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.