Between my size, gender, and age, I’d known it would always be an uphill battle. Women were on the force in increasing numbers, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a boy’s club. It also didn’t mean those badass women weren’t forced to ignore misogyny from men they could run laps around.
Murdoch and I were firsthand proof of that.
My father had never pulled any punches with me. If anything, he was harder on me. He pushed me more.Taughtme more. He knew what I would be up against, and he’d made sure I knew, too.
But still, I never wavered. I locked in, kicked metaphorical ass, and pushed myself to be the best so no one could ever question how I got to my rank.
They still did, of course, but not in any official capacity. Theirs came in the form of the usual crass jokes—I used that word loosely—about how amazing it was that I could reach such heights from my place on my knees or back. The usual BS that they used to comfort themselves rather than face the fact a woman had bested them up, down, and all around while also minimizing my hard work and sacrifice.
Sacrifices like sleep. Peace. Safety. And, yes, friendships.
And I’d been fine with that.
Right up until that week.
When did I suddenly decide I wanted bestie time?
I would be an absolutely shitty friend, so hopefully the whim passed quickly.
We climbed from the car and went inside to find MayCo.
We didn’t have to go far.
Glitch, Hollywood, Jury, and an unknown biker were right inside the employee entrance. Two control panels were on the table, and when the unknown man turned at our arrival, I saw there was a hole in the wall where one had been.
The man smiled as he looked between me and Rhys before breaking away to come greet us.
“Been a while, man,” he said as they did the man-hug.
“We say that every damn time. Pretty fucked up that I gotta get shot at for you to come visit.” Rhys rubbed a hand across his bearded jaw. “Wait, you didn’t even come see me after that. I had to get shot atandhave faulty wiring for you to drag your ass here.”
The man gestured to Glitch. “I sent my best.”
It was Hollywood’s turn to look insulted. “Wow. I see how it is.”
“You’re still on my shit list for stealing O’s waffles from the freezer.”
“I told you, I thought they were the ones Swedes left for Mac.”
What do the Swedes have to do with some frozenEggos?
“It was an accident,” he continued. I would’ve bought it, too, if he didn’t immediately catch my gaze, shake his head, and mouth, “It wasn’t an accident.”
That envious pang hit me again even as I shared a conspiratorial smile with him.
I tuned back in to what Rhys was saying in time to catch him ask, “Can’t come in for a drink?”
“Sorry, brother. Pregnancy is kicking O’s ass, and she’s usually crashed out before eight.”
He might’ve apologized, but the content grin on his face said he wasn’t actually sorry. It also answered the unasked question of why he didn’t go without the mysterious O.
The man turned his attention to me and stuck out his tattooed hand. “Judge.”
I shook it. “Lo.”
Unlike when his brother introduced himself, I was expecting the unusual name. And I knew it was his brother even without that confirmation. The two men looked alike, had matching body language, and even dressed in similar plain tees and worn jeans.
The biggest difference was Judge had an easy smile whereas Jury’s default was an intense, stony expression.
