Catherine arched a brow. “You look like shit.”
“Jail’s not supposed to improve your complexion,” I said. “Jenna. You here for a cross-exam?”
She smiled, tight and a little mean. “I’m here for the main event.”
Catherine stepped forward first. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me so hard I nearly bit my own tongue. It was the kind of kiss that says everything you shouldn’t say in public, the kind you give a man when you’re not sure he’ll make it back out. She tasted like salt and cigarettes and the faintest trace of vanilla. Her tongue pressed against mine with the same certainty she used to wield in a courtroom.
When she finally let go, Jenna was right there, not waiting for a prompt. She shoved Catherine aside, grabbed the front of my shirt, and pulled me in. Her mouth was softer, slower, but the hunger was right there at the surface. I felt her smile against my lips, then she bit down, just enough to let me know who was in charge, for now.
When I opened my eyes, both women were watching me, and I realized I was grinning like a dumb animal. I didn’t try to hide it.
“Miss us?” Jenna said, voice low.
“Like thirty days of blue balls,” I said.
Catherine snorted. “We were counting the hours. Even took bets on how long you’d last before you shanked someone for a cigarette.”
“I owed you two cartons,” I said, “but the commissary is a racket.”
Jenna leaned in, pressed her mouth to my ear. “You can pay in flesh later.”
I looked at them, and something in my chest let go. The tension, the anger, the old loyalty to pain, all of it dissolved under the sun and their touch.
“What’s next?” I asked.
Catherine produced a set of keys and dangled them. “You’re supposed to check in with Damron. He said it’s urgent.”
“Club business?” I said, already half-turned toward the curb.
She nodded. “He wants you at the clubhouse, then the airport. We have a flight to catch.”
“Where to?” I asked, but the answer was obvious.
Jenna grinned, all teeth. “You ever been to Fiji?”
I started laughing, really laughing, the sound wild and a little crazy. Catherine smiled, then rolled her eyes, but I could see the relief in her shoulders.
I took the keys, wrapped my arm around Catherine’s waist, and pulled Jenna in with the other. “You two coming with, or am I supposed to ride solo?”
Catherine pressed her hip against mine. “We’ll see you at the airport.”
Jenna swatted my ass. “Don’t be late.”
They slid into the sedan, doors closing with expensive, solid thuds, and I watched them pull away, the two of them already bickering about music or directions or who got to sit shotgun.The dust from the tires curled up in the sun, and I stood there, keys in hand, feeling the world shift beneath me.
I was free.
***
The first thing that hit me wasn’t the sound. It was the smell—a mix of motor oil, leather, and the kind of beer that could strip rust from an engine block. The Bloody Scythes clubhouse had a particular reek, an olfactory brand that said you belonged, or you didn’t.
I rolled up on the Triumph Catherine had left for me in the jail lot, the engine still warm, her scent lingering on the grips. The patchwork parking area was a graveyard of half-built choppers and trucks with more Duct Tape than metal. The bikes all faced the door like they were waiting for a last call.
Inside, nothing had changed. Nitro was cussing at a prospect for screwing up the tap line. Another club girl, this one in a shirt that had never met a sleeve, played pool with the precision of a sniper. The jukebox was busted as usual, stuck on a playlist that hadn’t been updated since ‘95. I felt eyes on me before I heard the first shout.
“Well, look what the system spat out,” someone barked. A second later, I was half-tackled by a man who smelled like burned rubber. “Jesus, Seneca, we thought you’d grown tits in there.”
“Disappointed?” I said, breaking his grip and delivering a knuckle jab to his ribs.
