I square my shoulders and march through the club like the certified badass I absolutely am, mean-mugging anyone who looks at me for too long. They should know I belong here. I can be a baddie. Iama baddie.
Ducky snickers as I pass him and I level two fingers at my eyes and then at his letting him know I’m watching him.
Don’t think I don’t know how you got your road name, buddy.
He knows it’s me who leaves those tiny pink rubber ducks in his wake. He caught me once a week ago, which means he's gotten comfortable, which means it's time to remind him I know.
I make a small squeaking noise as I pass him and giggle when his face goes sour. I'm absolutely super gluing one to his handlebars later.
“We need the executive board?” Pope asks, his voice echoing in the quiet space.
“Yeah. Cypher too,” Tomcat says, his voice devoid of its usual playfulness.
Tomcat pulls out a chair, his touch gentle as he guides me into it before taking the seat next to me. He doesn't let go of my hand.
While we wait for the rest of the board to assemble, Pope, Cyanide, and Malice study us like we’re a complicated puzzle they’ve finally solved. They track the way Tomcat’s hand hasn't left mine, the way I’m practically vibrating against his side.
“The way you’re watching us, you’d think we’re about to climb on the table and start fucking,” Tomcat says, his voice dry as bone.
“That’d be a hell of a show,” Malice snickers, though his eyes remain sharp.
“Oh, come on. Did you really think it wouldn’t eventually happen?” I ask, throwing my free hand up in exasperation.
Pope shakes his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at his mouth. “Naw. We knew it’d happen. We just had to wait foroneof you to get your head out of your ass.”
I huff, folding my arms across my chest and looking anywhere but at him. “Excuse me. I have absolutely no idea what or who you're referring to."
"Sure you don't," Pope says, and has the audacity to chuckle about it.
The rest of them file into the chapel. Pretty Boy shuts the heavy chapel door with a final-sounding thud before taking hisseat. Blitz is watching me with an intensity that makes me feel like a specimen under a microscope or a bug he’s considering squashing.
So, I do the only mature, adult thing there is to do.
I stick my tongue out at him.
His lips twitch, but that’s the only reaction he gives to my perfectly reasonable behavior.
"Floor's yours, brother," Pope says.
"Marigold is my stalker."
Tomcat drops the bomb with zero preamble. The room tenses. Every eye in the room drops to me, a chaotic cocktail of surprise, betrayal, suspicion, and raw curiosity.
“Explain,” Pope barks. It’s a voice so deadly, so devoid of the "family" warmth from five minutes ago, that the hair on my arms stands straight up.
The distance is immediate. I can feel the brothers building a wall, brick by cold brick, shutting me out until I can prove I’m not a threat.
On the bright side, nobody's killed me yet.
Silver linings, and all that.
Just as I’m opening my mouth to try and explain my logic, there’s a sharp knock on the door. Blackjack pokes his head in, and at Pope’s command, he enters with a small, unassuming box.
“Package for Goldie,” he says, sliding the box across the polished wood of the chapel table until it stops right in front of me.
I clap my hands and bounce in my seat. As I’m about to reach for it, Tomcat’s hand snaps out like a viper, dragging the box away from me.
“Who gave this to her?” he demands, his voice a low growl aimed at Blackjack.
