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“Okay. Good. Be right back.”
While I wait, I glance up at the sky full of stars, wondering where I went wrong in this life and why the universe hates me so much. This job was supposed to be my way out, my chance at freedom. Now that I know Colin is part of the motorcycle club that owns the Honey Pot, I’m sure that’s off the table. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe he doesn’t care if I have sex with men for money. He sure didn’t care what happened to me when he left.
I’ll hold on to that hope. It’ll get me through this ride home.
A minute later, he reappears. God, he’s aged well. I’ll only admit it to myself because who thinks their brother is good-looking? We might not be related by blood, but we were as close as any siblings could get. He took care of me, helped me with my homework, walked me home from school, and took beatings from Ray that he didn’t deserve, just like I do for Mom now.
“Let’s go.” He repeatedly clicks a button on the fob in his hand while looking around to see which car it belongs to.
“Are you stealing a car right now?” I ask.
He pins me with a look. “No. The bartender is letting me borrow his cage.”
“You don’t have a car?”
“I have a bike, but there’s no way I’m taking you home on that.”
I conjure up all the biker knowledge I gained from watchingSons of Anarchy. “Because only your ol’ lady is allowed on the back of your bike?”
He stills, giving me his attention. “No. Because if you get on my bike wearing that, you’ll show your ass to everyone on the road.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t embarrassed when I put the leather skirt and matching cropped tank on earlier; I even thought I looked hot. But I am now.
“Yeah,” he scoffs. “‘Oh’ is right. Now help me look for this car.”
Looking around the parking lot, I point out a black sedan with its flashers blinking. “It’s over there.”
“Fucking finally. Let’s go.”
I follow him to the car and am surprised when he opens the door for me, then waits for me to buckle in before closing it. I shouldn’t be. He was always protective and put my needs above his own.
Still, that was before. Before he ruined my life and made certain I’d spend the next fifteen years held hostage by his dad. Because of him, my innocence was stripped away from me way too early in life. I don’t know who he is anymore, and it’d be best to remember that.
“Where are you living?” he asks, starting the car and throwing it in reverse. I spit out the same address that was once his own. “You’re still there?”
“Had nowhere else to go.”
His eyes close, and his chest rises and falls twice before they reopen. “Ray still there?”
“Yes.”
“Your mom?”
“Yes.”
He sighs and pulls out of the parking lot. An uncomfortable silence fills the car. It’s pitch black outside—not even streetlamps light the road—so I focus on his hands gripping the steering wheel. They’re the only thing illuminated, thanks to the huge screen on the dash that shows us moving along on a detailed map.
His hands are rough and dry, the skin cracking around his knuckles, and he has several silver rings on his tattooed fingers. On his left hand is a ring carved with the image of a skull with fangs and ram horns on either side. On his right middle, ring, and pinkie fingers are flat circular rings, each with a different letter. The S, O, and E are backward and upside down from his grip on the top of the steering wheel, but if his fist was flying in your direction, you’d see their meaning. . .
“Sons of Erebus,” I whisper.
“What?”
“You’re in a motorcycle club,” I say. “When did that happen?”
He shrugs. “Not long after I left home. Do you remember Cyrus?”
I flip through my memories and recall his boss at the auto body shop. “Yeah.”
