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Cute name. Sweet suits you better than the one I gave you.
Don’t let him think he gets to keep you.
The air around him changes.
“That last one about me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“It is.”
“Maybe he means Sheriff the rooster.”
His eyes cut to mine.
I shrug weakly. “He has presence.”
Bitter takes a slow breath. “You joke when you’re scared.”
“Better than crying.”
“Not always.”
That hits something tender, and I look away first.
Across the lot, the Adams twins have Sheriff’s crate set up under the fortune-telling booth. Mourning is taking money from a man in overalls while Vesper studies his palm. The rooster watches like he already knows the man’s sins and finds them boring. A coffin racer rolls loose past them with no driver, chased by Chainsaw and Skibidi, both yelling while Boogie laughs hard enough to bend over.
Life goes on in the strangest ways. Razor finds me, and the world keeps hanging banners.
“I left,” I say quietly. “That’s all I’m saying today. I left him. He didn’t like it.”
“He Ravenfork?”
I nod once.
“Old man? Officer? Member?”
“Member. Sometimes more when they needed someone mean.”
“Razor Maddox.”
I look at him fast.
Bitter’s mouth turns grim. “Nevermore knew the name.”
Of course he did. Of course Bitter already asked. Of course my past has rolled into this town and introduced itself to strangers before I’m ready to speak it.
“I don’t want this to be everyone’s business.”
“It became club business when he carved into your car on our lot.”
“I hate that.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” The words come out sharper than I mean, but once they’re free, I let them stand. “You don’t know what it’s like to have men decide your life belongs to them because they’re bigger, louder, meaner, or wearing leather. You don’t know what it’s like to run and still feel a hand on the back of your neck.”
His face goes flat. Too flat.
