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Cora beamed. “I do. Now it’s your turn.” She grabbed Haven’s hand.
“Not today,” Haven said, laughing and trying to resist Cora’s pull toward the hairdresser’s chair.
Finally, Cora stopped pulling her and planted her hands on her hips. “Okay, here’s the deal. You either get your hair cut, or you have to go back and get those outfits you tried on.”
Haven had picked out two cute but conservative summer dresses, two pairs of shorts, a few T-shirts, a pair of sandals, and some underthings. But she’d resisted the clothes that Bunny had picked out—skinny jeans with a sparkly pattern on the back pockets and the clingy black V-neck shirt that actually made her look like she had some boobs. That outfit seemed to scream Look at me! when Haven was used to doing almost anything to blend into the background. More than that, not dressing in a way that attracted attention had become a survival skill in her father’s house, where some number of his goons were always hanging around. So she’d taken to wearing boring clothes that were too big, keeping her face plain, and letting her hair shield her expressions.
“That’s not fair,” Haven said as she debated the options. She knew Cora well enough to know her friend wouldn’t let this go until she picked. Weird thing was, back before her father had forced her to drop out of high school, Haven had liked wearing pretty, fashionable things. But that girl had been gone for a long, long time.
Pulling at the oversized T-shirt she wore, Haven huffed. “I’ll get the clothes,” she finally said. Getting them didn’t mean she had to—
“Yay! And don’t think that means I won’t make you wear them,” Cora said.
Haven’s shoulders sagged. “Sometimes I think you know me too well.”
Bunny laughed as she paid for Cora’s haircut. “With friends, there’s no such thing. Everyone needs someone who calls them on their shit. Now, let’s go get you that outfit before you change your mind.”
CHAPTER 5
“Church is now in special session,” Dare said, banging a gavel against the old wooden table. The club’s meetings, which had long been referred to as Church, officially took place on the first Monday evening of the month, but their recent activity in Baltimore had disrupted their normal routines, making them cancel May’s regular meeting. Now they needed to regroup and strategize, so Dare had called the extra session of fully patched members.
Bear Lowry took attendance. The Old Timer had a full brown beard and was round through the middle, but he’d been doing the combined jobs of secretary and treasurer for the past few years because he was good with numbers, better with investments, and someone Dare and Doc trusted without question. “We’ve got twenty-four in attendance,” he said. Decent number given the fact that everyone had been away from home more than usual lately. They never had a full house anyway because some guys had part-time jobs or worked night shifts that didn’t allow them to come.
Dare nodded as his gaze scanned over his brothers. Some were seated at the fifteen-foot-long table, and some were seated around the back of the long rectangular space that had probably been a sitting room when the clubhouse had been an inn. A mammoth stone fireplace spanned from floor to ceiling behind Dare, a carved Ravens logo like the one that hung in the mess hall centered over the mantel. At the other end of the room hung a mounted deer head wearing a brain bucket and sunglasses with its hooves placed on mounted handlebars.
“First thing I want to say is job well done in Baltimore. That situation was red hot, and all of you handled yourselves,” Dare said. Words of agreement all around. “I want everyone to stay vigilant the next few weeks. Keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary in our backyard. Keep your ears open for any unusual activity. Given the caliber of the conflict we were engaged in, I just want us on the lookout for any possible repercussions.”
“I put out some feelers,” Caine said, his pale gaze ice-cold serious. In addition to their racing/betting activities at the track, the other major business the club ran was a trucking escort service. Mostly this involved providing escorts for container trucks or convoys carrying sensitive cargoes of one type or another. They had a few regulars they worked with and also took on one-offs on a case-by-case basis. When the money was right. This gave the club contacts and associates not just in central Maryland, but along the Interstate 95, 70, and 81 corridors into Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Virginia. “Haven’t heard anything, but I’ll keep you posted.”
“What is it you’re anticipating?” Doc asked. If anybody considered the men around this table family as much as Dare, it was his grandfather, one of the Ravens’ founders. Frank Kenyon had gotten his nickname not because he had any medical expertise, but because he’d gained a reputation for fixing or figuring ways out of problems and had a knack for giving the kind of advice and tough love the guys needed.
