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Then, well, we walked into the treeline where he pushed me into the shadows, following, but keeping a respectful distance.
"Everything on you from the clothes to the wig need to go in this bag," he explained, emptying it out. In his hand, he had a tee, some men's pajama pants, and a pair of socks. "I'm turning," he explained as he did so. "Be quick."
Not really having a place to question him seeing as he seemed to be trying to help me cover up a murder that I had planned, I whipped off the wig and my clothes, slipping into the ones supplied with a hard shiver against the cool air.
"Okay," I said, tucking it all inside the bag carefully, reaching down to slide the socks on my cold feet.
"Alright," he said, taking the bag, tying it. "Let's go."
"Where?" I asked even as his hand took my arm again, leading me back the way I had originally come, down the street, then two blocks over to my car.
"You are going to get in your car, drive to the compound, go into Edison's room, discard these clothes, throw them into the hall. Then you are going to walk into the shower, and wash until every part of you squeaks."
Okay.
I could see the logic here.
"What then?"
"Then you find something of Edison's to wear. You go get yourself a drink, some Advil, and an icepack. Then climb into his bed, ice your face, and go to sleep."
"But..."
"Don't worry about all the other details. Just do what I say, Lenny. Do it exactly that way, and nothing will ever come of this, okay?"
There was earnest determination in his voice, something in it telling me to trust him.
And, really, what other choice did I have?
"Okay," I agreed, reaching under my car to fish out my keys where I stashed them.
"They will let you in. I'm calling now."
With that, he was moving back a few feet, watching, waiting for me to turn over and pull away. I could see him in my rearview making a call before he finally turned away to go back toward the house.
The gate was open when I drove up, one of the members I didn't know closing it up after I drove in.
Inside the front door, I was greeted by Reign who was leaning back against the bar, brow raised.
He shook his head at me. "Knew you had trouble written all over you." I stiffened at that, not wanting the president of a biker club to think I was a burden he didn't want his club to bear. But then he pushed off the bar, moved over toward me to snag my chin, turning my head to check out the bruise on my cheek. "This all he got in?"
"Yes."
His smile was approving then. "Good for you. Go and follow whatever instructions they gave you. I'll have Cash bring you a drink and icepack."
With that, things went exactly as they all said it would.
I discarded the clothes, walking across Edison's bedroom naked, then climbing under the water until my skin was reddened and overly sensitive from the heat and the scrubbing. I dried off, got into one of Edison's shirts since his pants wouldn't fit me, and made my way to the door.
The clothes were gone.
And Cash was there with a bottle of gin, a bottle of aspirin, and an icepack.
"You take care of you, honey. Edison will take care of the rest. Then he will come back. I figure you got some questions now."
Boy did I ever.
But I did as I was told.
Downed the Advil with a healthy gulp of gin.
I got under the covers, and put the icepack on my face.
I tried to sleep over and over as the hours passed, failing every time.
Just when I was genuinely feeling sick with worry, the door finally creaked open, and in walked Edison.
His boots were left outside.
And standing in the doorway, he stripped completely bare like I had done, tossing out his clothes, then moving to the bathroom.
I said nothing, knowing he needed to finalize his ritual, had to get clean, had to get rid of the evidence.
He came back to the bedroom, sliding into pajama pants, then moving toward the bed.
"Okay," he said, exhaling.
Okay?
Okay what?
"Okay?"
"It's handled. It's done. Don't worry about it. Life goes back to normal tomorrow. Work. Home. The status quo."
"Okay..."
"Ask," he told me when I didn't say anything else.
His head turned, eyes pinning me, like he knew all the questions rolling around in my head.
I couldn't think of just one thing, just one question that could cover it all.
So, dumbly, all I could seem to manage was, "Who are you?"FIFTEENEdisonI was a lot of things.
But I started as the only child to poor parents in a rural village in Romania.
We had a front garden that my mother - and I when I was old enough - tended relentlessly, even in the cold months, even when nothing would grow but some potatoes, cabbage, and onions.
