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The glare backed off quickly, anyway; the car was making a U-turn in the intersection. It was a white station wag—a white Volvo Cross Country.
With his hand on the door, he paused and focused. Of course it wasn’t her, but he had to be sure. All he saw was the back of the driver’s head, through the closed window of the door. But that head was female, with dark hair, about shoulder length.
Could it be Petra?
He stepped down and took a couple steps onto the lot, but the car was driving away.
On the back window was a ‘COEXIST’ sticker and a yellow equal-sign sticker.
That was Petra. Driving away.
But why had she been here at all? Was it coincidence, or had she come looking for him?
Well, he was right here. Outside, even, right on the lot for the past ten minutes, at least. She’d found him, if she had been looking. Which probably meant coincidence.
But that was a huge fucking coincidence. She hadn’t drivenbythe station. She’d come right up to it and turned around.
Like he’d done the other night outside Gertrude’s.
Was he on her mind the way she was on his?
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~oOo~
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After his shift, Jaywent over to the clubhouse. He wanted to shower and get out of his fucking gas-reeking uniform before church.
With church coming in less than an hour, the party room was pretty busy for a Wednesday. About half the patches were in already, including everybody who’d been on the clock at the station, and a handful of girls were around, keeping the patches in beer and getting a meal started. Smelled like chili and cornbread—a clubhouse standard, and his favorite.
Eight wasn’t in the party room, but Jay heard Marcella in the kitchen and Ajax was at the TV playingWolfenstein: Young Blood, so Eight was probably in his office.
Caleb, Gunner, Maverick, and Duncan sat at the bar.
Dunc smiled when he saw Jay. “Hey, bruh.”
The older men greeted him as well with a nod or a word.
“Hey,” Jay said, aiming the word at them all and not bothering to put any feeling in it. He’d felt weird for days now, still sore about his exams and distracted over Petra. He had a hard time focusing on anything enough to even pretend he felt okay.
“You want one?” Duncan asked.
“Nah. I’m gonna get a shower first.” He turned and headed to the locker room, where, when he remembered, he kept a change of clothes.
“Hey, JJ,” Caleb called after him. “It’s dues time. I’m missing yours.”
Apparently for his whole life, Jay would feel that reminder like a cattle prod. Years ago, shortly after he’d gotten his patch, he’d gotten trouble for being habitually behind on his dues. In a burst of excitement after his patch party, thinking he’d finally start earning some fucking bank, he’d bought his truck. A beautiful, brand-new Ford F-150 Raptor, which he’d financed on a six-year loan. His old man and his brother had both told him not to do it because he didn’t have the cash yet to buy it outright. But he’d wanted the truck, and he’d resented his family acting like he was still a dumb kid when he was finally a goddamn Bull.
He’d bought the truck—and almost at once started drowning in the loan. Between the big runs drying up after Santaveria, and his position at the bottom of the pecking order, he had not earned nearly what he’d expected. For years, the Bulls had been raking money in almost faster than they could count it, but he was like some kind of bad luck hex or something, because the money dried up practically at the same time he got his patch.
Pump jockey was not a career that paid for an $80,000 truck. Even living at home, it was all he could do to keep that thing paid.
When he’d started getting heat from the club for not getting his dues in on time, he’d gone looking for other ways to earn. He’d lowkey freelanced a few minor, local drug deals, just a miniature version of the work the Bulls did on the reg. He’d known that freelancing was against club law, but the quantities he was moving were so small, and the risk so minor, he hadn’t thought it was a big deal.
Until the night he’d gotten rolled and almost killed. And then almost lost his patch for breaking what had turned out to be a very big club law.
He still had the truck, still had the loan. Still had his patch. He hadn’t been late on his dues since all that, and now he earned enough to cover all his debts and expenses, and even put a some away for a future he couldn’t imagine yet.
