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It’s the best thing I’ve ever painted at this scale.
I pull my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and snap a few pictures. I want to make sure I have a record of the mural before Control gets back since I’m not sure what he’ll do. I suspect this counts as the kind of “frou-frou shit” he specifically told me not to create.
I don’t care.
I’m happy, calm, and content in a way I haven’t been in a very long time.
I know it won’t last past Control’s return to Atlanta.
But I can at least savor it for right now.
After a few seconds, I open the app and send a copy of the image to Leon.
But only the self-portrait.
No need to let him know I’ve also painted an image of him.
Not yet.
* * *
I don’t mean to be at the clubhouse when Control returns with his new partners. I stop by late in the afternoon the day after I finish the mural, hoping to get Mech to take a look at my car—it’s making some strange noise, and he’s the best mechanic we’ve ever had in the club. Plus, he likes me.
So I’m back in the bike shop, perched on one of the counters as Mech fiddles around in the interior of my car’s engine when Control strides into the shop.
“This is where my men do all the work on their bikes,” he says as he enters the room.
Three men follow him in. They all have dark hair and even darker eyes. They give me assessing looks, and I have to force myself to remain perfectly still under their gazes.
Control’s glance is hard, as well, promising retribution for the mural he’s no doubt just seen inside the clubhouse meeting room.
“And this is my daughter, Lacey,” he says, gesturing at me.
He uses my first name, not my club name—a deliberate slight since he knows I’ve never liked being called Lacey.
The three men greet me with heavy Hispanic accents, but their English is flawless.
Cartel. I’m sure of it.
“I have arranged for rooms for all of you in our clubhouse quarters,” Control tells the men. “They’re not especially fancy, but they should be good enough.”
He gestures them out of the shop ahead of him, then pauses at the door and turns back to speak to me. “I need to see you in my office, Lacey. Now.”
Shit. This is going to be ugly.
With a sigh, I boost myself off the counter.
Mech, who stopped working on my car to greet Control and his new business partners, gives me a worried glance. “You going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” My tone is light, but there’s a rock of dread sitting in my stomach.
I make my way into Control’s office and wait for him. I consider not going, but it’ll be worse later if I don’t follow his instructions now.
As rebellious as I am, I know when it’s time to toe the line.
So I’m standing in front of his desk waiting when he arrives a few moments later.
“How have you been?” he asks, his voice deceptively mild.
