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“The shit that went down a while back,” I said, making quick eye contact with each of the Old Ladies. “That Crow and South Paw were fighting about. Everyone got all…”
“Squirrelly,” Mia finished for me. “We got all squirrelly.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“We’ve had a few hard-hitting losses the last couple of years,” Mia said slowly.
Linden fidgeted in her seat and then stood up. “Excuse me a second. Restroom.”
I frowned as I watched her walk away.
“Is she okay?” I asked.
“Linden was involved in some shit a while back,” Joni explained. “It was bad.”
“What happened?”
“That’s for Linden to divulge, and only if she wants to,” Mia said.
“Okay.” I nodded. “What kind of losses? Deaths?”
“Yes,” Darcy said baldly. “Frankly, we’re glad Slash decided to stay and become part of the Waco chapter. We need seasoned brothers. We have new brothers and prospects, but they’re so young.”
“Hotheads,” Joni stated. “A bunch of hotheads.”
“Duke? A hothead?” I asked. “He seems so easygoing and charming.”
“He is,” Mia said. “Until he’s not.”
“What’s that mean?” I demanded.
“It means, he can bring the heat,” Mia said.
Slash carried a pistol, and he’d immediately grabbed for it the night the window was broken. I didn’t doubt he could protect me. He’d shown me nothing of that world, though. But I was beginning to think I’d see it one day.
“I’m going to go to the restroom before the food comes,” I announced, needing a minute to myself. I still wasn’t clear on the specifics of what had gone down with the club, but it had cut deep, and it was still reverberating through everyone.
On my way to the restroom, I passed the bar and saw Linden sitting on a stool. Her gaze was trained on a TV screen that was playing a telenovela in Spanish. She was clutching a rocks glass with clear liquid and a squeezed lime.
I hesitated. She clearly wanted to be alone for a moment, otherwise she wouldn’t have said she was going to the bathroom and stopped off at the bar.
Her gaze slid away from the TV, and she saw me. “Hey, Brooklyn.”
“Hey.”
“Sit.” She patted the stool next to her.
“I don’t want to interrupt.”
“It’s okay, really,” she insisted. “All I’m doing is watching this telenovela. Andre has amnesia and has been sleeping with the wrong twin. The right twin just found out and hit him with her car.”
I raised my brows. “Juicy.”
“American soap operas have nothing on Spanish soap operas.”
I debated all of two seconds before I took the chair next to her.
She raised the glass to her lips. “Did they tell you?” she asked. “About what happened to me?”
