CHAPTER 26
Reagan
The next day, after school, I wait for thirty minutes for Shane to pick me up, but he doesn’t show. I’ve been practically living in the clubhouse for the past ten months, and he always picks me up or, when he’s on a job, sends a prospect to do so. Today, no one has come.
Mason didn’t come to school today either, not that I keep track of his attendance. We barely speak, whether here or at the clubhouse. It’s for the best.
Shane isn’t answering his phone. I pray he’s all right. He’d never ditch me unless something important detained him. Maybe they all have club business to attend to.
The clubhouse is on the other side of town. It’s about a two-hour walk from school. I’d better get going. I’d rather walk there than go home, and I must check on Shane.
It’s just my luck that it’s seventy-eight degrees despite being in November. The asphalt shimmers like it’s alive, breathing under my shoes. I hug the shade of storefronts and trees whenever I can. After a few blocks, though, my head is breathing fire.
I don’t want to faint on the street again. That one time it happened, Shane almost got into a fistfight with one of his friends. Things have never been the same between the two even though they have to live and work together and call themselves brothers. Also, I don’t want Shane to feel I’m a liability, a weak girl he has to save all the time.
Maybe that’s why he feels obliged to stay here, in the MC. He needs the power, the privilege, to protect me and take care of us. Maybe if I show him that I’m stronger now, that I can take care of us, he’ll agree to go away with me and leave this life of pain behind.
Fueled by new hope, I dust off the exhaustion and continue down the street. I try Shane’s phone again with no luck. As I pass the gas station and the flower shop—the one with the peeling pink awning and the smell of roses that never quite fades—a woman steps out and calls my name.
I squint against the sun. It’s Carla, one of the club’s old ladies. I forget she owns this place.
Her leather pants and property cut shimmer. She’s wiping her hand on an apron and looks me over, concern etched between her brows. “Reagan, hun, where you going?”
“The clubhouse.”
“You walking all the way?”
“Blue didn’t show.” I shrug, trying to sound casual.
She shakes her head, already pulling her phone from her pocket. “You nuts? You’ll get cooked. Get inside, kiddo. I’ll get someone to come pick you up.”
I smile politely, grateful for the offer and the AC. She gives me a soda and asks me about my favorite flower. When I say I don’t have one, she looks offended, so I point to one of the tulips in the refrigerator behind her. It has purple petals and a golden yellow base. My favorite colors.
“Purple Prince, wow.” She picks one and gives it to me. “Excellent choice.”
“Thank you so much. It looks very pretty.”
“It suits you. A regal flower forReagan.”
I chuckle. Regal… This pauper? I’m a disgrace to that name; they should legally force me to change it. I wander around andglance at the bike parked behind the shop. Is it hers? “You think I’ll ever get one of those?” I ask, half-joking.
Her deep, throaty laugh rolls out into the street. “Sweetheart, women don’t ride. They’re ridden.” She laughs again, louder this time, like it’s the funniest thing she’s heard all week.
“Is that not yours?”
“’Course not. It’s my ol’ man’s. He’s upstairs in our apartment, crashing after a nookie. God, this man sure loves his nookies.”
A blush creeps over my cheeks. TMI, Carla.
“Seriously now, kiddo, the fuck you doin’ at the club?”
“What do you mean?”
“I ain’t judging. We all do stupid shit when we’re young. Those shiny rides and sexy tatts fuck a girl’s brain stupid, even a smart cookie like you. But you ain’t cut out for the road, sweetheart.”
“Is that what you see?” What he sees? “A little girl who can’t handle this life?”
She sighs. “What I see, what we all see, is a girl who can do so much but wasting it all betting on the wrong hand.”
