stella aside and ran Shay’s father’s name past her, not telling her the real reason why he was asking. He didn’t want her to know just yet, in case it turned out to be nothing, so he had come up with a stupid excuse.

Since Stella only recently found out that she and Liz were half-sisters and Crazy Pete had another daughter no one knew about, he didn’t want to worry her about another daughter of an Original coming out of nowhere. Especially since she was carrying Trip’s kid now and he had no idea if it would get her upset or if getting her upset would risk that pregnancy. He knew nothing about knocked-up women—besides seeing them get overly emotional over nothing—but didn’t want to take that risk. If Trip wanted to tell her the truth later, then that was on him.

At Dino’s Diner after the run, Ozzy pulled the prez aside and said they needed the exec committee to have a quick meeting once they got back to the farm.

Trip wanted to know why, but Ozzy only shook his head and the prez ended up nodding, letting the topic go. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues, but the man was a good leader, had a good head on his shoulders and was smart enough to know not to dig until the time was right.

However, Ozzy’s patience had worn thin as he waited for everyone to finish eating and bullshitting. It didn’t help that he sucked down three cups of black coffee while sitting there, the caffeine putting him on a razor-thin edge.

Reilly, who was sitting next to him, bumped her shoulder against his, leaned into him and asked, “Why aren’t you eating? Since when aren’t you hungry? Are you okay?”

He didn’t want to tell Rev’s ol’ lady that he had a “date” with Shay later and they’d be hitting Dino’s again for dinner. After that, he planned on taking the woman for a long run on his sled. Not a three-hour one like the club run, but hopefully a good hour or so. Also, when it was a whole fuckuva lot cooler out.

He already had swamp ass from the August heat and his face felt tight because he was probably sunburned.

“I’m good, Lee,” he grunted.

Reilly had lived in a room at the motel for months and in that time, she had become like a little sister. She also never hesitated to help out in the office when needed or, in a pinch, clean a room.

She had been on the do-not-fuck list Dutch had mentioned for a year due to being Reese’s sister and Reese was a control freak. But as soon as he met her, Ozzy had no doubt one of his brothers would defy that fucking list and snag her as his ol’ lady.

The young Rev had the balls big enough to do just that. Even more impressively, without getting the Grumpy Green Giant at the other end of the table to club him with “The Punisher” for breaking a rule.

Lucky fucking bastard.

Cage hadn’t been so lucky, but his fuck-up had been a whole different type of screw-up.

If you want to break a rule, you had to be prepared to pay the price. Same way with breaking a law and getting thrown into a concrete box because of it.

However, a bid inside was a lot longer than a five-minute blanket party thrown by the club’s enforcer with a powerful fucking wallop. Given a choice, Ozzy would take the shorter beat-down. He might have to recover afterward, but at least he could keep his freedom while doing it.

He turned into a goddamn restless tiger in a traveling circus cage every time he’d been thrown inside. That was another reason why he had been really fucking careful when he took out Ham. To him, serving life in prison would be no fucking life at all.

Ozzy was the kind of man who needed his freedom to live. He needed the ability to take off and hit the road at any moment. He’d never been one to like being tied down.

He didn’t think he’d still be living above a motel office and in Manning Grove almost three years later. Tied once more to an MC and now managing a business.

But here he was, climbing the steps to the second floor in The Barn, following the other club’s officers for that quick meeting.

They all took their normal seats, then everyone’s eyeballs landed on him, waiting for him to explain why they were doing this on short notice on a Sunday afternoon.

After a few seconds of silence, Trip picked up the gavel and slammed it on the table, ordering, “Go. Got shit to do with someone much better lookin’ than you all.”

“Same,” Judge grunted. “This ain’t about Ry, right? Is he still bein’ reliable at the motel? You got a problem with him, come directly to me, I’ll handle it.”

“He’s doin’ good. It ain’t a hard job, just borin’ as all fuck. It’ll be tough to find someone to replace him once he leaves next week.”

Yeah, that was going to suck trying to find someone to work the overnight shift once Judge’s son headed back to college.

“Can’t convince him to transfer to Mansfield?” Ozzy asked, already knowing the answer since he’d talked to Ry about it.

Judge frowned. “He’s goin’ where he wants to go. He’s old enough to decide what he wants.”

Ozzy nodded. “Gonna suck losin’ him.”

“Sure someone out there needs a damn job,” Trip said.

“The pay’s shit,” Ozzy reminded him. “Good for a college kid, but that’s about it.”

“Ask Josie or Maddie if any of their friends need a job,” Sig suggested. “Some of ‘em gotta need some scratch.”

“This convo can’t be why we’re sittin’ up here in this hot as fuck room.” Deacon swiped his hand over his forehead beaded with sweat. “Even my goddamn nuts are sweatin’.”

Even though Trip had air conditioning installed in both The Barn and the bunkhouse, the meeting room sometimes turned into an oven during summer due to the large windows facing the front of the building.

“No, it ain’t,” Ozzy assured him. “Talked to Dutch this mornin’ first but he couldn’t shine any light on the question I asked him, so figured it was best to ask you guys.”

“About?” Trip prodded.

“A woman checked into the motel Saturday mornin’. Long story short, we got to talkin’.”

“Talkin’ or fuckin’?” Sig asked with a grin. “Knowin’ The Great Oz, it was the second one.”

Ozzy ignored the club’s VP. “Turns out, she recognized my cut, began to ask a few questions.”

“Think she’s a fed or somethin’?” Judge leaned forward so he could get a better view of Ozzy.

And Ozzy could get a better look at Judge’s concerned expression. “Nah, don’t think so. Asked if I knew her pop.”

Silence filled the room.

“And that needs a fuckin’ meetin’ for what reason?” Trip finally asked with one eyebrow cocked.

“The name Marshall Graham familiar to anyone?” Ozzy asked.

“Should it be?” Cage asked, frowning.

“That’s the name of Shay’s pop,” Ozzy answered him.

“You wanna get to the damn point before I rip off my fuckin’ jeans so you can cool off my boilin’ balls by whisperin’ sweet nothin’s on them?” Deacon bitched.

Sig snorted. “Yeah, blow on ‘em and make a fuckin’ wish.”

Trip shook his head, trying to ignore them. “Don’t remember that name but why would I?”

Ozzy shrugged. “She said back in the day when she lived here, he rode a hog, and hung out at Crazy Pete’s. Was gone a lot, too.”

“Yeah, and?” Judge asked.

“And he disappeared around the same time when the shit went down with the club.”

After a few moments, Trip broke the silence that had once again encompassed the long table. “She never saw him wear a cut?”

“No.”

“She ever hear him talk about the Fury?” the prez asked next.

“Only to warn her to stay away.”

Trip sat back in his chair at the head of the table, flipped his baseball cap off his head, raked his fingers through the longer hair at the top, then slammed it back on. “You think he got caught up in that mess?”

“Dunno. I don’t remember the name—”

“But no one used their real names,” Judge finished for Ozzy. “She don’t know if he had a road name?”

“No.”

“And you just think ‘cause he rode a sled and disappeared around the same time shit was goin’ down with the Originals, that he was one?” the enforcer asked.

Ozzy tipped his head. “Thinkin’ it’s possible.”

“If he was, then he sheltered his daughter from that life pretty fuckin’ well. How old was she when he disappeared?” the prez asked.

“Like fifteen or sixteen.”

“Old enough to know if he was in a club,” Trip concluded, but then added, “Unless he was hidin’ it for a reason.”

“Not sure if you guys remember, but a coupla guys lived two fuckin’ lives,” Ozzy reminded them. “The Fury wasn’t the only club I belonged to that had some members do that.”

Judge pulled on his beard. “Yeah, I kinda remember my pop bitchin’ one night about that. He didn’t like it. Thought it could cause more problems for the Fury.”

“Yeah, remember my pop bitchin’ about the same shit,” Trip said. “Exactly why that shit better not go on in our club. No hidin’ shit. We need to be an MC that’s got no reason for a member to keep two separate lives. And, fuck me, I agree with Ox, it could—and did—cause problems. I remember a wife bustin’ into the warehouse one night and causin’ a shitload of drama, then havin’ to be dumped at the ER ‘cause of the cat fight she got into with her husband’s ol’ lady.”

“Remember that, too,” Ozzy muttered. “It got ugly.”

“Yeah, remember that night,” Judge said. “Wife was scarred for fuckin’ life.”

Sig nodded, probably remembering the same shit as the rest of them. It was one night hard to forget. “Sure that wasn’t him? This Marshall Graham?”

“Doubt it. Shay didn’t say shit about her momma gettin’ into some bitch fight and gettin’ scarred. She definitely would’ve mentioned it.” Ozzy couldn’t imagine Shay would’ve held back that info.

Unless her parents lied to her about why her mother was suddenly in the hospital with a slashed face and broken bones. Ozzy guessed saying she was in a car crash might cover that, but still…

And if her mother confronted some ol’ lady, he doubted that Shay’s mother would’ve been worried about where her husband went once he disappeared. Most women would’ve kicked their man’s ass to the curb, or thanked the gods when someone took out the trash for her.

She certainly wouldn’t head down to the pig pen and file a missing person’s report. She’d be heading to the bakery for a cake to celebrate.

But then, Ozzy had seen some crazy-assed shit in his life and anything was possible. Especially when it came to women.

He didn’t think he’d ever understand them.

“So, why the fuck should we care if her missin’ pop was an Original?” Cage asked.

“Could mean she has Fury blood runnin’ in her veins,” Trip murmured, staring at the Fury insignia carved into the center of the large table, while tapping the tip of his left index finger on the table.

Him doing that drew Ozzy’s eyes to his newly tattooed ring finger. Both he and Stella had each other’s names tattooed onto their fingers instead of getting wedding bands.

It should’ve been a great weekend of celebrating but for Ozzy that whole weekend sucked ass.

Cage’s sharp “So?” pulled Ozzy out of that miserable memory.

Trip lifted his head. “She movin’ back to town or somethin’?”

Ozzy shook his. “Livin’ in Boston right now and only came back for a high school reunion.”

Judge’s eyes narrowed. “For Manning Grove High?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s her name?”

“Shaylyn Diggs. Guessin’ her last name was originally Graham like her pop’s, though.” He should’ve fucking asked. He also should’ve asked what her mother’s name was.

“Shaylyn Graham,” Judge repeated and stroked his long, bushy beard again. He did that whenever his American Bulldog wasn’t within reach for him to rub her ears. Ozzy assumed he’d left the dog home with his daughter Daisy and house mouse, Saylor, since Jury was a great watchdog. “How old is she?”

“Thirty-eight.” Ozzy realized she was around the same age as Judge. “You go to school with her?”

“You didn’t graduate from Manning Grove,” Deacon reminded his cousin. “You were already livin’ with us when you and Jem graduated.”

“Yeah, but how about before that? Elementary school? Junior high?” Trip asked the sergeant at arms. “And, Deke, you guys lived close enough to the Grove that you might’ve run into her. At parties, maybe?”

Ozzy didn’t want to share with them what Shay told him about not having any friends or attending parties. Even though he didn’t think she was lying, he had a hard time believing she was some sort of outcast.

It took Judge a few seconds of considering Trip’s question before answering, “Ain’t ringin’ any bells.”

“Does she ring your bells, Oz?” Deke asked with a grin as he did a jack-off motion with his fist above his lap.

The same motion Ozzy was doing last night to visions of Shay in his head. Smiling, laughing… Bending over the pool table, shoving her ass into his dick… So, yeah, she rang all kinds of fucking bells for him. Another reason he had a hard time believing she’d been some kind of geeky girl.

But again, he didn’t even try to understand females.

Trip sighed. “I can ask Stella, too. ‘Specially if her pop hung out at Crazy Pete’s. Maybe he was some sort of regular and Stel remembers him.”

“Already asked her.”

The prez’s brows dropped low. “When?”

“On the run today. She don’t remember that name at all.”

“She know why you asked?”

Ozzy shook his head. “No. Leavin’ that to you if anythin’ comes of this.”

Trip nodded. “Well, we know Pete ain’t Shay’s father, so it won’t affect her either way.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t makin’ that call after the surprise that Lizzy sprang on us.”

“Speakin’ of Lizzy…” Deacon started.

Ozzy shot a glare in his direction. The club’s treasurer raised his palms up in surrender and laughed.

“We done here, brother?” Cage asked. “Wanna spend a lazy afternoon with my girls. In the air-conditionin’ on the couch with a cold beer in my hand.”

“No, not yet,” Trip said, surprising Ozzy. “Somehow we need to figure out if she’s the blood of an Original. Would also like to meet her.”

“Think I got a way to bring her out here to meet you and for you to meet her. Maybe even a way for her to stick around for a few days.”

“Yeah?” Trip asked.

Ozzy gave him a single nod and dug into the inside pocket of his cut, pulling out Shay’s business card. He tossed it onto the table. It landed dead center on the carved skull.

If that wasn’t a fucking sign, Ozzy didn’t know what was.

Before he could grab it and pass it down to Trip, Trip himself surged from his chair and snagged it, beating Judge to it.

The prez read her card and frowned. “What’s this?” He raised his dark eyes to Ozzy. “What’s this got to do with anythin’?”

“She makes websites.”

“Good for her,” Trip said, throwing it back on the table.

“She wanted me to give that to the owner of the motel.”

“She don’t know the club owns the motel?”

“We didn’t get into that,” Ozzy answered Judge. “Said she’d like to talk to the owner, too. Do a little sales pitch is my guess.”

“Tryin’ to drum up some business,” Deacon murmured.

“Good opp to meet her then,” Trip finally said, “in case she’s got that Fury blood runnin’ through her.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to get a website up for the motel,” Deacon murmured, snatching up the discarded business card and glancing at it.

“That’s what she said. Said she had a hard time findin’ the motel info online. Also a good reason for her to stick around and not leave tomorrow mornin’ like she had planned. Between all the businesses, we could keep her in town and busy ’til we dig deeper on who her pop is. Or was.”

“Yeah,” Trip agreed, “that might be a good way to keep her around without makin’ demands and possibly scarin’ her off. Make stayin’ local a requirement of hirin’ her. ‘Cause once she’s gone, she’s gone. Might be hard to convince her to come back. And if we find out she’s Fury blood…”

“Then what?” Deacon asked. “Even if she is, she can’t be a member, so does it really matter if she leaves? Know you wanna find the offspring of the Originals but figured it was to patch them in.”

“Yeah, it was,” Trip agreed. “It is.”

“You let Liz leave,” Ozzy grumbled.

“She’s still a part of this club,” Trip reminded him. “She’s also the bridge between us and the Dirty Angels. That’s bigger than you know.”

“Usin’ her as a pawn.”

Trip dropped his chin to his chest and stared at him. “Ain’t usin’ her. Never used her. You wanna explore a little deeper on who was usin’ her? Or do we wanna drop that line of discussion? No one made her leave with Crash. She did it ‘cause she wants to be with the man she loves.” He rapped his knuckles on the table. “All of us around this table can understand that.”

“You sit at this fuckin’ table, Oz, like the rest of us,” Judge said. “Every time we had a meetin’ you had the opportunity to claim Liz. You didn’t. So, let’s drop that old fuckin’ news and concentrate on the new shit before us, which is this Shay.”

“Find out her mom’s name,” Trip ordered. “Just in case that name will knock some memories loose. Also, set up a meet with her about the website. Want Deacon there, too, since he’s the treasurer. With all the businesses, we might be able to keep her busy for a while. Even if it turns out to be a dead end, then at least we finally got good websites for every avenue of income.”

“Yeah, been meanin’ to look into doin’ that shit. Maybe we can make a package deal with her. We should have the funds if the price is right.” Deacon shifted in his seat. “We done yet? Feel like I’m sittin’ in a goddamn wet spot.”

“It’s gonna have to be soon,” Ozzy warned Trip. “Like I said, she was plannin’ on checkin’ out tomorrow mornin’.”

“Set it up for tomorrow, then. We’ll make the time. Just gotta be me, Deke, you and her.”

Ozzy tipped his head. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“He’ll get ‘er done.” Cage stood with a grin on his face. “The man ain’t called The Great Oz for nothin’. Now, I got a blowjob and a beer callin’ my name.”

“You know that’s my goddamn sister you’re talkin’ about,” Judge reminded him as Cage headed toward the door.

The road captain threw, “You just assumed I was talkin’ about Jemma,” over his shoulder and hurried out the door with a laugh.

“Shoulda beat that motherfucker even harder when I had the chance,” Judge muttered, shaking his head and standing. “Next time…”