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What a walking oxymoron. What was the purpose of his hard rule yesterday when he didn’t even spend the night here? My heart pinches, but I pretend it does not. Refusing to let my mind drift to the what-ifs, I stay on my back for a few wandering minutes, staring at the ceiling, wondering what my day will look like today.
I could call him. He must be somewhere on this property. At least, the music and ruckus seem to have died down.
There is a knock at the door that makes me spring up in bed, the sheet fluttering down to my thighs. For a second I think it’s Bastian, but then remember he has the key. I stay paralyzed, staring at the closed door for far too long until a second knock makes me clamber out of bed. I smooth down my frizzy curls, not knowing what else to do but open the door. I creak it open, and poke my head through, unsure who I’ll find on the other side.
“Hi!” the young woman says with a bright smile. Her head slants to the side, her short bob, swishing with the movements as if trying to take a better look at me. My eyes fix on the color of her hair, a rainbow of bright vivid shades. I have never seen anything like it. “Lucy, right? I’m London. Kenzie sent me, he wants me to show you around while your man is busy working.”
“He is not—” I stop myself. Not important. I change course and smile, opening the door fully, hoping it’s a genuine expression she finds on my face. “Nice to meet you, London. Let me, uh, refresh myself and I—and I will be right out,” I stutter, internally hating how easily flustered I still get.
A few minutes later, I am out the door wearing jeans shorts and Bastian’s band t-shirt. Might have been a calculated move to wear it today, but after his stunt last night who is he to care?
“Nice hat,” London says with an open smile, eyes twinkling, realizing then that they’re different colors—one green, the other crystal blue.
“Thank you,” I reply shyly, touching it instinctively while I answer. The baby blue cowboy hat is now becoming a thing of comfort rather than just a silly accessory.
“You hungry?” she says from over her shoulder, leading us closer to the front of the building. “I can fix you something.”
I nod and smile. “That would be very nice of you,” I answer, trying not to sound as meek as I feel but failing miserably.
“Great, the kitchen is just through here,” she says, walking through two swinging doors. As soon as I step foot into the large space, which looks like the common area, I freeze.
At least a few dozen people are strewn around, men and women in various states of undress, slumped on couches sleeping, or face first on tables seeming to be doing the same. There are empty bottles of beer and alcohol everywhere and the place reeks of stale cigarettes. I sweep my gaze around the room, suddenly hoping I won’t see a certain someone amongst the pile of slumbering bodies.
The giggle beside me snaps me out of wherever I was just now. I must be making a face similar to shock because London laughs again and says, “Wait, is this your first time at a clubhouse?” Her words do not carry any ill intent but I feel embarrassed nonetheless.
I nod, my smile sheepish.
“Oops,” she says with a chuckle, her fingers brushing against her lips. “Should have warned you. Don’t worry most of them are harmless,” she says, waving me off with her hand. She puts a hand on her waist, popping her hip, her eyes looking upwards as if thinking. “Well… except Alley Cat... and maybe Napalm.” Her gaze snaps back to mine and she smiles. “Anyway, come on, the kitchen is this way.”
We weave through knocked-down chairs and bodies, my stomach sinking when I notice more than one discarded gun laying around. Bastian had warned me, butseeingit is different than the mental expectation. I have been around guns before, especially having Connor as my brother-in-law, but it’s the carelessness of it all that surprises me most.
When we finally exit the room, I exhale, my shoulders relaxing. The kitchen is big and bright with exposed brick and large wooden beams close to the ceiling—pots, and pans hanging off them. I offer to help but London shoos me off, telling me to sit. She hands me coffee and I happily take it, the cup hot under the pads of my fingers. I watch her in silence as she starts breaking some eggs, a pan already heating with oil on the stove.
“So, um,” I say, taking a sip of coffee before speaking again. “What’s your role here?”
I’m unsure if the question is impolite, but the way Bastian explained it to me, it sounded like everyone had their specific function within the club. I could not help but notice how similar it was to the commune I grew up in.
“I’m club property,” London says breezily, her back to me.
My heart drops, along with my voice. “You are here against your will?” My mind instinctively tries to find ways to get her out.
Her laugh leaves me confused. “It’s not what you think,” she says with a giggle. And I relax just a little. “It means I work for the club, keep this place clean—among other things.” She turns and winks at me, and I’m surprised at how fast I pick up on her innuendo, feeling a bit proud of myself. “In turn, I get room and board plus protection. Sweet deal really,” she adds.
I nod while listening, my eyebrows slightly furrowed. My mind is having a hard time grasping the difference between this and Sacro Nuntio.
“And you’re happy here?” The question holds more weight than she knows, but the answer feels too important not to ask.
“More than I ever could be out there,” she says, placing a plate of toast in front of me while she finishes cooking the eggs. I thank her and we fall silent.
“Areyouhappy, Lucy?” she asks after a while, and when I look up her expression surprises me, as if she genuinely wants to know and isn’t asking just for pleasantries. So I decide to answer truthfully, taking a bite of toast while I think. My mind drifts to Bastian and how he’s made me feel in the past few weeks. And how the road trip has brought a much-needed sense of peace I have been seeking for a long, long time. Although, I fear all of it is temporary… ephemeral.
“Maybe someday soon,” I respond finally with a smile.
* * *
I endup spending the day with London. She shows me around the property, patiently answering all of my questions about club life, and who is who within the hierarchy of the Black Plague MC. Eventually, we end up back in the common area, the place looking better than when I first saw it earlier this morning. And a lot less crowded too.
“Hi, boys,” London says to two heavily tattooed men dressed in black jeans, boots, and leather vests, hanging by the pool table. I learned earlier that the vests are called cuts, their road name—a nickname given to them when they join the club—stitched in large letters to the back. “Have you met Lucy?” she adds while strutting up to them. “She’s here with Kenzie's friend.”
